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Written By Dianna

May 24, 2020, 1:11 a.m.(5/7/1013 AR)

Relationship Note on Ravna

...Yes, you may scribe this for me; with my thanks.

I know you think he's mad, but he's not. He makes perfect sense, if one can slip away from the need to construct thoughts, sentences in the way one expects them to be constructed. ...Yes, I was, indeed, brought up to construct sentences in a specific and precise way; but it helps very little for others to understand my meanings, I have learned; and, perhaps, it is the fact that others find him mad that makes him more acceptable, palatable to others. You laugh, but that, alone, is better than raging - is it not? Better than crying over words you think you understand, that break your heart - only to come to find, at some point in the future, that you had mistaken their meaning, had tossed aside someone you loved?

I have, indeed, done both; and I have had both done to me. I prefer the mad glee of my beloved Culler, who loves me with such freedom, it is very likely mad; but I'd be a fool not to love him in return, and a greater fool, yet, if I was to discard him.

...Reputations are not everything, my dear. Reputations are but the ideas others have of us, and do not, necessarily, reflect Truths. Come, now; surely, in all your days and nights of listening to others spill their thoughts to you, in all of your many years of service to Vellichor, in all of the wild and wondrous things you read from days of yore, you know as well as I how this is true.

Why, reputations are like the dreams from which we wake, in which we think, are incredibly sure that we know - for instance - that a great and terrible battle has occurred, and we ~believe~ that this idea is entirely true, for we bear the marks of a great and terrible battle: bruises, broken bones, headaches and such.

But we know, too, that we cannot, must not believe everything our minds deign to allow us to see - nor to believe that what our minds deign for us to see is all that can be seen.

Some things, and often the greatest Truths of all, remain hidden from view, from knowing. At least for now.

Such is the nature of life. At least, for now; and likely, for all times - lest we fall into the temptation of believing we know all things, when we do not; lest we fall into the temptation of believing others know our thoughts, our hearts, when they see but fragments.

Written By Dianna

May 15, 2020, 4:53 p.m.(4/18/1013 AR)

As Third Reflection, I feel that it is my place and my honored duty to state clearly what is known, but what is not wished to be looked or acted upon by individuals and by the world, at large.

This includes what rumors I may hear or come upon, what good or ill I may see. And, again, I find it to be my duty to reflect upon these things and find the truths beneath that are ignored by society at large.

For the sake of those reading my journals, whether in this time or in the future, who may also have caught the recent entry in my sister's journal:

My previous entry was a snipped of a conversation I held with one of the Scholars of Vellichor, which I was so amused at having had that I entreated him to include it in my journals. I make a habit of reading my sister's journals and those of my previous family; so I caught my twin's quip back to me and have responded to her privately - which is, of course, where I believe such matters of private conversation should remain.


Nonetheless:

I am at odds with this idea - of whether such arguments as I have heard (and have not indulged in reading), that occur with some frequency but that have, as I understand, inspired a flurry of activity of late in documenting thoughts, ideas and poetry in the White Journals.

On the one hand, we are surely blessed to have so much of ourselves, of our thoughts and passions penned to parchment and held for the honor of Vellichor. We are surely honoring not only Vellichor, but Limerance in the apparent surge of conversation on love and marriage; and certainly - whether one considers the poetry apparently penned to be of high or low quality - any such rhymes or couplets, poetry of any nature is an honor and a tribute to Jayus.

And yet --

The end is not well, is it?

The end is a war between friends, between families, spilled upon the pages of our histories while thoughts, feelings, activities, poetry well-intentioned and well-thought-out is left to the wayside. Never written, never documented. Not a word, not a whisper, not a hint in so very many journals.

This is why, of course, I've abandoned the regular readings of the White Journals, though I once used to read so often, that I might catch the beat of our fair Compact and know what is meaningful, what may be happening that I have missed.

It grieves me that I, too, refrain from sharing so very much of myself here; that I - rather than risk some public sentiment to the contrary of my words, my thoughts, my actions, my activities; that I refrain from even trying to write - much less to share - poetry, lest some dark sentiment make its way known to me; lest my words are misunderstood - as happens so frequently; and not only to me.

So, I find myself with multiple thoughts and considerations regarding this matter of private matters spilt so hastily upon page after page of journal upon journal - that are not, in any way, connected, nor known to be in a stream of connection, except to those Scholars who now live and recall the general upheaval that spurred such a flurry of sentiment, thought, poetry - and sometimes, insult:

Firstly: I would advise to all and any who read this entry at any time to consider that your words are written not merely as a lament or a sword to punish those whom you hope may - or may not - read them; instead placing before Vellichor your subjective reality that your family, your friends, your children and grandchildren who care for you may know of you and your history - and what matters most to you. What you leave behind can never be every one of your thoughts, nor an account of every deed; so, we must choose what we leave. And, while I do not, nor would I advise posturing before Vellichor's or the eyes of those who, in our future, fall upon our words, I do think that there is a great mountain of life being left by the wayside, that is yet unreflected, unaccounted for in these precious journals.

Secondly: I would advise that, should one feel it so very necessary to document some unpleasantness or disagreement within these precious pages, perhaps give a mind, a thought to your children, to your grandchildren, that, should they come upon your words, they might find reference therein to whatever journals or events might be related. I fear for the great research that our Scholars and our future may have in stringing so much together that, within a single individual's journal, will be so greatly taken out of context as to make very little, if any sense, whatsoever. And, resolutions, I believe, are most important to consider writing. For, if we're to take someone to task within our minds, our hearts, our journals, should we not give them - and ourselves - the respect of making notation of how such matters come to an end?

Thirdly: Should we take insult to the words written within someone's private journals? Perhaps; and perhaps not. That written in the White Journals are, of course, the publicly-available, private thoughts made known to any and all who might wish to read and explore them. But why, pray tell, would we not - at that point - hold the other personally accountable rather than complaining or persisting in a public barrage that they may, perchance, never read? The public critique of such a private thing does more harm than good, I am sure - for it may lead to encouraging more of such bitter ramblings that continue for days on end while discouraging those who may wish to either make amends or who are simply innocent passers-by and learn of this great discord, wrapped up now in a squabble that is not their own, who volunteer their thoughts only in this moment and who - by the very nature of a public outcry - find their words accepted or forgotten in the great stream of back-and-forth.

I yet pity the Scholars who must remove, return, remove and return again so many incidental journals that are related to one another only by a thin current of heated fervor between any two or three or half-a-dozen or more people.

When I consider what information we have lost throughout history and what is found, I cannot help but wonder at the blessing that such squabbles may have been swallowed up by time - and yet, I think it would be a greater blessing to find a deluge of such ravings between our ancestors, that we might have some moment to pause and realize how incredibly ungracious we are being in giving such writings to Vellichor and to our future.

I am no Scholar and claim less knowledge of what Vellichor may deem acceptable and good as tribute. I leave such musings and decisions upon the mantle of the Archscholar of Vellichor, the Legates and our esteemed Dominus.

I am Third Reflection, a Mirrormask; and I have chosen - of my own volition - to step into this role, wherein I may, without yielding to darkness, show both the darkness and the light, sin and ideal, for all to reflect upon. What one chooses to do with such opinions, truths or thoughts exposed is one's own business. As Third Reflection - and as a Godsworn priestess - I uphold and shall always uphold Skald's gift of choice.

I, however, shall endeavor to take this advice, myself - knowing I shall have my own words, penned and held preciously by the Scholars and kept safe within the Great Archives, to hold me accountable to myself, to Vellichor, to these ideals that I hold true, and to anyone at any time who reads them, who may know by my words if I hold true to my intent.

And I leave with you this:

This subject - the squabbles within the White Journals that seem to seethe and breed darkness, though not the cause nor the details of such disagreements - is of utmost import to me. For I revere the gods, all of them. And I am theirs, intending with my every word, my every action, to uphold their ideals.

Written By Dianna

May 15, 2020, 1:47 a.m.(4/17/1013 AR)

Why, that -is- amusing!

I yet find it strange, as well, that so many should go back-and-forth between one another's White Journals to read the various commentaries. I certainly have no time for it, myself; how much time does it take you, dear, to carry them out and put them back? ...Oh, you don't mind? Well. That must be why you've such robust and strong arms.

...Oh, you're so very sweet; but thank you. I'm not taking any new lovers at this time.

Written By Dianna

May 5, 2020, 7:39 p.m.(3/26/1013 AR)

Relationship Note on Raja

It seems my timing bested that of a suggestion wherein I was mentioned, as directed to by the scholars - how droll! And how very ~lucky~ for me that I have already thought of such things!

I am so very happy that my dear friend enjoys and approves of her new coat. It will look utterly spectacular on her.

Written By Dianna

May 4, 2020, 3:37 p.m.(3/24/1013 AR)

Relationship Note on Rinel

There was a moment - and longer than a moment - when Messere Rinel Tern questioned me, incited me to question myself and my place not only within the community of Arx, but the community of all of Arvum; when I questioned my worth ~as I am~ and including all of my potential and real faults and loves, including, of course, my love of beauty, of wealth, of the rewards I earn on account of an exceptional education made possible by my noble birth within House Mazetti - for which I am endlessly grateful.

I questioned my right to the finery I yet wear, that I have dedicated to the gods - for I am in the process of constructing a wardrobe of spectacular beauty in honor of each of the gods of the Pantheon. It is, perhaps, a vain choice for my funds; but it serves me in a number of ways: The attention it receives from anyone gives me an opportunity to interact with them; it keeps me humble, for I know that, despite spending these funds on something seemingly frivolous, these pieces are only mine momentarily, while in this life and dedicated to the Faith; the creation of them serves to employ artisans and merchants, whom I would wish are supported in their tasks; it may inspire others to create items of beauty; it is, by its very nature, a constant offering and tribute to Gild and to Jayus, most obviously; to Petrichor, to Mangata and Lagoma for the materials, the transportation of materials and for the seasons that give me cause to even have need of clothing; to Limerance for my love of my noble upbringing that inspires such vanity, and for my fidelity to my oaths; to The Sentinel for the justice of being able to use my education in such ways; to Skald for the choice of both what I daily wear and for the choice of spending the silver I earn on what I wish; to the Queen of Endings and Mother of Beginnings for the very body that I have; and to Tehom, for the vanity, itself.

Had this woman not so abrasively disrupted my mind and heart, I may never have had reason to come to understand myself - and my desire to better understand and relate with those common-born who are so very different from me. I may not have found myself so very lacking, despite my upbringing, my education; and I may never have given opportunity to those beautiful souls whom I have met, who offer me what love and acceptance in quick and unrelenting abundance such as the Cullers have. So, I find myself humbled further: That I am not asked to be other than I am; that I am warmly embraced and not abused nor have my generosity taken for granted; that I am given opportunity to learn the truth of those so close in proximity to my present home, yet so distant in their lifestyles that it is as if I am in a foreign land, when I set foot in the Lowers.

Respect is such an honorable thing, a gift surely so pure, it surely makes Gloria's heart sing - whether offered on the battlefield, in Noble Houses, in the Uppers or in the Lowers; and may be given by anyone, of any station. And so, I find my way to Gloria even with this vain opulence, to honor those who have both disturbed my mind and heart as well as those who cherish me - from any social station.

I am overwhelmed by the radiance of the gods - and of humanity.

There is truly the most extraordinary beauty in accepting and embracing All of The Great Dream - and this brings me back, fully-circling, to the place where I was first so rattled by Messere Rinel: In the Shrine of the Lost, that we hold, now, as Aion's.

May blessings and peace come to this woman. I need not, nor wish to have her change a thing.

Written By Dianna

April 27, 2020, 2:02 a.m.(3/9/1013 AR)

There are those who think that they can jump into things of Life as a game, diving in as if into a deep pool of water - as children do - and splashing, playing until they are done, then leaving as carelessly and thoughtlessly as they dove in -- without a thought of the trail of water (of Life, in this analogy) that they spill rather heedlessly as they leave, when they suddenly decide that they are finished and ready to move onto other things that take their whimsy.

And others who dive into Life just as joyously -- with the intent to never leave, or to take the Waters of Life with them wherever they may go, treating every single drop as if it was the most precious thing they'd ever experienced.

It matters not, which one chooses to be - for there are these and so very many other Ways of Living.

But I?

I prefer the latter of the two examples I gave: For, to me, Life is precious.

And both the joys and the pains that come with it --

But, the more I look? The more I come to realize:

I seem to be blessed with Luck, intermingling with my Life.

I am so grateful to you, Gild.

Written By Dianna

April 21, 2020, 1:13 a.m.(2/24/1013 AR)

There is nothing quite like a poet of the soul whose words make sense to only those who listen.

Nothing.

Written By Dianna

April 19, 2020, 8:56 p.m.(2/22/1013 AR)

Strange dreams came to me, amidst none at all.

Who is speaking to me, I wonder; and what is it they wish for me to know?

Written By Dianna

April 2, 2020, 2:27 a.m.(1/15/1013 AR)

Trini says I was so drunk, I could barely speak.

Hilja knows better, though; she knows exactly how little I had to drink - and exactly how much brandy was left!

Anyway, I don't know what they're going on about.

I could speak. I could swear I was speaking in full sentences.

Wash was there, and Lord Iroh, too.

And everyone knows I can hold my brandy. Why, I once drank two bottles before I felt dizzy. And almost three before I needed to sleep.

Written By Dianna

March 31, 2020, 12:46 a.m.(1/10/1013 AR)

I am moved deeply by the great number of attendees at the question-and-answer session I held at Tehom's Shrine.

Moved, as well, by the thoughtfulness of the questions, by the respectfulness of the attendees and grateful beyond measure that my dear friend, Rysen, found himself well enough to travel across the city to attend - along with Rukhnis and his pregnant wife.

There are so very many emotions roiling inside me - as many as when I returned home from the rescue. But, as opposed to then, when I was so frustrated, hurt, angry and torn by all we had seen, I find myself overjoyed, desperate to embrace all whom I love and assure them that I do, in fact, so deeply value them.

Such are the effects of darkness, should we face their Truths.

And it is Vayne's patience that has so often allowed me to see, without fear, all that I feel and think.

Forever, I am indebted to the Archlector of Tehom. For, if I am and share but an ounce of good, it would remain tainted without his ever-embracing and understanding mind and heart and soul, allowing me to so deeply and profoundly self-reflect -- and turn what is dark within myself back over to Tehom, or make of it, somehow in what seems a magical way, a bright and vibrant thing of light.

Love of oneself - and of others - is surely one of life's greatest, most powerful mysteries of Truth and Wonder.

Written By Dianna

March 28, 2020, 3:49 p.m.(1/6/1013 AR)

Relationship Note on Ian

(( Written from Stormwall ))

I'm not sure I ever want him to remember; and yet, I so desperately want him to.

Is it a blessing or a curse to forget, to be so bleary-eyed by horror that one loses track of great swaths of time, that one re-makes reality to what is easiest to digest?

This is why I'm angry, hurt and confused: Because I can't forget. Even when I look into my own reflection in my glaive, to meditate, I see my fear at losing him, and he'll never understand why it matters so much to me that some part of his mind is stolen, marred, distorted:

They cut something from him when they cut that piece out of his leg. They stole something from him before and I'm furious that anyone should dare take a piece of him - or of anyone - without their permission. I understand his willingness to let the flesh be stolen. But he had no choice in the rest. So, I'm still fighting - only I'm horrible at knowing how to fight this.

How does one show the truth within a reflection to one who can't even see? How does one fight a mist that clouds one's vision?

Or, do I just leave him to his own version of reality?

Gods, give me strength. Vellichor, I beg you: Guide me.


Addendum:

I think I know why I'm so angry:

I wish I could forget. I wish something else had happened. I wish the trip to Stormwall had been for other reasons.

And I cannot forget; the images roll through my mind again and again.

What am I missing? What do I need to know?

Written By Dianna

March 28, 2020, 1:56 p.m.(1/5/1013 AR)

At least we got them back.

Which is to say: We got them back.

We lost three others; it seems there's always a price.

I didn't know how to heal her. I didn't know how to stop the curse.

And I couldn't save the Templars.

And that's just not good enough.

So, yes, I am. What you've heard is true, despite Trini's and Hilja's and Fio's pleading:

I'm going back.

We'll have an army.

I'm sorry, Marquessa. I'm sorry, Preston.

But, thank the gods we got them home alive.

Written By Dianna

March 28, 2020, 1:56 p.m.(1/5/1013 AR)

At least we got them back.

Which is to say: We got them back.

We lost three others; it seems there's always a price.

I didn't know how to heal her. I didn't know how to stop the curse.

And I couldn't save the Templars.

And that's just not good enough.

So, yes, I am. What you've heard is true, despite Trini's and Hilja's and Fio's pleading:

I'm going back.

We'll have an army.

I'm sorry, Marquessa. I'm sorry, Preston.

But, thank the gods we got them home alive.

Written By Dianna

March 18, 2020, 1:39 p.m.(12/13/1012 AR)

(Written from Greypeak and sent by messenger to Arx)

It is difficult, being away from all I love; I don't think I realized how difficult it would be, nor that I had grown so used to seeing them, writing to them with messengers but hours, at most, between the sharing of our words.

It is likely best that the ring given to me is simple in construction and design; I have, regardless of my disapproval of the manner in which the advice was given me, refrained from wearing anything more ornate than simple silks and seatouched wool while traveling, so I more aptly blend in with my traveling companions. (No, it is not common cloth - neither linen nor cotton, for I dislike the feel of both against my skin, for better or for worse; but neither it is aeterna nor umbra, as is my preference at home.)

Truthfully, the commoners in these smaller villages and cities do not seem aggrieved by the refinement of my manner and dress, particularly when they learn that I am a priestess; and, as I would expect, the closer we travel to the Lyceum, the more respect I receive as a Third Reflection born of Ostria. Such a great relief is this that, aside from the expected fact of not having one I love in the bed beside me at night, I find myself increasingly at peace. Gods know I wish /one/ of them had joined me - for more reasons than simply as a bed-partner, of course; but I am fully aware that each of those dearest to my heart are equally invested in his and her respective ventures to assist the Compact, as am I.

It is both more and less difficult for me, knowing that Trini and Oscarr have become fond of one another, and that Fio and Hilja have one another. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder," it is said -- and yet, my heart was so fond of my dear loves, already, that I shall think it may burst, by the time that I return.

I take solace in the night skies and in the dawning sun, knowing that I share these, yet, with my darling loves.

There are, of course, so many refugees that we meet along our path. I am grateful for those who know Arvani and can translate for me; and it breaks my heart to see so many with so little. I am sure I shall be without a single silver by the time that I return, as I cannot resist the urge to give purse after purse to them -- and we are not yet even in the Lyceum. I thank the gods for both Trini and Hilja, who keep me within a certain budget. For, despite what my detractors in Arx may say of me, I am irrepressibly charitable to all I see.

May Gild grace us all in our travels.

Written By Dianna

March 16, 2020, 2:05 a.m.(12/8/1012 AR)

Just remember that I love you, no matter what, through everything.

You, forever, more than any.

Written By Dianna

March 12, 2020, 11:14 p.m.(12/2/1012 AR)

Respect is a gift afforded by any and all, from the wealthiest of High Nobles to the most impoverished of common-born.

And yet:

I have witnessed nobility and common-born, and those in-between, throw this gift aside - both as an offering and in receipt - as if it had no value.

I write these words for posterity to know my heart and my mind in this matter:

If respect cannot be given to me and to those around me, I will have no time to indulge this disrespect as if delivered as respect.

And yet, it is in this act of distancing myself from this that I endeavor, still, to give my respect, as living thing is due. A choice not to proffer respect is a choice, as any, and is due the respect of such a choice.

I will not tolerate, however, that my choices are disrespected.

My warning, then, I write here as I hold within my heart and mind: Disrespect will be respected with distance; and those who make an enemy of me, though pushing for me to take up their disrespectful behavior, will be met with a stern hand and mind. For, though I respect my enemies, too, I do as I must to send them back to the just place /of their choosing/ - until they learn to respect me in mine.

Written By Dianna

March 10, 2020, 9:48 p.m.(11/26/1012 AR)

Warmth in the midst of autumn's chill,
Are you, my dear, giant bear.

(I wish I could write better poetry than this, and I shall try, on my own.

My mind, as yet, halts in the sudden emotion. How silly of me, when I can look into mirrors for days on end, and find truth so easily.)

Written By Dianna

March 8, 2020, 6:59 p.m.(11/22/1012 AR)

My cousin, the Duchess, writes that it is sometimes quite difficult to comprehend meanings when words are merely written.

I can attest to this truth, particularly with a recent slew of missives; but what I have learned most is this:

It is so much easier to remove oneself emotionally from another - for better or for worse - when one is at a distance to them. No line of sight means one is content with their own world, with their own perceptions of it. The lack of immediate responses means that one may prattle on to oneself with but the idea of another's attentive ear.

The effect is much like weapons practice: While one might find oneself a master marksman while practicing strikes against a training dummy, those same strikes - when brandished against an opponent - may quite easily be knocked away. Simultaneously, one's vulnerabilities can not easily be learned if one fights only with an immovable, inanimate object.

Such is how, I find, an argument to be while hashing out a point with another via missive.

And, I shall wrest from my mind the inclination to do so again, for I've seen more than once such one-sided 'conversations' - penned even by my own hand - devolve into disaster that might be otherwise be avoided with but time spent in true, face-to-face conversation.

Gods know I have become inclined to even sorting out my own mind best when faced with my own expression, with my own eyes in a mirrored surface; how much more dire is it to watch those expressions, to gather all the information one might hear from those whose minds are not so easily accessible as our very own?

Written By Dianna

March 6, 2020, 7:20 a.m.(11/17/1012 AR)

It is incredible to me that a singular man can have such a profound impact upon so many with but a single act.

I have been reminded of this by others, in the opposite: Heroes instead of villains who protect so many with a singular act rather than harming so many.

I watched as a family dispute rippled its darkness into extended family, friends and strangers, tainting all for hours upon hours, days upon days both before and - very likely - afterwards.

I should know, already, that this is possible, for all things have their reflections.

It is, however, with startling and riveting awareness that I come to this knowledge first-hand - and have made my choice, henceforth, even as I had made it in wish and dream and theory before.

Every action has a consequence. Every choice we make, as well.

And every good and gentle soul has their reflection, as strong and vibrant in their effects.

I am grateful for this awareness, as terrible as it has felt to come to this truth; for I may now pass on this knowledge, distilled by my mind.

I extend to those who may happen upon these thoughts and words of mine, written on this page:

Be careful of your choices, of your reactions and responses to darkness - even if it should harm you. We all have a responsibility to our higher ideals, to our best selves, to those we love; and we may choose to show it, or to pass on our harm.

But, we have a choice. And not all thoughts need be acted upon.

Written By Dianna

March 3, 2020, 9:07 p.m.(11/12/1012 AR)

I am reminded over and again of the philosophy of compassion, despite - or perhaps, because of - those who challenge me and those around me.

I thank the gods I was raised in the Lyceum; and for all that taught me.

I thank the gods for my parents and their gentle, true love shown always to me and my sister in so many ways.

For all of the difficulties that may arise in one's life, I thank the gods for keeping a balance in mine - and for the bounteous joys and love with which I have been blessed.

It is said, I have heard, that Mirrormasks are often found to be dwelling most often in darkness. And yet, as Third Reflection, I find that, if I do not share my time in gazing deeply into the darkness of myself - as well as in helping others gaze into their darkness - while balancing both my own and others' darkness with the light, it is so very, very easy to forget that /both/ exist, simultaneously.

We must never forget that both sides exist; that both must be respected - and that, to act overmuch on one side upsets the balance for both.

But /we/ choose where we find our focus.

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