Written By Cufre
Jan. 25, 2024, 6 p.m.(8/15/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Claude
Master Claude,
I pray to Death that you can't read this. I hope you've left here wholly and have found the peace of the Shining Lands entire. This here is for me.
It's for me because the first time I wrote about you, in my black journal, it was because I felt cheated by you. I thought you, in a way, had stolen from me. It was the other way 'round, too: you thought I was cheating you, asking you for payment anew on top of a payment made.
It's for me because that anger was strong enough for me to put it down with the Scholars, but the friendship that grew after we both spoke our way of seeing it, after we found the truth of it, that friendship and my thankfulness for it never made it to either journal before now.
I didn't write about our talks in your shop, talks about Skald and about the Queen of Endings. I didn't write about that brandy you gave me, that we shared in place of tea one day. I still have the bottle. I didn't write about your going to speak to the Abandoned on behalf of my family — I really should have written about that, how you came back with tales of the Yorn and of the Kous. I didn't write about you letting me sell your mystery toys in my shop so us Lowers folk had a local shop, a local chance to get them. And I didn't write about the one toy that never made it to a mystery box, the only one of its kind. I keep that one in my family's shop, on my work table. A surprise, an honor, and a reminder, that.
I didn't write about missing you these last few years, about writing to you even though I knew you left the city, about not hearing back.
I didn't write about seeing you, at last, at the camp near Harrow Hall, and how hard it was to say goodbye knowing it would be the last one.
I never got a chance to tell you about the threads of golden light She let me see. And though I can't see them in that way, anymore, I see them now in laughter shared. In hands held, in secret smiles. In discounts offered. In practice fights, in friendly boasts. In stories shared.
Though I can't see them in that way anymore, I know there was a single, bright golden thread that ran from me to Bastion. To you.
I will do my best to look after Lewis, to help him do right by your shop and justice to your training.
I will do better, I think, at looking after Echo. I've no shortage of homes for her to make her own.
If I survive what comes to Arx, I promise I will go to Old Oak and speak blessings for those who died in its fall.
But I dearly wish you were there to speak them beside me.
I pray to Death that you can't read this. I hope you've left here wholly and have found the peace of the Shining Lands entire. This here is for me.
It's for me because the first time I wrote about you, in my black journal, it was because I felt cheated by you. I thought you, in a way, had stolen from me. It was the other way 'round, too: you thought I was cheating you, asking you for payment anew on top of a payment made.
It's for me because that anger was strong enough for me to put it down with the Scholars, but the friendship that grew after we both spoke our way of seeing it, after we found the truth of it, that friendship and my thankfulness for it never made it to either journal before now.
I didn't write about our talks in your shop, talks about Skald and about the Queen of Endings. I didn't write about that brandy you gave me, that we shared in place of tea one day. I still have the bottle. I didn't write about your going to speak to the Abandoned on behalf of my family — I really should have written about that, how you came back with tales of the Yorn and of the Kous. I didn't write about you letting me sell your mystery toys in my shop so us Lowers folk had a local shop, a local chance to get them. And I didn't write about the one toy that never made it to a mystery box, the only one of its kind. I keep that one in my family's shop, on my work table. A surprise, an honor, and a reminder, that.
I didn't write about missing you these last few years, about writing to you even though I knew you left the city, about not hearing back.
I didn't write about seeing you, at last, at the camp near Harrow Hall, and how hard it was to say goodbye knowing it would be the last one.
I never got a chance to tell you about the threads of golden light She let me see. And though I can't see them in that way, anymore, I see them now in laughter shared. In hands held, in secret smiles. In discounts offered. In practice fights, in friendly boasts. In stories shared.
Though I can't see them in that way anymore, I know there was a single, bright golden thread that ran from me to Bastion. To you.
I will do my best to look after Lewis, to help him do right by your shop and justice to your training.
I will do better, I think, at looking after Echo. I've no shortage of homes for her to make her own.
If I survive what comes to Arx, I promise I will go to Old Oak and speak blessings for those who died in its fall.
But I dearly wish you were there to speak them beside me.
Written By Cufre
Jan. 12, 2024, 7:05 a.m.(7/16/1021 AR)
I wish I knew more about the Laws of the Dream.
Written By Cufre
Nov. 3, 2023, 7:53 a.m.(2/16/1021 AR)
Sometimes a fair price is made too high by the way the seller asks for it.
Written By Cufre
Oct. 21, 2023, 12:09 p.m.(1/18/1021 AR)
When I die, my black journal can be read by my siblings: Amantha Harrow, Valarian Harrow, Scipio Harrow, Skaldia Harrow, and Arion Harrow. It can be read by their children and their children's children.
Written By Cufre
Oct. 15, 2023, 10 a.m.(1/6/1021 AR)
Never look up. Never look up.
There were shouts of war. There were knives and even a sword or two.
And up above us, curving just to over the docks, was this color. Swirling sort of. Slipping. Like iridescite when you you turn it in your hand.
I lost two purses.
But what I saw later, called to the Mother's work, tangles of fallen. What I heard, wails from the wounded. Those never made it to Crows Lane.
There were shouts of war. There were knives and even a sword or two.
And up above us, curving just to over the docks, was this color. Swirling sort of. Slipping. Like iridescite when you you turn it in your hand.
I lost two purses.
But what I saw later, called to the Mother's work, tangles of fallen. What I heard, wails from the wounded. Those never made it to Crows Lane.
Written By Cufre
Oct. 1, 2023, 1:45 p.m.(8/20/1020 AR)
My patron recently reminded me that the end of summer is near. I think I've spoken of it before, how summer is my favorite time of the year. Some dislike the heat; but when you live were the wet always comes with a mosaic of stink, drying heat and freezing cold are kindnesses.
There's more to it, though. It's always been a down time in the workshop. If the shelves are full enough, there's no reason for me to light the forge or fire the kiln. But now that I've help enough that I don't need to keep to the till day and night, summer gives me more time for Harlequin work outside the Shrine. Sitting at bedsides for a chat. Helping where I can. I don't ever write much about that part of it here. It's someone else's life for the telling.
There's more to it, though. It's always been a down time in the workshop. If the shelves are full enough, there's no reason for me to light the forge or fire the kiln. But now that I've help enough that I don't need to keep to the till day and night, summer gives me more time for Harlequin work outside the Shrine. Sitting at bedsides for a chat. Helping where I can. I don't ever write much about that part of it here. It's someone else's life for the telling.
Written By Cufre
Aug. 27, 2023, 4:39 p.m.(6/7/1020 AR)
Relationship Note on Medeia
I never really thought much about patrons and such, you know? I mean, my jewelry, the glass things…they're ways of me spending my time between repair jobs. Ways to look at what comes in old and to try to see what the one who made it saw, what the one who spent coppers on it saw. Those things aren't really ever going to be what the nobles of the city want to wear beyond the odd now-and-again. And, so, I don't really have much to offer a patron. It's not me being down on it, it's just what is. And it's fine, and it works out. I don't so much need much, either.
But our talk at the Queen's Shrine the other day keeps me thinking back to my patron. And how she shows that helping people isn't just things you speak about when other people are around to listen, then forget later. And how taking care of people doesn't have to be seen as taking something from yourself.
It took a day or two to come around to feeling grateful.
But our talk at the Queen's Shrine the other day keeps me thinking back to my patron. And how she shows that helping people isn't just things you speak about when other people are around to listen, then forget later. And how taking care of people doesn't have to be seen as taking something from yourself.
It took a day or two to come around to feeling grateful.
Written By Cufre
July 23, 2023, 9 p.m.(3/21/1020 AR)
Skaldia is home to stay for a while! I hope I can make that easier for her. Her love of the woods always seems to keep her visits short.
Written By Cufre
July 9, 2023, 5:28 p.m.(2/21/1020 AR)
Two years. It's been nearly two years.
Written By Cufre
May 7, 2023, 8 a.m.(10/7/1019 AR)
I don't have the comfortable ways of talking that Felicia did, but I go to the meetings because she'd want me to.
This one ended quickly and left me feeling... itchy?
Bothered?
Unsettled.
This one ended quickly and left me feeling... itchy?
Bothered?
Unsettled.
Written By Cufre
Dec. 27, 2022, 7:35 p.m.(2/15/1019 AR)
Relationship Note on Felicia
It was nearly a year ago my sister died. I see, now, how when the Queen was lost to us, we turned to Lagoma. Felicia's death pried the stone that made the rest of us glitter all the more from our family. Or so it's felt, this last year.
But she wouldn't have wanted that.
And She doesn't.
We will never be the same with her gone. But that should be the way of things when you've had the luck of being close to someone who aimed so directly for life's fullness. Fel's memorial skull reminded me of that, so I owe a thanks to the one who made it.
But she wouldn't have wanted that.
And She doesn't.
We will never be the same with her gone. But that should be the way of things when you've had the luck of being close to someone who aimed so directly for life's fullness. Fel's memorial skull reminded me of that, so I owe a thanks to the one who made it.
Written By Cufre
July 24, 2022, 10:07 p.m.(1/25/1018 AR)
The cold has me spending more time in the Lowers shop lately, even when making things for the Ward shop. Yes, the new shop has its little forge, but why put the time into getting to know its particulars when I have the kiln I grew up with? The fire's not the same anyway. Nor the people.
Anyway, the work is slow-going. Working with costlier metals and stones is just like that, I guess.
Anyway, the work is slow-going. Working with costlier metals and stones is just like that, I guess.
Written By Cufre
May 8, 2022, 11:46 a.m.(8/10/1017 AR)
It's strange to spend longer and longer stretches away from the Lowers. It's becoming easier to, which bothers me.
Maybe I'm feeling it now because this was one of my favorite times of the year. Too hot to run the kiln, hot enough that the lanes don't squish - well, not as much - when you walk them. Little things that were big things.
The shop was always slow around now, too, so I could put my mind to other things.
Maybe I'm feeling it now because this was one of my favorite times of the year. Too hot to run the kiln, hot enough that the lanes don't squish - well, not as much - when you walk them. Little things that were big things.
The shop was always slow around now, too, so I could put my mind to other things.
Written By Cufre
Nov. 14, 2021, 9:46 p.m.(7/25/1016 AR)
Relationship Note on Zakhar
A couple of days ago, Zakhar had me over. He's teaching me to cook one of his soups. There's something about his food, and I asked him if he'd teach me how to cook something warm and comforting that I can make when I'm visiting or staying with folks who are dying. Something to make those last few days a bit nicer. Something to talk over or just bring a smile.
I doubt mine will ever taste as good as his. The butchering alone. He says it's better to do it yourself, but that'll have to be the first of a few compromises to my version of things.
I doubt mine will ever taste as good as his. The butchering alone. He says it's better to do it yourself, but that'll have to be the first of a few compromises to my version of things.
Written By Cufre
Nov. 7, 2021, 6:38 p.m.(7/11/1016 AR)
There was a fire in the area a few days ago. Well, near the old house. I've been staying at the other more and more, ever since I've been able to get my mind to settle into rest while I'm there. It's easier these days. Work on the new shop in the Ward has me keeping long hours, so I'm getting home only to fall into bed.
Anyway, the fire. It was probably nothing: a cookfire not rightly tended or a bit of everyday mischief. Still, it got me thinking about things in the old house. Lax is there through the day, tending the shop, so I feel that's fine. It's night that has me worried. So I'll be staying there for a time. Maybe a long time. It's home, after all.
Anyway, the fire. It was probably nothing: a cookfire not rightly tended or a bit of everyday mischief. Still, it got me thinking about things in the old house. Lax is there through the day, tending the shop, so I feel that's fine. It's night that has me worried. So I'll be staying there for a time. Maybe a long time. It's home, after all.
Written By Cufre
Oct. 24, 2021, 5:22 p.m.(6/11/1016 AR)
Archlector Roran's service a few days ago sticks with me still. Work put in, spent, for some day unknown, in years to come. I feel I'm so often focused on that rather than on the moment just ahead.
I find I don't like thinking about how I go about my business. It's easier just to let it be what it is.
I know this isn't making much sense. Maybe I should have given it a few more days before coming here. Maybe then my thoughts would be sorted.
I find I don't like thinking about how I go about my business. It's easier just to let it be what it is.
I know this isn't making much sense. Maybe I should have given it a few more days before coming here. Maybe then my thoughts would be sorted.
Written By Cufre
Oct. 3, 2021, 6:56 p.m.(4/25/1016 AR)
I haven't been sleeping well.
Okay, I've never slept very well, but it was usually because of choices I made. This is different.
The new place is too quiet in some ways and too unquiet in others.
Okay, I've never slept very well, but it was usually because of choices I made. This is different.
The new place is too quiet in some ways and too unquiet in others.
Written By Cufre
Sept. 26, 2021, 8:18 p.m.(4/11/1016 AR)
The smells that winter's freeze disguise are wafting up and are given more layers by sogginess and decay. It's time for sturdy boots and hitched up skirts to wade through the muck. All the little bits that fell and were lost in the snows limp and glitter. Glitter is an exaggeration, of course, because anything that truly glitters is soon snatched up to turned into coppers. But maybe, from the top of the hill, those flecks of lint, parchment, sacks, whatever shine bright in the sun. Why not call it beautiful, when it's home?
Written By Cufre
Sept. 19, 2021, 6:02 p.m.(3/25/1016 AR)
Relationship Note on Felicia
The most recent shop gossip is about Fel and the question she put before the Assembly.
Most of what I've heard is mixed, but it would be: wagging fingers because we never speak of our family's past, doubt that we have any ties to nobility, jokes about not forgetting our friends and neighbors in the Lowers when we're elevated, irritation, well-meaning and on our behalf, I suppose, about the path being made so difficult as to be impossible.
What I've heard is most clearly and consistently is pride, though. I've heard so many variations of Marquessa Mia Riven's words about Felicia that I feel I can draw out most of the truth of them. That my sister has done so much to help others that the Marquessa would give Fel her time and would speak in her favor...
Yes. Proud.
Most of what I've heard is mixed, but it would be: wagging fingers because we never speak of our family's past, doubt that we have any ties to nobility, jokes about not forgetting our friends and neighbors in the Lowers when we're elevated, irritation, well-meaning and on our behalf, I suppose, about the path being made so difficult as to be impossible.
What I've heard is most clearly and consistently is pride, though. I've heard so many variations of Marquessa Mia Riven's words about Felicia that I feel I can draw out most of the truth of them. That my sister has done so much to help others that the Marquessa would give Fel her time and would speak in her favor...
Yes. Proud.
Written By Cufre
Sept. 5, 2021, 10:32 a.m.(2/24/1016 AR)
Months and months later, and I still cannot stop thinking about crowns.
I tried making one. My first ever. I think it's beautiful. I gave it away.
It's far easier to give away new things.
I tried making one. My first ever. I think it's beautiful. I gave it away.
It's far easier to give away new things.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.