Written By Merida
May 23, 2017, 11:31 a.m.(7/7/1006 AR)
I've never been one to write much, but I find as of late I need to express my thoughts. Returning home from a my years at sea, frolicking in the blood and sea spray, I find Arx a changed landscape. Those at Maelstrom would hardly believe it even if they saw it themselves. And while I have been welcomed home by my beloved uncle with open arms, and given a seat of respect and power (a ship of my own, and a new weapon, oh how my heart soars!), the changes are unsettling enough.
While I'm pleased, and a tad smug, to find women have been cast in a more favourable light, no longer just the pretty political toys and well dressed wenches, I find more has changed, an oozing sense of change and pollution that threatens to change everything we have held dear for centuries. I watch the line between land and sea blur, I hear Mangata wail and weap, and it boils a rage in me that has me awake at night, near tearing at my own skin in rabid frustration.
This rotten tide will stop. The House of Grimhall holds firm against the onslaught. And my children will one day be raised as we have always been.
Pleasantries are also such rotten lies. I see the true face behind many. I can respect a man like Abbas Thrax who is no more than what he appears to be (oh and is he not great as he is, when I look at him, I see Mangata's will and power made flesh. There is no man more Thrax than the Warlord Prince). Fuck all the titles and formalities. Fuck all graces. We are men and women, we are all monsters. And when we die, our titles will not keep our hearts from stopping.
And while it tears me apart, while it drives me mad, I will keep my urges at bay, and stand with enough honour not to disappoint my uncle, more a father to me than mine ever was. And I bend my knee before the mighty House of Thrax.
While I'm pleased, and a tad smug, to find women have been cast in a more favourable light, no longer just the pretty political toys and well dressed wenches, I find more has changed, an oozing sense of change and pollution that threatens to change everything we have held dear for centuries. I watch the line between land and sea blur, I hear Mangata wail and weap, and it boils a rage in me that has me awake at night, near tearing at my own skin in rabid frustration.
This rotten tide will stop. The House of Grimhall holds firm against the onslaught. And my children will one day be raised as we have always been.
Pleasantries are also such rotten lies. I see the true face behind many. I can respect a man like Abbas Thrax who is no more than what he appears to be (oh and is he not great as he is, when I look at him, I see Mangata's will and power made flesh. There is no man more Thrax than the Warlord Prince). Fuck all the titles and formalities. Fuck all graces. We are men and women, we are all monsters. And when we die, our titles will not keep our hearts from stopping.
And while it tears me apart, while it drives me mad, I will keep my urges at bay, and stand with enough honour not to disappoint my uncle, more a father to me than mine ever was. And I bend my knee before the mighty House of Thrax.
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