Written By Serafine
Jan. 5, 2017, 4:03 p.m.(8/1/1005 AR)
"A bare shoulder peeks from a coverlet as white as snow. She is at rest, this beautiful bird, with her broad wings and long legs.
"She breathes and the landscape shifts. Rises, falls, more valleys and mountains created and destroyed in a fit of shifting movements.
"She smells of pine and clean sheets, sleep and warmth and the frantic passion of two people who delight in all the ways they fit together. There are bruises too, that paint the ache of power given and taken. Tangled hair, lips that twitch as she dreams of treasure and gold and campaigns won.
"There is a world beyond the doors and walls of this house, with fire and pain and betrayal, and here I am. Watching her, in this shelter created outside time, a reprisal in the moment before blood seeps in and we rise to meet it.
"And yet for now, I am here, and safe with her, and she with me, and I am in this moment, held to her chest, her hand in my hair, her breathing deep with solace and sleep."
"She breathes and the landscape shifts. Rises, falls, more valleys and mountains created and destroyed in a fit of shifting movements.
"She smells of pine and clean sheets, sleep and warmth and the frantic passion of two people who delight in all the ways they fit together. There are bruises too, that paint the ache of power given and taken. Tangled hair, lips that twitch as she dreams of treasure and gold and campaigns won.
"There is a world beyond the doors and walls of this house, with fire and pain and betrayal, and here I am. Watching her, in this shelter created outside time, a reprisal in the moment before blood seeps in and we rise to meet it.
"And yet for now, I am here, and safe with her, and she with me, and I am in this moment, held to her chest, her hand in my hair, her breathing deep with solace and sleep."
Written By Serafine
Jan. 5, 2017, 5:54 a.m.(7/28/1005 AR)
When does it stop -hurting-?
Written By Serafine
Jan. 3, 2017, 11:51 p.m.(7/24/1005 AR)
the warrior broken sought the wind
wandered paths she knew by heart
carried onward past the fields
slaughtered sovereigns, blown apart
it was the sea she found to be
the call of something dark, deep
it took the babes she wept upon
offered the warrior a place to sleep
she pried her armor from her skin
and threw her blades aside
striding over sand and surf
she surrendered all her pride
but 'fore the waves could embrace
the grieving warrior-mother
a song blew past and pulled along
a melody like no other.
clad in only sky she ran
across the ragged rocks
following a shadowed bird
warrior now a nimble fox
lilting song trailed through the air
like many-ribbons pulled tight
and drug the mother-warrior on
a lasso made of razor light
through the woods past man and beast
a meadow cleared away
and on her knees she fell bleeding
her feet raw and flayed
but oh the song, the magpie sang
it was the same for miles
this bird it perched upon a branch
and coaxed the woman's smile
"You've left behind all you lost,"
the magpie trilled to she,
"unstopped by pain or wounds,
"and your only star was me."
"pretty bird," the woman said,
"your song 'twas pulled me away
"from the brink of ever-sleep,
"how do you have this sway?'
"I collect pretty things,"
"I gather all that I find,
"you, your heart, is pretty too,
"and I'd like to make you mine."
the magpie brought her through the pain
the wounds of loss and grief
and took her off beyond its pale
to the peace of green relief
she won her over, the magpie did
and to this day it's clear to see
at night in summer's highest slumber
the magpie watches over the sea
and just above her edged in green
a warrior clad in only sky
is held aloft on sable wings
her chin and eyes angled high.
wandered paths she knew by heart
carried onward past the fields
slaughtered sovereigns, blown apart
it was the sea she found to be
the call of something dark, deep
it took the babes she wept upon
offered the warrior a place to sleep
she pried her armor from her skin
and threw her blades aside
striding over sand and surf
she surrendered all her pride
but 'fore the waves could embrace
the grieving warrior-mother
a song blew past and pulled along
a melody like no other.
clad in only sky she ran
across the ragged rocks
following a shadowed bird
warrior now a nimble fox
lilting song trailed through the air
like many-ribbons pulled tight
and drug the mother-warrior on
a lasso made of razor light
through the woods past man and beast
a meadow cleared away
and on her knees she fell bleeding
her feet raw and flayed
but oh the song, the magpie sang
it was the same for miles
this bird it perched upon a branch
and coaxed the woman's smile
"You've left behind all you lost,"
the magpie trilled to she,
"unstopped by pain or wounds,
"and your only star was me."
"pretty bird," the woman said,
"your song 'twas pulled me away
"from the brink of ever-sleep,
"how do you have this sway?'
"I collect pretty things,"
"I gather all that I find,
"you, your heart, is pretty too,
"and I'd like to make you mine."
the magpie brought her through the pain
the wounds of loss and grief
and took her off beyond its pale
to the peace of green relief
she won her over, the magpie did
and to this day it's clear to see
at night in summer's highest slumber
the magpie watches over the sea
and just above her edged in green
a warrior clad in only sky
is held aloft on sable wings
her chin and eyes angled high.
Written By Serafine
Jan. 3, 2017, 11:48 p.m.(7/24/1005 AR)
[incoherent doodles of tall pale beings and smaller, shambling, hunched figures]
Written By Serafine
Jan. 3, 2017, 2:03 a.m.(7/21/1005 AR)
The scouting party was successful, in that no one died and we learned more about the enemy.
I am tired, heading to the House of Solace with Leta to get us both patched up.
The Bringer was bigger than the last two I tussled with. And he had clothes. And seven undead Shavs at his beck and call.
Also apparently, the watchers of the woods don't like scarred ladies in their trees. What's up with that?
I am tired, heading to the House of Solace with Leta to get us both patched up.
The Bringer was bigger than the last two I tussled with. And he had clothes. And seven undead Shavs at his beck and call.
Also apparently, the watchers of the woods don't like scarred ladies in their trees. What's up with that?
Written By Serafine
Jan. 2, 2017, 4:36 a.m.(7/19/1005 AR)
Note to self: Get that other set of leathers as soon as possible. Dresses are nice but everyone has one, and it seems they bring little in the way of street credit.
Written By Serafine
Jan. 2, 2017, 2:42 a.m.(7/18/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Jeremiah
It's getting to be I can't turn around without running into a Prodigal with an accent I recognize, at least enough to greet and curse fluently.
I love it. Makes me feel a little more grounded to hear a voice I could have heard elsewhere in less complicated times.
I love it. Makes me feel a little more grounded to hear a voice I could have heard elsewhere in less complicated times.
Written By Serafine
Jan. 1, 2017, 10:47 p.m.(7/18/1005 AR)
Finally found a use for the furniture Mother left behind, a whole set of mahogany furniture Father had crafted for her. It's been sitting aside getting dusty but a little oil and some elbow grease, and a fine thing to loan a friend. I hope she likes it.
...damn. I should perhaps -tell her- that it's on loan. She might be vexed with me...
...damn. I should perhaps -tell her- that it's on loan. She might be vexed with me...
Written By Serafine
Jan. 1, 2017, 6:56 p.m.(7/17/1005 AR)
I have never fussed over my appearance before in my life and here I am, staring at bolts of green fabric, trying to find the right shade from memory, testing how it fits and drapes, because yes, it needs to be right.
Yes, I'm commissioning a dress. From whom, I've no idea yet. Oy, youngin', I do enjoy dresses. Or, I have, I just don't need seven dozen of them. My favorite dress was stolen by my sister but it was a sound argument; blue is more her color than mine.
Know any good clothiers? I could use some help.
Yes, I'm commissioning a dress. From whom, I've no idea yet. Oy, youngin', I do enjoy dresses. Or, I have, I just don't need seven dozen of them. My favorite dress was stolen by my sister but it was a sound argument; blue is more her color than mine.
Know any good clothiers? I could use some help.
Written By Serafine
Dec. 31, 2016, 4:17 p.m.(7/14/1005 AR)
Of course you can't take the Lycene out of the man. They wedge that particular bit in deep and seal it with sap.
Written By Serafine
Dec. 30, 2016, 3:29 a.m.(7/10/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Leta
The more time I spend with this woman, the more I like her.
She moves with pride and the swagger of some cheeky predator, her face as expressive and as easy to read as any book. Sometimes.
Other times, she's a walking mystery. And I've only just begun to learn about her.
More. I wish to know more.
She moves with pride and the swagger of some cheeky predator, her face as expressive and as easy to read as any book. Sometimes.
Other times, she's a walking mystery. And I've only just begun to learn about her.
More. I wish to know more.
Written By Serafine
Dec. 29, 2016, 4:22 a.m.(7/7/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Leta
Had a long winded discussion about weapons and bladework in the Grotto with Leta this evening, after a failed attempt to pair fight two other fighters.
It was a good learning experience (the fight), and an intriguing meeting (at the Grotto).
I hope the others didn't find us rude, but honestly, I didn't notice much beyond Leta.
What a remarkable person. I look forward to seeing her again.
It was a good learning experience (the fight), and an intriguing meeting (at the Grotto).
I hope the others didn't find us rude, but honestly, I didn't notice much beyond Leta.
What a remarkable person. I look forward to seeing her again.
Written By Serafine
Dec. 28, 2016, 11:28 p.m.(7/6/1005 AR)
More and more these days I feel as rootless as I did guarding caravans, before I found the People.
No home, no foundation. No binding connections beyond Eleyna.
What am I looking for? I'll never have what had before.
Maybe that's the real problem?
No home, no foundation. No binding connections beyond Eleyna.
What am I looking for? I'll never have what had before.
Maybe that's the real problem?
Written By Serafine
Dec. 27, 2016, 2:39 a.m.(6/28/1005 AR)
Four rounds in the Training Center, a winning streak that was an interesting mix. Even a little perplexing.
Written By Serafine
Dec. 22, 2016, 7:07 p.m.(6/16/1005 AR)
[It is noted by the scholar that Serafine Velenosa came in and as has been done previous, sang a song, smiled, and left, but the diligent scholar got down every word]
It was on one bright March morning I bid Setarco 'good bye'
and I took the road to another town my fortune to retry.
I cursed all my foreign money, no credit could I gain,
which filled my heart with longing
for the shores of the Saffron Chain.
I stepped on board a coastal skiff
beneath the morning sun.
I rode the winds 'til evening and I laid me down again.
All strangers there, no friends to me until a dark girl towards me came,
and I fell in love with an island girl by the shores of the Saffron Chain.
I said, "My pretty island girl, my money here's no good,
and if it weren't for the alligators
I'd sleep out in the wood."
"You're welcome here, kind stranger. Our house is very plain,
but we never turned a stranger out on the banks of the Saffron Chain."
She took me into her mother's house and she treated me right well.
The hair upon her shoulders in jet black ringlets fell.
To try to paint her beauty I'm sure 't would be in vain,
So handsome was my island girl by the shores of the Saffron Chain.
I asked her if she'd marry me, she said that this could never be,
for she had got a lover and he was far at sea.
She said that she would wait for him and true she would remain
until he'd return to his island girl
by the shores of the Saffron Chain.
So fare thee well, my bonny own girl, I never may see you more,
but I'll ne'er forget your kindness in the cottage by the shore,
and at each social gathering a flowing glass I'll drain,
and I'll drink a health to my island girl
by the shores of the Saffron Chain.*
[*adopted from an old Irish song called 'The Lakes of Pontchartrain', adjusted for Arx. I highly recommend the version sung by Aiofe O'Donovan]
It was on one bright March morning I bid Setarco 'good bye'
and I took the road to another town my fortune to retry.
I cursed all my foreign money, no credit could I gain,
which filled my heart with longing
for the shores of the Saffron Chain.
I stepped on board a coastal skiff
beneath the morning sun.
I rode the winds 'til evening and I laid me down again.
All strangers there, no friends to me until a dark girl towards me came,
and I fell in love with an island girl by the shores of the Saffron Chain.
I said, "My pretty island girl, my money here's no good,
and if it weren't for the alligators
I'd sleep out in the wood."
"You're welcome here, kind stranger. Our house is very plain,
but we never turned a stranger out on the banks of the Saffron Chain."
She took me into her mother's house and she treated me right well.
The hair upon her shoulders in jet black ringlets fell.
To try to paint her beauty I'm sure 't would be in vain,
So handsome was my island girl by the shores of the Saffron Chain.
I asked her if she'd marry me, she said that this could never be,
for she had got a lover and he was far at sea.
She said that she would wait for him and true she would remain
until he'd return to his island girl
by the shores of the Saffron Chain.
So fare thee well, my bonny own girl, I never may see you more,
but I'll ne'er forget your kindness in the cottage by the shore,
and at each social gathering a flowing glass I'll drain,
and I'll drink a health to my island girl
by the shores of the Saffron Chain.*
[*adopted from an old Irish song called 'The Lakes of Pontchartrain', adjusted for Arx. I highly recommend the version sung by Aiofe O'Donovan]
Written By Serafine
Dec. 18, 2016, 11:59 p.m.(6/4/1005 AR)
Sometimes it takes a stranger speaking softly to finally listen to the same words loved ones have shouted at you for days.
Written By Serafine
Dec. 18, 2016, 9:59 p.m.(6/4/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Garza
All angles and smoke. What you see is what you get, but that doesn't mean he isn't hiding more. He looks like he might even have some edges under those sleeves.
Long edges. The kind that pierce the retinas and straight to the gray matter underneath.
I like him. Jerk.
Long edges. The kind that pierce the retinas and straight to the gray matter underneath.
I like him. Jerk.
Written By Serafine
Dec. 18, 2016, 9:58 p.m.(6/4/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Julea
Garza called her 'tough and cute'.
He ain't wrong.
He ain't wrong.
Written By Serafine
Dec. 18, 2016, 9:28 p.m.(6/4/1005 AR)
If I hear another poet pouring sonnets and shite at me or within earshot, I might take up throwing daggers just to stab one in the bloody ey-
Written By Serafine
Dec. 17, 2016, 1:23 p.m.(5/28/1005 AR)
Wrestling in the furs leads to no loser.
Unless your partner is a jackass.
Unless your partner is a jackass.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.