Written By Viviana
July 8, 2024, 6:21 p.m.(8/9/1022 AR)
Climbing onto the stone ramparts, I feel the cool, rough texture beneath my fingertips and breathe in the warm air tinged with salt. The view reveals the northeastern walls of the city under a brilliant blue sky. I hear my whispers through the battlements, accompanied by the distant call of a bird of prey - a hawk, of some sort - and the rhythmic echo of my footsteps. Leaning against a parapet, I feel the sun warm my face, soaking in the moment's peace.
-- it's almost *too* peaceful.
-- it's almost *too* peaceful.
Written By Viviana
June 23, 2024, 7:01 a.m.(7/6/1022 AR)
[ from the entirely too disorganized shipboard notes from V. Whisper, cavalier, corsair, and yes -- courtier: ]
speaking with the Crimson Countess is not for the weak of heart.
speaking with the Crimson Countess is not for the weak of heart.
Written By Viviana
May 28, 2024, 1:14 p.m.(5/10/1022 AR)
In the sky there doesn't seem to be any limit -- just expanse, an endless exploration.
Now, the seas feel this way.
Solaris -- my newly minted vessel, hopefully, the new lead of a potential fleet that will follow. Being at sea is a blend of tranquility and thrill that's bound to the rhythms of nature. It's a feeling of losing one's self, a momentary escape from the ground-bound ties.
I imagine that flying feels the same.
Now, the seas feel this way.
Solaris -- my newly minted vessel, hopefully, the new lead of a potential fleet that will follow. Being at sea is a blend of tranquility and thrill that's bound to the rhythms of nature. It's a feeling of losing one's self, a momentary escape from the ground-bound ties.
I imagine that flying feels the same.
Written By Viviana
May 12, 2024, 8:17 p.m.(4/7/1022 AR)
I refuse to be bound by expectations. One day, I will be a Queenmaker.
Perhaps even more than this --
Perhaps even more than this --
Written By Viviana
May 5, 2024, 9:20 p.m.(3/21/1022 AR)
A sea of ghost ships -- skeletons -- and cracked black glass.
Written By Viviana
April 10, 2024, 10:06 p.m.(1/27/1022 AR)
I've a song in my heart.
Foot tap-tap-tap, boot thump-thump-thump. Heart thrum-thrum-thrum. Fingers on the pulse of the world around me for the moment, in rhythm, stepping into the training ring with the familiarity of greeting a long-lost lover. I circle the perimeter of the space, stretching my legs in a walk, curling my hands toward the sky above in a spine-lengthening stretch as I consider the faceless others training and watching. I offer anyone in the benches a bow, loose-limbed, duelist-cocky - removing the peace-ties on Gloaming before I salute them all with the blade.
I claim the space around me, presence emphasized by the live diamondplate that I wield for *fun* against myself. My smile is a lazy, privately amused sort of thing - for me, myself - alone. Tracing the tip of the rapier to the sand as I circle once, creating an outline as though the sword were quill. It isn't, but I must put forth the same meticulous care required for calligraphy - leaping once midway, a dancer warming up. I close the spiral, tight, switching the sword from my off-hand - the one that escapes the periphery of my sightless (but insightful) left eye -- to the left hand, dominant, and I start to dance with her blade, against an unseen opponent.
I turn - once, twice, and leap forward. A doe across rushing water. Some Lycene duelists give their various moves names that sound like poetry. Maybe it is. Thrust, to the heart of the unseen opponent, between the ribs. I hiss through my teeth, bright green eye narrowing with vicious joy -- shamelessly enjoying myself, this sparring match against a shadow of a cantrip that provides me with a passing entertainment. The shadow disperses like ink dropped into water. Then, a few steps ahead -- it takes shape again, edges glittering sky-iron sharp. I feint too soon, roll into a hit, then deflect the next strike and dance back --
Foot tap-tap-tap, boot thump-thump-thump. Heart thrum-thrum-thrum. Fingers on the pulse of the world around me for the moment, in rhythm, stepping into the training ring with the familiarity of greeting a long-lost lover. I circle the perimeter of the space, stretching my legs in a walk, curling my hands toward the sky above in a spine-lengthening stretch as I consider the faceless others training and watching. I offer anyone in the benches a bow, loose-limbed, duelist-cocky - removing the peace-ties on Gloaming before I salute them all with the blade.
I claim the space around me, presence emphasized by the live diamondplate that I wield for *fun* against myself. My smile is a lazy, privately amused sort of thing - for me, myself - alone. Tracing the tip of the rapier to the sand as I circle once, creating an outline as though the sword were quill. It isn't, but I must put forth the same meticulous care required for calligraphy - leaping once midway, a dancer warming up. I close the spiral, tight, switching the sword from my off-hand - the one that escapes the periphery of my sightless (but insightful) left eye -- to the left hand, dominant, and I start to dance with her blade, against an unseen opponent.
I turn - once, twice, and leap forward. A doe across rushing water. Some Lycene duelists give their various moves names that sound like poetry. Maybe it is. Thrust, to the heart of the unseen opponent, between the ribs. I hiss through my teeth, bright green eye narrowing with vicious joy -- shamelessly enjoying myself, this sparring match against a shadow of a cantrip that provides me with a passing entertainment. The shadow disperses like ink dropped into water. Then, a few steps ahead -- it takes shape again, edges glittering sky-iron sharp. I feint too soon, roll into a hit, then deflect the next strike and dance back --
Written By Viviana
Feb. 4, 2024, 10:29 a.m.(9/6/1021 AR)
To the enemies of the Compact, past and future --
Get well never.
Always,
V.
Get well never.
Always,
V.
Written By Viviana
Jan. 30, 2024, 12:56 p.m.(8/24/1021 AR)
We broke the siege.
There were dragons --
Thank you, Blessed Felix Meadson, for the storta you made for me when I first returned from Setarco and joined the Champions. Sundown meant so much, and I sacrificed her in defense of the city.
Thank you, Mirari Corsetina, master weaponsmith for the glorious rapier that you crafted for me mere days before the final siege. Vanity was beautiful -- and she served me well, with my magic as I danced with my blade on the deck of Freedom's Phantasm in the bloody rain.
Thank you, Aleksei Morgan, for saving my life. I owe you. Nothing huge. Like a buddy punch to the shoulder. Maybe a firm handshake.
Thank you, Lianne -- for your practicality and foresight.
There were bigger sacrifices, but those are not my stories to tell.
With magic.
We are magic.
We will never forget.
There were dragons --
Thank you, Blessed Felix Meadson, for the storta you made for me when I first returned from Setarco and joined the Champions. Sundown meant so much, and I sacrificed her in defense of the city.
Thank you, Mirari Corsetina, master weaponsmith for the glorious rapier that you crafted for me mere days before the final siege. Vanity was beautiful -- and she served me well, with my magic as I danced with my blade on the deck of Freedom's Phantasm in the bloody rain.
Thank you, Aleksei Morgan, for saving my life. I owe you. Nothing huge. Like a buddy punch to the shoulder. Maybe a firm handshake.
Thank you, Lianne -- for your practicality and foresight.
There were bigger sacrifices, but those are not my stories to tell.
With magic.
We are magic.
We will never forget.
Written By Viviana
Jan. 19, 2024, 6:24 a.m.(8/2/1021 AR)
My sword, forged from star iron, Nightfall -- I wield against the enemies of the city we hold close to our hearts, in service of the Whisper House.
Written By Viviana
Jan. 12, 2024, 11:21 p.m.(7/17/1021 AR)
She was there all along --
Verona.
It amazes the fuck out of me. She amazes me.
I would be vague, but, she is I and we.
Never do I regret it, saving her, me - myself - and her -- that she deserved that right eye.
Here's to our future.
No matter what side of the reflection glass you're borne on.
Verona.
It amazes the fuck out of me. She amazes me.
I would be vague, but, she is I and we.
Never do I regret it, saving her, me - myself - and her -- that she deserved that right eye.
Here's to our future.
No matter what side of the reflection glass you're borne on.
Written By Viviana
Nov. 13, 2023, 1:16 a.m.(3/7/1021 AR)
I am unfamiliar with so much about what makes us.
On the surface, I wonder if the composition of our bloody humors are similar to that of sea water -- it would make so much sense -- why my head and my heart keep getting pulled to the beaches, eye on that horizon.
I await spring.
On the surface, I wonder if the composition of our bloody humors are similar to that of sea water -- it would make so much sense -- why my head and my heart keep getting pulled to the beaches, eye on that horizon.
I await spring.
Written By Viviana
Nov. 9, 2023, 3:49 a.m.(2/28/1021 AR)
Not the brightest - not the sweetest --
But, I'll accept being the sharpest Whisper.
But, I'll accept being the sharpest Whisper.
Written By Viviana
Nov. 6, 2023, 9:52 a.m.(2/22/1021 AR)
When you close your eyes and take a deep breath, savoring the moment.
You are
(alive --)
at sea, and there
is nowhere else you
(me, we, us and her and them)
would rather be.
You are
(alive --)
at sea, and there
is nowhere else you
(me, we, us and her and them)
would rather be.
Written By Viviana
Nov. 5, 2023, 3:03 p.m.(2/20/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Galatea
A most elegant alchemist.
Written By Viviana
Nov. 5, 2023, 3:02 p.m.(2/20/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Ravana
A ravishingly ambitious entrepreneur.
Written By Viviana
April 4, 2022, 11:12 p.m.(5/27/1017 AR)
I think that I can finally -- finally see the floor of my suite of rooms.
Just.
Never open the wardrobe door or you'll find yourself smothered by silks and leathers.
Just.
Never open the wardrobe door or you'll find yourself smothered by silks and leathers.
Written By Viviana
March 13, 2022, 7:51 p.m.(4/11/1017 AR)
Viviana Pravus. Apprentice Whisper. Protégé of Marquessa Avita Seraceni. Minister of Income for the March of Ischia. Former Sword of Setarco. Former Princess. Currently, preening --
Watch out Compact.
Watch out Compact.
Written By Viviana
March 5, 2022, 2:17 p.m.(3/22/1017 AR)
Ten years ago, I read a love story in the Archive that moved me to tears -- recently, I read it over again. What's written of it, and public. It's beauty and loss. It reminds me of a sunrise. Sunrises are so transitory. Life is, really. It's so short. I want a story like that. I want beauty and loss. I want sunrises and sunsets. I want more of all of it. I want to hear more stories and fight more monsters and free those bound against their will. It reminds me of my own choices, made for myself -- made for new beginnings -- made for the delicious unknown of the future -- made for freedom.
Written By Viviana
March 5, 2022, 2:05 p.m.(3/22/1017 AR)
Leila's taking dictation, which I appreciate, as I am still a little too fucking drunk and high to hold a quill.
I relived it. Me told me to run. I froze. Because I thought about us. I thought about those few steps I took in Grayhold, at Bastion, before I left to help others evacuate. Those insects. Hate them. I was gone. Then, the voices cut through and the thick of the fight was suddenly -- loud, obtrusive, real, foul -- and I let it go. There's nothing of the coward in that. I realized that. I never thought to thank us for that. I took it personally. I took it to heart. I took it to my core, and I'm not lying if I say that I still think that it could be a coward's move. But -- that was the turning point, wasn't it.
No, it's not a question, Lei. Statement. It was the turning of the point. It's not cowardice. Perhaps it's selfishness.
I'll deal with that.
I relived it. Me told me to run. I froze. Because I thought about us. I thought about those few steps I took in Grayhold, at Bastion, before I left to help others evacuate. Those insects. Hate them. I was gone. Then, the voices cut through and the thick of the fight was suddenly -- loud, obtrusive, real, foul -- and I let it go. There's nothing of the coward in that. I realized that. I never thought to thank us for that. I took it personally. I took it to heart. I took it to my core, and I'm not lying if I say that I still think that it could be a coward's move. But -- that was the turning point, wasn't it.
No, it's not a question, Lei. Statement. It was the turning of the point. It's not cowardice. Perhaps it's selfishness.
I'll deal with that.
Written By Viviana
March 4, 2022, 3:52 p.m.(3/20/1017 AR)
Goodness. When one asks for assistance in the written word -- one receives it. I am ever appreciative.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.