Written By Niklas
March 24, 2018, 10:08 p.m.(6/4/1008 AR)
Seventeen years since I broke my last sword. Turns out I didn't develop some secret natural talent during that period. My ribs hurt.
Written By Violet
March 24, 2018, 9:18 p.m.(6/4/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Thorley
Two fights in as many days. I haven't any words now. Only a breaking heart and unanswered questions in an empty room. What just happened?
Written By Cambria
March 24, 2018, 9:12 p.m.(6/4/1008 AR)
It takes an unusually philosophic mind to accept that all one's suffering might be to no end, really, in the larger scheme of things.
Written By Luca
March 24, 2018, 8:19 p.m.(6/3/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Victus
Vic, a grim man, but a good leader.
Written By Agatha
March 24, 2018, 8 p.m.(6/3/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Jev
Scholar, why did you tell me to sit down in the corner away from the table before I could read this? Wait, you won't even let me read it? You're going to read it to me and not let me touch the journal?
***
Okay. That was probably smart, scholar. Yeah, you can record this conversation.
Who even is that?
***
Okay. That was probably smart, scholar. Yeah, you can record this conversation.
Who even is that?
Written By Ida
March 24, 2018, 7:58 p.m.(6/3/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Daemon
"It takes more than a flesh wound to fell a Knight of the Oathlands."
Ah, but our hearts. I think, perhaps, because we champion and we fight, we open our whole beings to the world. We embrace the fighting, the blood, the pain, so that another might not suffer so harshly. We face the thousands to save thousands. We take on their fear and their nightmares as our own burdens. It is, perhaps, as much of being a knight as swearing the oaths. It is living the oaths.
I was not at Stormwall, or even Setarco, and I know I can never ever feel, see, or truly understand what was faced there. I am sorry the shadows still linger on your heart and thoughts. I hope time will not so much fade the memory, but soften the hurt if even just a little bit.
If it means anything, I think you are strong enough and believe in you.
Ah, but our hearts. I think, perhaps, because we champion and we fight, we open our whole beings to the world. We embrace the fighting, the blood, the pain, so that another might not suffer so harshly. We face the thousands to save thousands. We take on their fear and their nightmares as our own burdens. It is, perhaps, as much of being a knight as swearing the oaths. It is living the oaths.
I was not at Stormwall, or even Setarco, and I know I can never ever feel, see, or truly understand what was faced there. I am sorry the shadows still linger on your heart and thoughts. I hope time will not so much fade the memory, but soften the hurt if even just a little bit.
If it means anything, I think you are strong enough and believe in you.
Written By Agatha
March 24, 2018, 7:58 p.m.(6/3/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Joscelin
Best meal. Looking forward to it! You may throw a pot at my head for making you think it wasn't fancy enough. I have a very thick skull. HAH!
Written By Jev
March 24, 2018, 7:43 p.m.(6/3/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Agatha
Last night my eyes fell upon an angel to best all the combined beauty in this land of Arvum.
With brilliant blue eyes like mountain lakes untouched by human hands! Hair as orange and red as the brilliant ever burning flame of Lagoma!
With brilliant blue eyes like mountain lakes untouched by human hands! Hair as orange and red as the brilliant ever burning flame of Lagoma!
Written By Daemon
March 24, 2018, 7:26 p.m.(6/3/1008 AR)
I feel hallow.
It's been many weeks since I marched back with my brothers and sisters from Stormwall. My body is healed and my will is returned. Yet the scars remain. The ones that are left unseen, burrowing into my skull and leaving a mist of gloom over my mind. The battle had no winners, but it certainly had survivors. Though we marched to the beat of the drum and honor, eventually a battle for survival is all it became. I began striking, I ended clawing.
As we stood on the shores they rained fire from the skies, exploding and taking columns of soldiers with them. Hundreds of broken ships lined the shores, carrying men of the dead, starved and suffering. Yet they fought like animals. Monsters who's only desire was to destroy and maim, as they chanted their master's name even as they died. Those who did not burn covered the sands in blood nonetheless. We left their bodies behind to defend the harbor, the walls, the battlements and beyond. We were the barrier to prevent them from entering the city.
That's when the thousands came. Thousands. They shot at us with arrows and stabbed at us with blades and axes. They climbed the wall by the dozens, and dozens were cut down. We killed. We just kept killing and killing. Yet it never ended. The ones who fell became a mountain of corpses which their allies merely stacked ladders upon to climb to the same fate. Every part of me ached, yet I just kept swinging. Hacking. Killing for the defense. It never ended and with every wave, there were always fewer of us.
We could not hold. We were told to flee into the center of the city and meet with the commanding officers. I was exhausted. I was covered in blood, rain, gore. The air was frigid, it cut through my lungs like glass shards with every breath. Then we were told it was over. The city was to be burned. To the last.
To the last they said.
And every enemy soldier who crossed those lines was burnt alive, among a city already filled with corpses and ash. The flames laid all that was left behind into nothing. It has been many days yet I still do not know if we had failed or triumphed. Most say triumph. I am finding it difficult to accept.
When I knelt before an altar and took my knightly vows, I was barely an adult. It was what I was trained and coddled for my entire life. To serve and to protect, to act honorably and just in all things. I say with confidence that I did not falter in those ideals in the midst of battle. Though my discipline was nonexistent in my combative style, I held together.
But the fear. The dread and anxiety, the stench of death and fire burning away what we swore to defend. It has followed me in my shadow back to Arx. It lingers over my shoulder, peering into the back of my head in my every moment of peace. I feel it stripping away my strength, my beliefs. It ebbs at the edges of my vision and sows a panic in my heart. For all the things I could have done, for all the things I didn't, and for all the actions I took when faced with what was. Death. Hunger. Fire.
When I returned to the city I was offered a shiny coin for my service. I declined.
Perhaps this is not a wound meant to be healed. Perhaps this is not a wound at all. I struggle to decipher what is pain and what is a hard truth. Whether or not my spirit, my soul, my entire purpose is truly strong enough to shoulder the burdens of a soldier. Maybe yes. Maybe no.
I don't know.
It's been many weeks since I marched back with my brothers and sisters from Stormwall. My body is healed and my will is returned. Yet the scars remain. The ones that are left unseen, burrowing into my skull and leaving a mist of gloom over my mind. The battle had no winners, but it certainly had survivors. Though we marched to the beat of the drum and honor, eventually a battle for survival is all it became. I began striking, I ended clawing.
As we stood on the shores they rained fire from the skies, exploding and taking columns of soldiers with them. Hundreds of broken ships lined the shores, carrying men of the dead, starved and suffering. Yet they fought like animals. Monsters who's only desire was to destroy and maim, as they chanted their master's name even as they died. Those who did not burn covered the sands in blood nonetheless. We left their bodies behind to defend the harbor, the walls, the battlements and beyond. We were the barrier to prevent them from entering the city.
That's when the thousands came. Thousands. They shot at us with arrows and stabbed at us with blades and axes. They climbed the wall by the dozens, and dozens were cut down. We killed. We just kept killing and killing. Yet it never ended. The ones who fell became a mountain of corpses which their allies merely stacked ladders upon to climb to the same fate. Every part of me ached, yet I just kept swinging. Hacking. Killing for the defense. It never ended and with every wave, there were always fewer of us.
We could not hold. We were told to flee into the center of the city and meet with the commanding officers. I was exhausted. I was covered in blood, rain, gore. The air was frigid, it cut through my lungs like glass shards with every breath. Then we were told it was over. The city was to be burned. To the last.
To the last they said.
And every enemy soldier who crossed those lines was burnt alive, among a city already filled with corpses and ash. The flames laid all that was left behind into nothing. It has been many days yet I still do not know if we had failed or triumphed. Most say triumph. I am finding it difficult to accept.
When I knelt before an altar and took my knightly vows, I was barely an adult. It was what I was trained and coddled for my entire life. To serve and to protect, to act honorably and just in all things. I say with confidence that I did not falter in those ideals in the midst of battle. Though my discipline was nonexistent in my combative style, I held together.
But the fear. The dread and anxiety, the stench of death and fire burning away what we swore to defend. It has followed me in my shadow back to Arx. It lingers over my shoulder, peering into the back of my head in my every moment of peace. I feel it stripping away my strength, my beliefs. It ebbs at the edges of my vision and sows a panic in my heart. For all the things I could have done, for all the things I didn't, and for all the actions I took when faced with what was. Death. Hunger. Fire.
When I returned to the city I was offered a shiny coin for my service. I declined.
Perhaps this is not a wound meant to be healed. Perhaps this is not a wound at all. I struggle to decipher what is pain and what is a hard truth. Whether or not my spirit, my soul, my entire purpose is truly strong enough to shoulder the burdens of a soldier. Maybe yes. Maybe no.
I don't know.
Written By Joscelin
March 24, 2018, 7:15 p.m.(6/3/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Agatha
Oh. Was pie and stew not fancy enough?
Written By Mirari
March 24, 2018, 6:07 p.m.(6/3/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Agatha
Come eat with us!!!
Written By Agatha
March 24, 2018, 5:54 p.m.(6/3/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Amantha
Wait. i am the one that carried you home and they're the ones getting the fancy dinner? I think I am doing it wrong.
Written By Mirari
March 24, 2018, 5:31 p.m.(6/3/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Amarantha
Sounds like a plan, love.
Written By Aiden
March 24, 2018, 5:29 p.m.(6/3/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Silas
After spending some time with members of the faith... I do realize it is time to take off the military regalia and come home.
If you'd have me.
I am in need of your company and am reduced to writing of it.
If you'd have me.
I am in need of your company and am reduced to writing of it.
Written By Amarantha
March 24, 2018, 5:28 p.m.(6/3/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Mirari
Just for efficiency's sake, how about dinner at Sanna's manor with drinks?
And one very smelly, terribly mannered Marquis?
And one very smelly, terribly mannered Marquis?
Written By Mirari
March 24, 2018, 4:54 p.m.(6/3/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Amarantha
I'll take the food, drink and the Marquis. Also, you smell fine darling, but if you want to smell better...lets discuss a perfume hmm?
Written By Amarantha
March 24, 2018, 4:50 p.m.(6/3/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Gaston
I owe Mistress Mirari several drinks. A five course meal too. However I cannot and will not acknowledge that she might have been right.
Princess Agatha carried me home. I may have awoken and somewhat soberly gone out again.
Now I smell like dogs and Oathlander.
Someone kill me.
Princess Agatha carried me home. I may have awoken and somewhat soberly gone out again.
Now I smell like dogs and Oathlander.
Someone kill me.
Written By Ida
March 24, 2018, 4:46 p.m.(6/3/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Joscelin
Here are a few that I grew up with in the small hamlet outside of Sanctum:
Itchy Hands - If your right hand itches then you’ll be receiving some silver, but don't scratch it or you keep the silver from coming! If your left palm is itching, that means you’ll be paying someone else silver. That one? You can scratch.
Itchy Nose - You're going to kiss a fool.
Itching/Burning Ears - "Left for love, right for spite." If your ears are itching, no matter which one, it means someone is talking about you.
Itchy Hands - If your right hand itches then you’ll be receiving some silver, but don't scratch it or you keep the silver from coming! If your left palm is itching, that means you’ll be paying someone else silver. That one? You can scratch.
Itchy Nose - You're going to kiss a fool.
Itching/Burning Ears - "Left for love, right for spite." If your ears are itching, no matter which one, it means someone is talking about you.
Written By Cambria
March 24, 2018, 4:38 p.m.(6/3/1008 AR)
You live life and you begin to realize that not every path is well trod, that not every path is set out with even pavestones and unambiguous signs.
Written By Joscelin
March 24, 2018, 4:38 p.m.(6/3/1008 AR)
My ears won't stop itching. Is this spring-fever? The pollens? Itchy nose?
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.