Written By Raemond
Dec. 25, 2022, 2:45 p.m.(2/11/1019 AR)
Unexpected paths open before us all the time. A circumstance, an event, a step in the wrong (or right?) direction can lead us to a destination we don't expect. Loss can lead to gain, grief and tragedy to triumph. Feast to famine, overabundance to later lack. Push and pull, swing and retreat and then ... stillness, before the heart beats again and life returns. A new choice, walking forward.
I've much to be appreciative of. Who knew losing an eye could lead to so much wealth?
Hm? No, scholar. Not that kind of wealth.
I've much to be appreciative of. Who knew losing an eye could lead to so much wealth?
Hm? No, scholar. Not that kind of wealth.
Written By Raemond
Dec. 20, 2022, 12:39 p.m.(2/1/1019 AR)
Stepping foot on the docks in what can't have been longer than a few years, everything feels different. The atmosphere of a city can change as surely as a forest on fire, and here there is nothing but smoke. Outwardly nothing seems different; the fishmongers make their cries, wares offered at a screech or a call, hagglers and their arguments about what is better: fresh caught or days on ice. The smell of the sea is fetid here, stale as only a dock can be. I'll never grow tired of it.
The labors of living come to us all differently, the efforts of those higher born and those lower are painted from different palettes, with rungs for both to change their circumstance for the better. A bevy of traditions that have served us for centuries into memory, from criminal to High Lord. So many have thrived on benefits for as long as our cultures have gone on breathing despite the squalling complaints of lazy nobles that squat in the shadows of their betters. As if change makes everything better. As if it doesn't rake against what has stood the test of time, doesn't upset the lives of innocents, or outright rob them for the moral comforts of so few.
Hello, Arx. You smell as deliciously complicated and hypocritical as ever. I look forward to our discourse.
The labors of living come to us all differently, the efforts of those higher born and those lower are painted from different palettes, with rungs for both to change their circumstance for the better. A bevy of traditions that have served us for centuries into memory, from criminal to High Lord. So many have thrived on benefits for as long as our cultures have gone on breathing despite the squalling complaints of lazy nobles that squat in the shadows of their betters. As if change makes everything better. As if it doesn't rake against what has stood the test of time, doesn't upset the lives of innocents, or outright rob them for the moral comforts of so few.
Hello, Arx. You smell as deliciously complicated and hypocritical as ever. I look forward to our discourse.
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