Written By Martino
Jan. 17, 2024, 4:18 a.m.(7/26/1021 AR)
There is not any other sound to that of an entire city bracing itself for war.
There is not any other sound than families handing their trusted weapon to the eldest child.
There is not any other sound than that of one bidding farewell to children they may never see again.
There is not any other sound than victory when those who will take everything with us will be defeated.
Neither by chance nor by fate will House Malvici allow this to be our end.
There is not any other sound than families handing their trusted weapon to the eldest child.
There is not any other sound than that of one bidding farewell to children they may never see again.
There is not any other sound than victory when those who will take everything with us will be defeated.
Neither by chance nor by fate will House Malvici allow this to be our end.
Written By Fatima
Jan. 17, 2024, 2:14 a.m.(7/25/1021 AR)
Day 8:
There are a lot of spiders in the world. A lot. Sometimes they are our friends.
Obsidian, Fractal and not your friend, is trying to awaken the Sleeper. There is something precious in Eurus. The armies of the Dune Emperor stand between us and that precious thing. Best way to defeat a large army is with another large army and a sound plan.
Telling your allies to "piss off" is excellent diplomacy.
There are a lot of spiders in the world. A lot. Sometimes they are our friends.
Obsidian, Fractal and not your friend, is trying to awaken the Sleeper. There is something precious in Eurus. The armies of the Dune Emperor stand between us and that precious thing. Best way to defeat a large army is with another large army and a sound plan.
Telling your allies to "piss off" is excellent diplomacy.
Written By Fatima
Jan. 17, 2024, 1:52 a.m.(7/25/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Raymesin
My fight in Eurus is every bit as important as the fight in Arvum. Those who cannot see this, will soon enough.
We all know you are more than a mere pauper, Paladin of Death.
And I am more than just a fancy metal hat.
We all know you are more than a mere pauper, Paladin of Death.
And I am more than just a fancy metal hat.
Written By Geralt
Jan. 17, 2024, 12:31 a.m.(7/25/1021 AR)
Weird days to find myself where I am. Didn't expect to wake up the way I did today, but like I said, damn strange days. Over the years, I've seen my family shrink, either by death, marriage, and simply returning home. Eventually, the Hall got a lot emptier. And in the last year or so, it sometimes felt like I was standing watch over an empty building.
And now, everyone's lives have gone to shit in one way or another. We're running around, trying to make up whatever time we might got left, our own mortality suddenly sneaking up behind our collective asses and letting us know that we're all on borrowed time. Seems weird, don't it? A lot of folks, myself included, would say that you try to live everyday might be your last. And now, when we're all thinking the same thing, that there might be no tomorrow for anybody, every again. Well, changes things I feel like.
And that's why I got married on a lark, to a woman I don't know. Never did get married. Figure no better time than now.
Weird days. Figured I'd be living in the North forever. Couldn't see anything else past that. Didn't really want to. And now, instead of being Sword, I'm suddenly a Baron. Weird days. I don't regret it, but I don't think you should regret your actions. Good ones and bad ones, and the Spirits know just how many bad choices I've made in my life. Terrible ones. Can't take them back. What I do know that after a number of them, I'd spit on Asger's grave for the shit he pulled while he was still breathing. Idiot.
So. Got married. Gonna find myself in Lenosia soon, defending a people I don't know. People that aren't my own. But I also think that shit like that shouldn't matter anymore. If there's one thing that'll reduce a person to their base, it's the realization that everyone, not some house, or even a country might die, but everything will.
Weird days.
So I don't care where I fight, I just want it to mean something. Make it worthwhile. I've drank and eaten and slept to my heart's content over these last couple of decades. And it was *fun*. But was it worthwhile? Did it mean something? Shit, I don't know anymore. I like to think it did. But now, hey, I think this might mean something, even if it's something new. Something strange. Something weird.
Weird days. Yeah. Weird.
And now, everyone's lives have gone to shit in one way or another. We're running around, trying to make up whatever time we might got left, our own mortality suddenly sneaking up behind our collective asses and letting us know that we're all on borrowed time. Seems weird, don't it? A lot of folks, myself included, would say that you try to live everyday might be your last. And now, when we're all thinking the same thing, that there might be no tomorrow for anybody, every again. Well, changes things I feel like.
And that's why I got married on a lark, to a woman I don't know. Never did get married. Figure no better time than now.
Weird days. Figured I'd be living in the North forever. Couldn't see anything else past that. Didn't really want to. And now, instead of being Sword, I'm suddenly a Baron. Weird days. I don't regret it, but I don't think you should regret your actions. Good ones and bad ones, and the Spirits know just how many bad choices I've made in my life. Terrible ones. Can't take them back. What I do know that after a number of them, I'd spit on Asger's grave for the shit he pulled while he was still breathing. Idiot.
So. Got married. Gonna find myself in Lenosia soon, defending a people I don't know. People that aren't my own. But I also think that shit like that shouldn't matter anymore. If there's one thing that'll reduce a person to their base, it's the realization that everyone, not some house, or even a country might die, but everything will.
Weird days.
So I don't care where I fight, I just want it to mean something. Make it worthwhile. I've drank and eaten and slept to my heart's content over these last couple of decades. And it was *fun*. But was it worthwhile? Did it mean something? Shit, I don't know anymore. I like to think it did. But now, hey, I think this might mean something, even if it's something new. Something strange. Something weird.
Weird days. Yeah. Weird.
Written By Aconite
Jan. 16, 2024, 10:06 p.m.(7/25/1021 AR)
Excerpt from my Black Journals
Some overcame the loss of a sensation but I had not lost my sense of touch. My ability to feel. Instead.. I had to clothe it. To wrap myself so that she could not harm others. The fever-pitched faces of loved ones who'd gotten too close or somehow otherwise been exposed to my poison had each been devastating. One had almost died! I sulked in my room at the Villas in Tor. I'd been that way for over a month and it had been far, far too long for Alejandro's liking. If for no other reason than he was getting tired of standing outside my door and waiting to move like a well-trained dog.
"Because you cannot touch a rose, can you not appreciate its beauty?" The gruff Torean asked me. He was over twice my age and he had been there that night on the deserted beach when it had been Fidante, not my mother, that had come to collect me. "Because you cannot /be/ a noble does that mean you cannot /be/ noble? Come, little flower, try not to let the world get you down. For it is beautiful... this whole world is beautiful and you can be beautiful in it without touch. Without being touched."
I didn't cry even though I wished it. It was simply a rule. No tears, no surprise, no anxiety, or reason to sweat, no harm, no spilt blood. Perfect restrained poise that would not allow ANY mistake, any folly that would come of someone accidentally contacting or ingesting the poison that seeped from my very being. But my sullen episodes were epic and this one was no different... I barely spoke and just stared out her window at the people in their gorgeous frocks strolling through the garden below, the blossoms like colorful jewels sparkling in the sun. Loving them and being angry at them all at once.
"Can you feel the silk?" He changed his tactic. This man’s presence had become more like family over time. And thus over sixteen years they had become my beloved ‘Uncle Alejandro’ and I like his Niece. But ‘Jandro He was a good enough soldier to know when an Uncle was needed.
"The breath of lace across your wrist. The embrace of your sea silk gloves or the tickle of fur across your cheek when you wear your fur-lined cloak?" I remember turning towards him, eyes focused almost too intently, they felt like they were burning. He could see that I hadn't been sleeping and said I had less color in my cheeks. "You once told me that you didn't want to die just because you were ‘supposed to’. You are not dead.. you simply cannot touch someone who cannot resist your toxin. But you’re different. There are people out there who shouldn't be touched because they're more poisonous than you could ever be. You do not deserve a fate like them. Your heart is good and you see art and beauty in even the simplest things. You have always been special in that way. You genuinely love the pretty things you are given.” He gestured out the window, “You move the way they move and look. But you forget that because you think you are not allowed to touch, and that means you think that you are not allowed to feel. Do you think all these gifts should not be appreciated in every way?"
Carefully he reached down and picked up the edge of my fur-lined cloak and lifted it to brush against my cheek. "Can you feel that?" I nodded and the Champion smiled, an expression that threatened to crack his stony features. It was a little frightening.
"You are allowed to feel, little flower. You are allowed to be, to be all the things you wish, it will not stop anything or anything else from being beautiful. It will only add to the joy you see in everything. Allow yourself to feel it all. be as enamored with it as you are with your colors and design, taste, and architecture. Let yourself feel everything and I will do my best to continue to protect you from any accident or harm that might befall you."
After that I knew Alejandro wouldn’t ever let me harm anyone if he could prevent it, he may be a mostly dour unfeeling man but I knew that he truly took his duty to keep me and those around me safe very seriously. And I have almost never forgotten to let myself feel ever since...
Some overcame the loss of a sensation but I had not lost my sense of touch. My ability to feel. Instead.. I had to clothe it. To wrap myself so that she could not harm others. The fever-pitched faces of loved ones who'd gotten too close or somehow otherwise been exposed to my poison had each been devastating. One had almost died! I sulked in my room at the Villas in Tor. I'd been that way for over a month and it had been far, far too long for Alejandro's liking. If for no other reason than he was getting tired of standing outside my door and waiting to move like a well-trained dog.
"Because you cannot touch a rose, can you not appreciate its beauty?" The gruff Torean asked me. He was over twice my age and he had been there that night on the deserted beach when it had been Fidante, not my mother, that had come to collect me. "Because you cannot /be/ a noble does that mean you cannot /be/ noble? Come, little flower, try not to let the world get you down. For it is beautiful... this whole world is beautiful and you can be beautiful in it without touch. Without being touched."
I didn't cry even though I wished it. It was simply a rule. No tears, no surprise, no anxiety, or reason to sweat, no harm, no spilt blood. Perfect restrained poise that would not allow ANY mistake, any folly that would come of someone accidentally contacting or ingesting the poison that seeped from my very being. But my sullen episodes were epic and this one was no different... I barely spoke and just stared out her window at the people in their gorgeous frocks strolling through the garden below, the blossoms like colorful jewels sparkling in the sun. Loving them and being angry at them all at once.
"Can you feel the silk?" He changed his tactic. This man’s presence had become more like family over time. And thus over sixteen years they had become my beloved ‘Uncle Alejandro’ and I like his Niece. But ‘Jandro He was a good enough soldier to know when an Uncle was needed.
"The breath of lace across your wrist. The embrace of your sea silk gloves or the tickle of fur across your cheek when you wear your fur-lined cloak?" I remember turning towards him, eyes focused almost too intently, they felt like they were burning. He could see that I hadn't been sleeping and said I had less color in my cheeks. "You once told me that you didn't want to die just because you were ‘supposed to’. You are not dead.. you simply cannot touch someone who cannot resist your toxin. But you’re different. There are people out there who shouldn't be touched because they're more poisonous than you could ever be. You do not deserve a fate like them. Your heart is good and you see art and beauty in even the simplest things. You have always been special in that way. You genuinely love the pretty things you are given.” He gestured out the window, “You move the way they move and look. But you forget that because you think you are not allowed to touch, and that means you think that you are not allowed to feel. Do you think all these gifts should not be appreciated in every way?"
Carefully he reached down and picked up the edge of my fur-lined cloak and lifted it to brush against my cheek. "Can you feel that?" I nodded and the Champion smiled, an expression that threatened to crack his stony features. It was a little frightening.
"You are allowed to feel, little flower. You are allowed to be, to be all the things you wish, it will not stop anything or anything else from being beautiful. It will only add to the joy you see in everything. Allow yourself to feel it all. be as enamored with it as you are with your colors and design, taste, and architecture. Let yourself feel everything and I will do my best to continue to protect you from any accident or harm that might befall you."
After that I knew Alejandro wouldn’t ever let me harm anyone if he could prevent it, he may be a mostly dour unfeeling man but I knew that he truly took his duty to keep me and those around me safe very seriously. And I have almost never forgotten to let myself feel ever since...
Written By Aconite
Jan. 16, 2024, 9:37 p.m.(7/25/1021 AR)
From my Whites as a child:
They had told her to wait.
She stood, her tattered linen dress fluttering at her feet. She scrubbed an eye that burned from the smoke of the torch that burned next to her. Watching the strange floating orange whisps, the approaching light of torches, marching past the cove where the ships bobbed in moonlit waters.
They had said that this is where her mother would come to fetch her.
Her mother who had braided her hair and taught her silly dances that she said would be less silly when she grew into them. Long fingers and almost serpentine orange-gold eyes that greeted her every morning and put her to sleep every night. Her mother more than any one place her father had seized or lost was her home.
And so she stood obediently and waiting. She wanted to see her mother again, to be able to touch her face. To be comforted by that dark brown smell, both bitter and sweet. A darkly fruity scent that was reminiscent of treacle, plum, and figs. Warm. The smell of the resin her mother would burn to drive away from the fetid smells of warriors after battle...
Her mouth pursed in disconcertion as a child's intuition told her that those torches were not her Mother. There were too many and none of them were running to her! They were all moving.. too slow. Her lower lip quivered and she felt the fat tears threatening to run down her cheeks. But those were sacred things her mother had always said and so with a snorking-snuffle which drew a soft chuckle from the Champion left to guard her. Aconite drug her arm under her nose and hugged herself waiting to see who was going to come to greet her...
The man in the front wore the Fidante Crest, the white sword and roses. The men who had taken her originally. She turned liquid black eyes up at the stone-faced man and her fists balled, her chin raised high...
-----
She was warm in a cabin. Tucked in blankets, bathed, and given fresh warm clothes. Despite herself, the soft lull of the sea under the bow of the ship rocked her to sleep and wondered what life had in store and she dreamed of warm amber eyes and gentle fingers petting her hair as she slept.
-----
She only got sick after -leaving- the boat. The air was different, the water was different, everything was /different/ and the world weaved around her. She hung over the edge of the pier to empty the remaining rations she'd scarfed for breakfast into the sea.
The man, Alejandro, who had been assigned to attend to her gently nudged her shoulder once she was done and 'Aconite' stood and followed.
She wanted, very much, to -hate- this place. She wanted to hate everything about it. From their stupid gorgeous roses to their bedamned passion for life. They hadn't even gotten to the Villa yet when Aconite had already nearly run into two people and tripped over a cat because she was so distracted by the gardens, FLOWERS and the foreign designs and fabrics that seemed unreal to her inexperienced eyes.
Alejandro led Aco in through the scullery. gently nudging her to have a seat at a table while he went off to report to his superiors they had arrived. She lifted her hands, carefully bound in rags as if she'd been burned, to rest on the table as her booted feet scuffed. Tears threatened again but she sunk her teeth into her cheek to keep herself from crying, resulting in a particularly ludicrous expression.
The kitchens were his 'domain' in those days- His Mama had started working for the Fidante as a scullery maid two winters prior and by the time Aconite arrived he was already a common part of the household staff. He was a precocious young man with a knack for herbs and a head for books, one who was invested in learning how to help people.
At an age when play begins to wane and real responsibility starts to rear its head, that's when he met Aconite, she looked so small and she was clearly sick from the sea... he had heard that long sea journeys were dangerous. He marveled that this little person had made it across so vast a thing and he spoke softly to her as he looked through jar after jar, glancing over his shoulder in his efforts to find her something for that stomach ache.
It wasn't his place to give her the sprig of mint but Orick never did know how to follow ALL the rules and he set it down on the table with a promise, "Chew on this and plug your finger over your left ear-" Pointing to the left side of her head. "It'll make your tummy feel better." In case she didn't understand he mimed the act with animated flair and tried to make her smile despite her discomfort...
He was older than her but he was scrawny. And he was talking to her in a language she didn't understand but Aco could recognize someone who wanted to be helpful. She shoved the heel of her hand into one eye and sullenly scrubbed at it until it stopped threatening to spill tears.
Aco was quiet, her large endless black eyes investigating everything in this strange kitchen. The weird smells were distracting but not unpleasant. And the strange smell from the jagged little green leaf Orick held out to her made her tilt her head. It took a few tries but finally, 'chew' followed by the Young Apothecary putting his hand to his mouth she took the leaf and repeated, 'chew.' She wasn't sure why her finger had to go into her ear but she figured it was some sort of custom so she complied. He had made such a little play of it.
The sound of adult footsteps scared him off and he sent her a promising smile before running off to hide in a pantry down the hall and listen to the adults discuss her fate.
She kept chewing even as Orick scampered off to hide she thought this was part of the game. Hunt and Hide was a game she knew how to play! She scampered over to a low counter that had bags of grain on it and wedged herself under it to peer out. But what were they hiding from?
They had told her to wait.
She stood, her tattered linen dress fluttering at her feet. She scrubbed an eye that burned from the smoke of the torch that burned next to her. Watching the strange floating orange whisps, the approaching light of torches, marching past the cove where the ships bobbed in moonlit waters.
They had said that this is where her mother would come to fetch her.
Her mother who had braided her hair and taught her silly dances that she said would be less silly when she grew into them. Long fingers and almost serpentine orange-gold eyes that greeted her every morning and put her to sleep every night. Her mother more than any one place her father had seized or lost was her home.
And so she stood obediently and waiting. She wanted to see her mother again, to be able to touch her face. To be comforted by that dark brown smell, both bitter and sweet. A darkly fruity scent that was reminiscent of treacle, plum, and figs. Warm. The smell of the resin her mother would burn to drive away from the fetid smells of warriors after battle...
Her mouth pursed in disconcertion as a child's intuition told her that those torches were not her Mother. There were too many and none of them were running to her! They were all moving.. too slow. Her lower lip quivered and she felt the fat tears threatening to run down her cheeks. But those were sacred things her mother had always said and so with a snorking-snuffle which drew a soft chuckle from the Champion left to guard her. Aconite drug her arm under her nose and hugged herself waiting to see who was going to come to greet her...
The man in the front wore the Fidante Crest, the white sword and roses. The men who had taken her originally. She turned liquid black eyes up at the stone-faced man and her fists balled, her chin raised high...
-----
She was warm in a cabin. Tucked in blankets, bathed, and given fresh warm clothes. Despite herself, the soft lull of the sea under the bow of the ship rocked her to sleep and wondered what life had in store and she dreamed of warm amber eyes and gentle fingers petting her hair as she slept.
-----
She only got sick after -leaving- the boat. The air was different, the water was different, everything was /different/ and the world weaved around her. She hung over the edge of the pier to empty the remaining rations she'd scarfed for breakfast into the sea.
The man, Alejandro, who had been assigned to attend to her gently nudged her shoulder once she was done and 'Aconite' stood and followed.
She wanted, very much, to -hate- this place. She wanted to hate everything about it. From their stupid gorgeous roses to their bedamned passion for life. They hadn't even gotten to the Villa yet when Aconite had already nearly run into two people and tripped over a cat because she was so distracted by the gardens, FLOWERS and the foreign designs and fabrics that seemed unreal to her inexperienced eyes.
Alejandro led Aco in through the scullery. gently nudging her to have a seat at a table while he went off to report to his superiors they had arrived. She lifted her hands, carefully bound in rags as if she'd been burned, to rest on the table as her booted feet scuffed. Tears threatened again but she sunk her teeth into her cheek to keep herself from crying, resulting in a particularly ludicrous expression.
The kitchens were his 'domain' in those days- His Mama had started working for the Fidante as a scullery maid two winters prior and by the time Aconite arrived he was already a common part of the household staff. He was a precocious young man with a knack for herbs and a head for books, one who was invested in learning how to help people.
At an age when play begins to wane and real responsibility starts to rear its head, that's when he met Aconite, she looked so small and she was clearly sick from the sea... he had heard that long sea journeys were dangerous. He marveled that this little person had made it across so vast a thing and he spoke softly to her as he looked through jar after jar, glancing over his shoulder in his efforts to find her something for that stomach ache.
It wasn't his place to give her the sprig of mint but Orick never did know how to follow ALL the rules and he set it down on the table with a promise, "Chew on this and plug your finger over your left ear-" Pointing to the left side of her head. "It'll make your tummy feel better." In case she didn't understand he mimed the act with animated flair and tried to make her smile despite her discomfort...
He was older than her but he was scrawny. And he was talking to her in a language she didn't understand but Aco could recognize someone who wanted to be helpful. She shoved the heel of her hand into one eye and sullenly scrubbed at it until it stopped threatening to spill tears.
Aco was quiet, her large endless black eyes investigating everything in this strange kitchen. The weird smells were distracting but not unpleasant. And the strange smell from the jagged little green leaf Orick held out to her made her tilt her head. It took a few tries but finally, 'chew' followed by the Young Apothecary putting his hand to his mouth she took the leaf and repeated, 'chew.' She wasn't sure why her finger had to go into her ear but she figured it was some sort of custom so she complied. He had made such a little play of it.
The sound of adult footsteps scared him off and he sent her a promising smile before running off to hide in a pantry down the hall and listen to the adults discuss her fate.
She kept chewing even as Orick scampered off to hide she thought this was part of the game. Hunt and Hide was a game she knew how to play! She scampered over to a low counter that had bags of grain on it and wedged herself under it to peer out. But what were they hiding from?
Written By Raymesin
Jan. 16, 2024, 7 p.m.(7/25/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Fatima
Funny, a princess says that a ruler's job is to choose the path that is for the overall benefit of those who look to her for protection.
Now here's a pauper to point out that if there's no world no more it doesn't matter how many fancy metal hats she's got, she's let the people who look to her for protection down.
Go and claim your throne, would-be Queen of Petrioch, but don't claim it's for the good of the world. We can see you and we can see through you. Our very existence is at stake, but you just want a fancy metal hat.
Don't take it personally, please, but do piss off.
Now here's a pauper to point out that if there's no world no more it doesn't matter how many fancy metal hats she's got, she's let the people who look to her for protection down.
Go and claim your throne, would-be Queen of Petrioch, but don't claim it's for the good of the world. We can see you and we can see through you. Our very existence is at stake, but you just want a fancy metal hat.
Don't take it personally, please, but do piss off.
Written By Apollo
Jan. 16, 2024, 4:34 p.m.(7/25/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Jaenelle
I hope that our people understand why we chose to stand at Lenosia, rather than Nilanza. I know the journey there cannot possibly be easy. Such a journey is toil for those fit and hale. And we've asked our holdings emptied entirely. There are children, expecting mothers, the elderly, infirm. Refugees and the many injured in wars without respite. They are asked to take little with them, and to trust that there will be enough when they arrive. That they will find welcome, sustenance, solace, safe harbor.
In all of Arvum, there are none I would trust more to provide it than Archduchess Jaenelle Velenosa. Her effort, seen over the last decade, has been to fortify the Lyceum entire. To help us build our holdings and raise up our people, to celebrate their successes and soothe in time of need. At her expense. She might have used her formidable command, her might and cleverness, only for Lenosia itself. The oaths sworn between liege and vassal do not demand the way she has built us all up. Conventional wisdom might have suggested she shouldn't. There are those who might argue that, grown under her watch, we would only use what she's given to usurp her. The world can be a brutal place. The Lyceum, particularly cutthroat.
It takes magnificent vision and extraordinary leadership to achieve what she has.
To the people of Nilanza: we care for you deeply. She has shown she cares no less. We will fight to keep Lenosia whole, and our people - those of Nilanza, Lenosia, and the Lyceum together - safe. We fight together to save us all.
In all of Arvum, there are none I would trust more to provide it than Archduchess Jaenelle Velenosa. Her effort, seen over the last decade, has been to fortify the Lyceum entire. To help us build our holdings and raise up our people, to celebrate their successes and soothe in time of need. At her expense. She might have used her formidable command, her might and cleverness, only for Lenosia itself. The oaths sworn between liege and vassal do not demand the way she has built us all up. Conventional wisdom might have suggested she shouldn't. There are those who might argue that, grown under her watch, we would only use what she's given to usurp her. The world can be a brutal place. The Lyceum, particularly cutthroat.
It takes magnificent vision and extraordinary leadership to achieve what she has.
To the people of Nilanza: we care for you deeply. She has shown she cares no less. We will fight to keep Lenosia whole, and our people - those of Nilanza, Lenosia, and the Lyceum together - safe. We fight together to save us all.
Written By Sen'azala
Jan. 16, 2024, 4:19 p.m.(7/25/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Fatima
No. The path of the ruler is your concern, not mine. I don't want the wolf throne; I let that dream die at the Blood Moon, and made different choices. Regardless, I've little interest in spending time bought with lives to lessen my sense of urgency, even if I hadn't been shown, repeatedly and in great detail, all the horrible ways we'll die if I ignore or neglect the message sent by the Old Gods of Nefer'khat. Grandmother was neither kind nor subtle in delivering it.
I never asked you for your fleet, and I never had any reason to expect you would help, so there's no risk of me taking it personally when you sail off with your own boats to see to your own business. My concern isn't about my personal desires, it's about survival. Everyone's survival. Nothing else could pull me away from Arvum.
All of that said, I think you may have the wrong impression of me. I'd say that you could dig up the Horned God to ask his opinion on my capacity for ruthlessness, but the ravens were hungry and his carcass wasn't worth burying.
I never asked you for your fleet, and I never had any reason to expect you would help, so there's no risk of me taking it personally when you sail off with your own boats to see to your own business. My concern isn't about my personal desires, it's about survival. Everyone's survival. Nothing else could pull me away from Arvum.
All of that said, I think you may have the wrong impression of me. I'd say that you could dig up the Horned God to ask his opinion on my capacity for ruthlessness, but the ravens were hungry and his carcass wasn't worth burying.
Written By Apollo
Jan. 16, 2024, 4:10 p.m.(7/25/1021 AR)
The boiling heat one summer fair,
stood on the cliffs of Nilanza;
a dozen souls were gathered there,
stood on the cliffs of Nilanza.
The word had come for them too late,
now stood on the cliffs of Nilanza;
the banners' mouths bore down their fate,
there on the cliffs of Nilanza.
And so instead, to sea below,
they leapt from the cliffs of Nilanza;
their ending in the undertow,
the sea off the cliffs of Nilanza.
Their answers when the Queen they meet,
there off the cliffs of Nilanza;
"At least the sea is meant to eat,"
their choice, off the cliffs of Nilanza.
stood on the cliffs of Nilanza;
a dozen souls were gathered there,
stood on the cliffs of Nilanza.
The word had come for them too late,
now stood on the cliffs of Nilanza;
the banners' mouths bore down their fate,
there on the cliffs of Nilanza.
And so instead, to sea below,
they leapt from the cliffs of Nilanza;
their ending in the undertow,
the sea off the cliffs of Nilanza.
Their answers when the Queen they meet,
there off the cliffs of Nilanza;
"At least the sea is meant to eat,"
their choice, off the cliffs of Nilanza.
Written By Aconite
Jan. 16, 2024, 3:37 p.m.(7/25/1021 AR)
I will tell my story as many have been.
From what a small Aconite wrote in her whites at the behest of House Fidante recalled and in my memories now my early life was loud. Sheltered in a small but colorful tent with a woman I remember had bright coppery-orange eyes. Laughing and playful, bright and shiny like coins. I remember that I thought she was beautiful. She wore jewel tones, mostly yellows and oranges. They would flicker like fire when we danced. She taught me, I think, to distract me from the sounds of the injured, sick or dying in the man I believed was my fathers war camp. She irned thornbush resin to cover the smells of the war camp. We spoke in Rex'alfar and she gace me a book that i kept with me always and still.hace to this day, describing the Cities of Eurus.. Pre Dune Emperor.
Its hard to say of the beleief that they were going to take me somewhere and perform th dark ritual what wipes a soul completely from existence in exchange for power..
Knowing what I do now makes it less far fetched. They could have also been taking me to the being that created me. Either way Fidante's faithful officers too me to save me from my fate.. death or obliteration. I was the gifted a life and allowed to make it my very own. I promised myself I would not waste any of it.
Either way that is how it all started...
I remember staring into the night as a young Alejandro, just freshly enlisted in Fidante's naval division, held my small hand and spoke softly to me in a language I did not know... but I new that he was trying to show me kindness.
He called me Aconite. And so my name, the Tahjara'al'sindhi was no more...
From what a small Aconite wrote in her whites at the behest of House Fidante recalled and in my memories now my early life was loud. Sheltered in a small but colorful tent with a woman I remember had bright coppery-orange eyes. Laughing and playful, bright and shiny like coins. I remember that I thought she was beautiful. She wore jewel tones, mostly yellows and oranges. They would flicker like fire when we danced. She taught me, I think, to distract me from the sounds of the injured, sick or dying in the man I believed was my fathers war camp. She irned thornbush resin to cover the smells of the war camp. We spoke in Rex'alfar and she gace me a book that i kept with me always and still.hace to this day, describing the Cities of Eurus.. Pre Dune Emperor.
Its hard to say of the beleief that they were going to take me somewhere and perform th dark ritual what wipes a soul completely from existence in exchange for power..
Knowing what I do now makes it less far fetched. They could have also been taking me to the being that created me. Either way Fidante's faithful officers too me to save me from my fate.. death or obliteration. I was the gifted a life and allowed to make it my very own. I promised myself I would not waste any of it.
Either way that is how it all started...
I remember staring into the night as a young Alejandro, just freshly enlisted in Fidante's naval division, held my small hand and spoke softly to me in a language I did not know... but I new that he was trying to show me kindness.
He called me Aconite. And so my name, the Tahjara'al'sindhi was no more...
Written By Mirk
Jan. 16, 2024, 1:08 p.m.(7/24/1021 AR)
As I wait and plan and prepare for the battles ahead, I have been thinking about an old song, passed down from shaman to shaman. One that once, I thought would define my path.
The spirit asked the caller, 'How do you see the world? What would you change and amend?'
I see a world of natural beauty. The cold seas of the Mourning Isles, the warm waters of the Saffron Chain, the jungle-like wilds of the Lyceum, the ancient woodlands of the Gray Forest - all have their own unique beauty. Above it all, it is the snowy mountains and ice-capped peaks of my home that will always resonate with me. However, that beauty is a delicate thing. It can be corrupted, despoiled, destroyed. Even the mountains of my home, which came long before me and will be there long after I am gone, are not immune, as the Second Reckoning now threatens to demonstrate. The Abyss will not destroy the mountain itself, but it will destroy that pristine and unsullied wilderness that I have so treasured. It is a world that storms must defend.
The spirit asked the caller, 'Who are you truly? What is your role?'
I am Mirk Halfshav. I have been given titles in Arx, but none define me. In a past life, I was known as Stormcaller, and that is a title that holds more significance. Unlike others, I do not remember that life; I do not remember his name, nor do I know his story. All I know is that the storms considered him kin, that he was a dragonrider, that he bore the Staff of Winds. I suspect he died in some great magic that proved to be too much for him, but I don't know whether it was a battle or something darker. I had always meant to learn more, but those that could tell me of that life were distant. When I finally had the opportunity, it was time for action, not for reminiscing about the past.
I am, at heart, a traveler. I am most at peace with an open road before me, the sky above and the wind at my back. I have strived to learn the stories of the lands and peoples I have encountered, to leave them better than I found them. I have not always succeeded. But circumstances call me to be more than this. I have, in my ways, assumed the mantle of that life. I have bonded the dragon he once called a partner. I carry the Staff of Winds, though it is a shadow of what it once was. I have called to the storms and seen them answer. It is time, it seems, for a Stormcaller.
It is my role to marshal friends and allies to war. Those whose lives I have touched in Arx or are under my authority in House Halfshav and elsewhere. Those beings who answer my call, be they spirit or dragon or otherwise, for reasons of their own, for no being of such age and power responds solely to mortal whims. Those elements that I call mine, the wind and storm and ice that heed my words and have, in some ways, become a part of mine. I am a guardian, one who will march to battle alongside them.
The spirit asked the caller, 'What are your idols? To whom do you pray?"
Gods both Old and Pantheon. I pray to Tempest and Storm, to Blizzard and the Four Winds. I confess that I felt little need for the Faith when I was young. I paid lip service to the Faith, as the bare minimum of respect to the Compact, but it was the spirits of my home that held my reverence. However, as I have become older, I have found a certain reverence for the Pantheon. I have found my faith in the gods and hold to my faith in the spirits. Where many in the Faith and the Compact see contradiction in that, I see none. It is long past time to let down these artificial walls that separate the one from the other. In ancient times, druids and Sylv'alfar held reverence for both, and called to both spirits and gods in times of crisis. It is a tradition I will uphold. I pray to Petrichor and Mangata and Vellichor, to all of the thirteen, even if one has renounced his godhood.
And I pray for them, for it is a time to test even the spirits and the gods.
The spirit told the caller, 'Sing a song of your world, your soul, and your god,
sing a song of lightning and thunder that we will applaud,
pick a story that fits you and sing it to gods above, without and below,
sing the story of thunder from sea to peak covered in snow,
pick the path that fits you, walk the road mapped in your heart."
I have no deep, dark secrets. I have truths about myself, about the world, that I have hesitated to speak openly. One of them is that I am not what people think. I am not the ideal shaman: I do not invoke the spirits, and for those that do, there is a depth and mystery to their relationship to the spirits that I can never truly understand. I am not as upstanding or flawless as some think: I have worked with Cardians and others that many in the Compact find distasteful, and I will again. I am not all-knowing, as some appear to believe: In times like these, I am as clueless and as desperate as anyone.
I did not walk the path of the Stormbringers, as the song once guided shamans to become. But I have found the path that fits me, and walked the road mapped in my heart, as the spirits taught. I will follow it as far as I am able. I only hope that it will be enough.
The spirit asked the caller, 'How do you see the world? What would you change and amend?'
I see a world of natural beauty. The cold seas of the Mourning Isles, the warm waters of the Saffron Chain, the jungle-like wilds of the Lyceum, the ancient woodlands of the Gray Forest - all have their own unique beauty. Above it all, it is the snowy mountains and ice-capped peaks of my home that will always resonate with me. However, that beauty is a delicate thing. It can be corrupted, despoiled, destroyed. Even the mountains of my home, which came long before me and will be there long after I am gone, are not immune, as the Second Reckoning now threatens to demonstrate. The Abyss will not destroy the mountain itself, but it will destroy that pristine and unsullied wilderness that I have so treasured. It is a world that storms must defend.
The spirit asked the caller, 'Who are you truly? What is your role?'
I am Mirk Halfshav. I have been given titles in Arx, but none define me. In a past life, I was known as Stormcaller, and that is a title that holds more significance. Unlike others, I do not remember that life; I do not remember his name, nor do I know his story. All I know is that the storms considered him kin, that he was a dragonrider, that he bore the Staff of Winds. I suspect he died in some great magic that proved to be too much for him, but I don't know whether it was a battle or something darker. I had always meant to learn more, but those that could tell me of that life were distant. When I finally had the opportunity, it was time for action, not for reminiscing about the past.
I am, at heart, a traveler. I am most at peace with an open road before me, the sky above and the wind at my back. I have strived to learn the stories of the lands and peoples I have encountered, to leave them better than I found them. I have not always succeeded. But circumstances call me to be more than this. I have, in my ways, assumed the mantle of that life. I have bonded the dragon he once called a partner. I carry the Staff of Winds, though it is a shadow of what it once was. I have called to the storms and seen them answer. It is time, it seems, for a Stormcaller.
It is my role to marshal friends and allies to war. Those whose lives I have touched in Arx or are under my authority in House Halfshav and elsewhere. Those beings who answer my call, be they spirit or dragon or otherwise, for reasons of their own, for no being of such age and power responds solely to mortal whims. Those elements that I call mine, the wind and storm and ice that heed my words and have, in some ways, become a part of mine. I am a guardian, one who will march to battle alongside them.
The spirit asked the caller, 'What are your idols? To whom do you pray?"
Gods both Old and Pantheon. I pray to Tempest and Storm, to Blizzard and the Four Winds. I confess that I felt little need for the Faith when I was young. I paid lip service to the Faith, as the bare minimum of respect to the Compact, but it was the spirits of my home that held my reverence. However, as I have become older, I have found a certain reverence for the Pantheon. I have found my faith in the gods and hold to my faith in the spirits. Where many in the Faith and the Compact see contradiction in that, I see none. It is long past time to let down these artificial walls that separate the one from the other. In ancient times, druids and Sylv'alfar held reverence for both, and called to both spirits and gods in times of crisis. It is a tradition I will uphold. I pray to Petrichor and Mangata and Vellichor, to all of the thirteen, even if one has renounced his godhood.
And I pray for them, for it is a time to test even the spirits and the gods.
The spirit told the caller, 'Sing a song of your world, your soul, and your god,
sing a song of lightning and thunder that we will applaud,
pick a story that fits you and sing it to gods above, without and below,
sing the story of thunder from sea to peak covered in snow,
pick the path that fits you, walk the road mapped in your heart."
I have no deep, dark secrets. I have truths about myself, about the world, that I have hesitated to speak openly. One of them is that I am not what people think. I am not the ideal shaman: I do not invoke the spirits, and for those that do, there is a depth and mystery to their relationship to the spirits that I can never truly understand. I am not as upstanding or flawless as some think: I have worked with Cardians and others that many in the Compact find distasteful, and I will again. I am not all-knowing, as some appear to believe: In times like these, I am as clueless and as desperate as anyone.
I did not walk the path of the Stormbringers, as the song once guided shamans to become. But I have found the path that fits me, and walked the road mapped in my heart, as the spirits taught. I will follow it as far as I am able. I only hope that it will be enough.
Written By Jasper
Jan. 16, 2024, 12:30 p.m.(7/24/1021 AR)
No matter what they've said, I am not dead yet.
When Highhill was destroyed, I wasn't in the keep. I was close enough to watch it be destroyed, but not close enough to fight alongside my brethren. All I know is that my relatives are gone. My sisters are gone. Almost every legacy of stone and steel of my family is gone.
What isn't gone is my blood. And the blood in me calls me to defend my new home, Lenosia. I do so for my wife's sake. I do so for our children. Those here and those yet to come.
If the horde marches on Lenosia, let them know that Prince Jasper, the last blooded knight of the Steelharts, will meet them in battle.
Now that I have finally opened my eyes to the underlying truths of this world, this stand will not be my last, for I have many debts to pay in deeds and oaths to fulfill.
I am not defined by my suffering and my agony, but I draw on its power to defeat the enemies of my new House, the glorious and mighty Velenosa.
And I will remind these enemies of a simple truth, written in the words of the House of the Fox: No one may harm us unpunished.
When Highhill was destroyed, I wasn't in the keep. I was close enough to watch it be destroyed, but not close enough to fight alongside my brethren. All I know is that my relatives are gone. My sisters are gone. Almost every legacy of stone and steel of my family is gone.
What isn't gone is my blood. And the blood in me calls me to defend my new home, Lenosia. I do so for my wife's sake. I do so for our children. Those here and those yet to come.
If the horde marches on Lenosia, let them know that Prince Jasper, the last blooded knight of the Steelharts, will meet them in battle.
Now that I have finally opened my eyes to the underlying truths of this world, this stand will not be my last, for I have many debts to pay in deeds and oaths to fulfill.
I am not defined by my suffering and my agony, but I draw on its power to defeat the enemies of my new House, the glorious and mighty Velenosa.
And I will remind these enemies of a simple truth, written in the words of the House of the Fox: No one may harm us unpunished.
Written By Fatima
Jan. 16, 2024, 11:59 a.m.(7/24/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Sen'azala
A ruler knows when a path is closed to her - when a task must be delegated to others. She must set aside emotion and decide where she can do the most good, and choose that path decisively, once committed. She cannot please everyone, nor can she save everyone, nor may she be able to seek personal vengeance or satisfaction. She must choose the path that is for the overall benefit of those who look to her for protection.
It may be that I sound much like my grandfather at the moment, and perhaps there is a little of him in me. I learned all that I know about leadership, about doing what is necessary, from lessons at his knee. But a certain amount of ruthlessness is required of us at times. This is, unfortunately, one of those times. I have a duty that I have been trained for my entire life. I have known for many years that one day, I must go to Eurus and claim my throne in Petrioch, and oppose the Dune Emperor and the Prophet of the Sands. My fleet is for that purpose and only one other, and that is to take any refugees who wish to flee Arvum, to Eurus. It was not rallied to go to Nefer'khat. I cannot help you with that. I hope you do not take it personally.
We cannot afford to take things personally, when our very existence is at stake. And while time is not on our side, I believe we do have some small amount of time. It is time that the Seraph of Death and others are buying for us. The situation is urgent, it is true. But to bow to the pressure of urgency is not the path of the ruler. It is a mistake we cannot afford to make.
I cannot help you with the problem you face, Prima. But I do hope you find the path that is, if not the one you want, at least the best path for the situation.
It may be that I sound much like my grandfather at the moment, and perhaps there is a little of him in me. I learned all that I know about leadership, about doing what is necessary, from lessons at his knee. But a certain amount of ruthlessness is required of us at times. This is, unfortunately, one of those times. I have a duty that I have been trained for my entire life. I have known for many years that one day, I must go to Eurus and claim my throne in Petrioch, and oppose the Dune Emperor and the Prophet of the Sands. My fleet is for that purpose and only one other, and that is to take any refugees who wish to flee Arvum, to Eurus. It was not rallied to go to Nefer'khat. I cannot help you with that. I hope you do not take it personally.
We cannot afford to take things personally, when our very existence is at stake. And while time is not on our side, I believe we do have some small amount of time. It is time that the Seraph of Death and others are buying for us. The situation is urgent, it is true. But to bow to the pressure of urgency is not the path of the ruler. It is a mistake we cannot afford to make.
I cannot help you with the problem you face, Prima. But I do hope you find the path that is, if not the one you want, at least the best path for the situation.
Written By Preston
Jan. 16, 2024, 11:19 a.m.(7/24/1021 AR)
The soul I have is one that brings with it many lessons. Largely lessons of failure, lessons of betrayal, lessons of pride. As many know, it is the soul of A'kioh - king of the Sylv'alfar. Father of Orichalcum.
I cannot profess to be an expert on the elves but as I understand souls have a continuance for the elves, for us it is different. They are lessons that teach us, not so we can continue those lives but so we can live different ones. So we can be better. Souls are created by the Queen of Endings and curated, those who have lessons to teach sent to us as we need them.
I also know that A'kioh's time of rule left the Sylv'alfar a hurt people. Those who survived, they either forsook their oaths and disobeyed their king to remain free or they followed A'kioh and his brash and devious son Orichalcum into Legion's embrace and carry now the memories of all those many years. The stain of actions not of their choice. For that, and for as far as I bear responsible for the actions of my soul, I am sorry. A'kioh would be sorry. Though I could never forgive A'kioh for what he did, I do understand that part of what he wanted was for his people to be safe. His goal may have even been noble. But his means? They were dishonourable. He did not need Legion, he needed Gloria.
For what the words of the one with my soul count for, the Sylv are well led by those who can claim blood or right to that lineage. But I would ask you for one thing. A chance to bury those worst parts of the past. I would ask you to fight, to help. Let charity and honour wash the stains from those relationships between sylv and Arvani. Let it build something new. You have so many skills that could make a difference.
I know this is a lot to ask of a people who have already lost so much. To come to Arx, to go to Sanctum, wherever is closest, and to hold those places against the Abyss. To trust those you saw as invaders. To listen to words from someone who holds the soul of a King, of a father, who so failed your people. Yet, my Gods, my faith, my people are under such threat that I must ask. And I feel I owe some chance to the Sylv to find peace after all A'kioh and his son caused. I know how many of you must feel towards A'kioh, believe me, I know a little about being let down by fathers and leaders. But. There is still a tomorrow, and with your help there will be many more tomorrows. For both our people.
I cannot profess to be an expert on the elves but as I understand souls have a continuance for the elves, for us it is different. They are lessons that teach us, not so we can continue those lives but so we can live different ones. So we can be better. Souls are created by the Queen of Endings and curated, those who have lessons to teach sent to us as we need them.
I also know that A'kioh's time of rule left the Sylv'alfar a hurt people. Those who survived, they either forsook their oaths and disobeyed their king to remain free or they followed A'kioh and his brash and devious son Orichalcum into Legion's embrace and carry now the memories of all those many years. The stain of actions not of their choice. For that, and for as far as I bear responsible for the actions of my soul, I am sorry. A'kioh would be sorry. Though I could never forgive A'kioh for what he did, I do understand that part of what he wanted was for his people to be safe. His goal may have even been noble. But his means? They were dishonourable. He did not need Legion, he needed Gloria.
For what the words of the one with my soul count for, the Sylv are well led by those who can claim blood or right to that lineage. But I would ask you for one thing. A chance to bury those worst parts of the past. I would ask you to fight, to help. Let charity and honour wash the stains from those relationships between sylv and Arvani. Let it build something new. You have so many skills that could make a difference.
I know this is a lot to ask of a people who have already lost so much. To come to Arx, to go to Sanctum, wherever is closest, and to hold those places against the Abyss. To trust those you saw as invaders. To listen to words from someone who holds the soul of a King, of a father, who so failed your people. Yet, my Gods, my faith, my people are under such threat that I must ask. And I feel I owe some chance to the Sylv to find peace after all A'kioh and his son caused. I know how many of you must feel towards A'kioh, believe me, I know a little about being let down by fathers and leaders. But. There is still a tomorrow, and with your help there will be many more tomorrows. For both our people.
Written By Aureth
Jan. 16, 2024, 11:05 a.m.(7/24/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Fortunato
Whatever shape was needful, this one is what you needed to become.
The world is your canvas, little brother, and I'm proud of you.
The world is your canvas, little brother, and I'm proud of you.
Written By Jeffeth
Jan. 16, 2024, 3:32 a.m.(7/24/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Jaenelle
The Seckonding is coming.
But on my honor, Arx will not fall.
And neither will Lenosia!
I pledge my hammer to you and your city for this fight and before the Gods and the eyes of history.
The lore of the future won't be about how humanity was saved.
It will be about how humanity saved itself.
But on my honor, Arx will not fall.
And neither will Lenosia!
I pledge my hammer to you and your city for this fight and before the Gods and the eyes of history.
The lore of the future won't be about how humanity was saved.
It will be about how humanity saved itself.
Written By Iliana
Jan. 16, 2024, 3:15 a.m.(7/23/1021 AR)
I spoke of the last meeting, and now I speak of the last moment.
One of the city's walls exploded. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that it was only a matter of time before Arx would be lost. Defenders went flying with the rubble as nightmares rushed through the opening, the thousands of abyssal beasts forcing their way through into the city.
The world would be lost.
He did not think, he never felt a moment of hesitation as he yelled to those whose loyalties he earned from battles fought beside them "Steel Guard, to me". Even as he drew his sword and prepared to fight till his last breath to give Arx and those he loved as much of a chance to survive as possible. The guard knew this was to be their last battle and with their weapons drawn a second later it was confirmed as Steel shouted "Here we hold!".
He would die there, unbroken, unbent, and with a will of steel.
One of the city's walls exploded. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that it was only a matter of time before Arx would be lost. Defenders went flying with the rubble as nightmares rushed through the opening, the thousands of abyssal beasts forcing their way through into the city.
The world would be lost.
He did not think, he never felt a moment of hesitation as he yelled to those whose loyalties he earned from battles fought beside them "Steel Guard, to me". Even as he drew his sword and prepared to fight till his last breath to give Arx and those he loved as much of a chance to survive as possible. The guard knew this was to be their last battle and with their weapons drawn a second later it was confirmed as Steel shouted "Here we hold!".
He would die there, unbroken, unbent, and with a will of steel.
Written By Iliana
Jan. 16, 2024, 2:52 a.m.(7/23/1021 AR)
The first time was not so different. The faces have changed, and the names are different, but the words? The words spoken then feel the same today.
As the time approaches for Arx to stand ready, I am reminded of a memory that is not my own now but was so many years ago.
The endless rows of soldiers standing guard on the newly built walls of Arx, both the walls and soldiers untested in so many ways and yet ready to defend until nothing remains. The meetings of gathered leaders; winged allies, flying in slow patrol overhead. The Metallic Order, the dragons, and their Cardian commanders. The leaders of the Arvani, and even those who were once enemies but stood strong as allies. They met within the very city that we do today to discuss options and to plan for what would be one of the most difficult things any of them ever had to face. Hope and fear touched features without shame. Determination and doubt were shared with friends and loved ones. Courage and fear could be felt by all.
Even though this memory is mine from another life, I can still feel the terrible pain from this moment.
Platinum spoke, ever the leader, kindness, and compassion that seem so very distant with the passage of a thousand years. The words of the great white dragon on honor. On duty. Of oaths made and kept, no matter what the cost. In Gold, Steel and Iron, there are words of courage and a will that shall never break. In Copper and Silver, there are words of hope, and a sense of audacity given as a prized gift to all that hear them- a sense that this is a war that could be won.
It will be the last time that Steel will see those people he loved so dearly. It will be the last time that they were all together, and as the last words were said, it's the hope merged with grief that comes with the knowledge that come what may, they shall not wholly die.
So today when you speak of hope, do not hide the fear. When you stand determined, do not hide the doubt that will affect us all. And when you find the courage to take your stand remember that those before you did the same thing and you will not be forgotten either.
As the time approaches for Arx to stand ready, I am reminded of a memory that is not my own now but was so many years ago.
The endless rows of soldiers standing guard on the newly built walls of Arx, both the walls and soldiers untested in so many ways and yet ready to defend until nothing remains. The meetings of gathered leaders; winged allies, flying in slow patrol overhead. The Metallic Order, the dragons, and their Cardian commanders. The leaders of the Arvani, and even those who were once enemies but stood strong as allies. They met within the very city that we do today to discuss options and to plan for what would be one of the most difficult things any of them ever had to face. Hope and fear touched features without shame. Determination and doubt were shared with friends and loved ones. Courage and fear could be felt by all.
Even though this memory is mine from another life, I can still feel the terrible pain from this moment.
Platinum spoke, ever the leader, kindness, and compassion that seem so very distant with the passage of a thousand years. The words of the great white dragon on honor. On duty. Of oaths made and kept, no matter what the cost. In Gold, Steel and Iron, there are words of courage and a will that shall never break. In Copper and Silver, there are words of hope, and a sense of audacity given as a prized gift to all that hear them- a sense that this is a war that could be won.
It will be the last time that Steel will see those people he loved so dearly. It will be the last time that they were all together, and as the last words were said, it's the hope merged with grief that comes with the knowledge that come what may, they shall not wholly die.
So today when you speak of hope, do not hide the fear. When you stand determined, do not hide the doubt that will affect us all. And when you find the courage to take your stand remember that those before you did the same thing and you will not be forgotten either.
Written By Aleksei
Jan. 16, 2024, 12:25 a.m.(7/23/1021 AR)
My parents are Hardwicke and Symanthe Morgan. My father is Captain of the Guard at Sanctum, and my mother is the best baker in the city. She's from Farhaven, originally. He's very uptight and she's very Northern, but they make it work.
My father is Hardwicke Morgan. The man who raised me every day of my life until I left. My dad.
But my other father, my father by blood, is Skald.
We're all Children of Skald, because he made humanity, but for some people, it's a bit more literal. It's Skald's bloodline that helped keep Legion bound for all those years, enough of them over centuries that he could be able to wander off without Legion getting loose. His bloodline was strongest up North, because that's where Legion was bound. Probably why the Mad Mage stories were the most popular up there.
(He isn't a mage. He doesn't _do_ magic, he _is_ magic.)
All I knew about my father by blood for years was that 1) he didn't like puns, and 2) he could disappear. I didn't get very far with that for a long time, until I ran into the right person at the right time. When she mentioned the name Skald, all I knew was the stories of the Mad Mage. We didn't know who the Lost Gods were back then. I didn't know anything about who he really was and he mentioned it.
I had a lot of feelings about it. A _lot_ of feelings. They weren't great feelings, for the most part. I didn't act great. There was a lot of yelling and a lot of me antagonizing because I didn't know what the fuck else to do. I'd spent so many years aggressively embracing the fact that I was _different_ from the rest of my family, and suddenly there was this guy that seemed like where all those differences came from, except he was better.
Obviously he was better. He was a god.
It took someone very, very smart, who I loved so much my heart ached, to make me understand: of course he was bigger and stronger and more powerful than me. But it didn't mean he was better at everything. It's kind of a wild thing, comparing yourself to a god, finding things you do better. Swordfighting. _People_. Skald's been around us a long time, so he's learned some things, but he's not human, and it's hard for him to learn how we work. Dumb shit, but somehow it made me feel a bit better about the whole thing.
The thing that's really stuck with me is how much he enjoyed humanity. His Children of Skald. Sure, he hated getting prayers about shit he couldn't do anything about, and he didn't want anyone asking him for guidance. Because he wanted us to choose. Some days, I've actually wondered if he isn't a bit envious of us. We're born, we grow, we learn so much, we fuck up. We become something _different_. That's a thing he can't ever do: be someone different. Be someone who's not him. The gods can only be what they are.
But us? We can do whatever we want. We can _be_ whatever we want. And that's so amazing, so _remarkable_, that it can make at least one god a little jealous.
I asked him what we were made of once, because someone asked me. He said mostly potential. And then a bunch of weird alchemy type words that I didn't know. Ammonia? Phosphorous? _Flourine_?! No fucking clue. I asked, and he said some of them were poison. Just a little bit.
Because he wanted us to be tough. He made us to choose, to be unfettered, and to _survive_. He made us to be capable of anything.
We're capable of this, Arvum. No matter what the odds seem to be. No matter how terrifying it is.
We're capable of this.
I don't know what secrets are worth anymore. I know that secrets makes our enemy stronger, but I don't know if there are enough secrets in the world that could weaken what's coming just by being spilled. But somehow, in this moment, with so many others offering their truth--
I dunno. Just seemed like the right thing to do.
My father is Hardwicke Morgan. The man who raised me every day of my life until I left. My dad.
But my other father, my father by blood, is Skald.
We're all Children of Skald, because he made humanity, but for some people, it's a bit more literal. It's Skald's bloodline that helped keep Legion bound for all those years, enough of them over centuries that he could be able to wander off without Legion getting loose. His bloodline was strongest up North, because that's where Legion was bound. Probably why the Mad Mage stories were the most popular up there.
(He isn't a mage. He doesn't _do_ magic, he _is_ magic.)
All I knew about my father by blood for years was that 1) he didn't like puns, and 2) he could disappear. I didn't get very far with that for a long time, until I ran into the right person at the right time. When she mentioned the name Skald, all I knew was the stories of the Mad Mage. We didn't know who the Lost Gods were back then. I didn't know anything about who he really was and he mentioned it.
I had a lot of feelings about it. A _lot_ of feelings. They weren't great feelings, for the most part. I didn't act great. There was a lot of yelling and a lot of me antagonizing because I didn't know what the fuck else to do. I'd spent so many years aggressively embracing the fact that I was _different_ from the rest of my family, and suddenly there was this guy that seemed like where all those differences came from, except he was better.
Obviously he was better. He was a god.
It took someone very, very smart, who I loved so much my heart ached, to make me understand: of course he was bigger and stronger and more powerful than me. But it didn't mean he was better at everything. It's kind of a wild thing, comparing yourself to a god, finding things you do better. Swordfighting. _People_. Skald's been around us a long time, so he's learned some things, but he's not human, and it's hard for him to learn how we work. Dumb shit, but somehow it made me feel a bit better about the whole thing.
The thing that's really stuck with me is how much he enjoyed humanity. His Children of Skald. Sure, he hated getting prayers about shit he couldn't do anything about, and he didn't want anyone asking him for guidance. Because he wanted us to choose. Some days, I've actually wondered if he isn't a bit envious of us. We're born, we grow, we learn so much, we fuck up. We become something _different_. That's a thing he can't ever do: be someone different. Be someone who's not him. The gods can only be what they are.
But us? We can do whatever we want. We can _be_ whatever we want. And that's so amazing, so _remarkable_, that it can make at least one god a little jealous.
I asked him what we were made of once, because someone asked me. He said mostly potential. And then a bunch of weird alchemy type words that I didn't know. Ammonia? Phosphorous? _Flourine_?! No fucking clue. I asked, and he said some of them were poison. Just a little bit.
Because he wanted us to be tough. He made us to choose, to be unfettered, and to _survive_. He made us to be capable of anything.
We're capable of this, Arvum. No matter what the odds seem to be. No matter how terrifying it is.
We're capable of this.
I don't know what secrets are worth anymore. I know that secrets makes our enemy stronger, but I don't know if there are enough secrets in the world that could weaken what's coming just by being spilled. But somehow, in this moment, with so many others offering their truth--
I dunno. Just seemed like the right thing to do.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.