Written By Silas
Jan. 26, 2018, 6:06 p.m.(1/16/1008 AR)
I fancy myself a hibiscus flower. It is very hardy and versatile.
Written By Joscelin
Jan. 26, 2018, 6:02 p.m.(1/16/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Ainsley
....wait, you aren't already a petunia?
Written By Ainsley
Jan. 26, 2018, 5:56 p.m.(1/16/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Samantha
Can I be a flower too? I'd love to be a petunia.
Written By Aeryn
Jan. 26, 2018, 5:35 p.m.(1/16/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Fairen
Of course men can be flowers!
What would you be?
What would you be?
Written By Fairen
Jan. 26, 2018, 5:33 p.m.(1/16/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Valery
Which flower would you like to be, Mistress Valery?
Also, since the women seem to identifying themselves as flowers, and there is to be a clear distinction between men and women, does this mean that the men of Arvum cannot be flowers? What object are we to be then.
Also, since the women seem to identifying themselves as flowers, and there is to be a clear distinction between men and women, does this mean that the men of Arvum cannot be flowers? What object are we to be then.
Written By Samantha
Jan. 26, 2018, 5:23 p.m.(1/16/1008 AR)
I have it on good authority that I am a daisy.
Written By Marian
Jan. 26, 2018, 5:18 p.m.(1/16/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Fergus
I want to thank you for having been in my life. The journey we walked together changed me in many ways. You brought me such joy and happiness. I can say without a doubt that I loved you with every fiber of my being. While you were not my first love, I intended that you would be my last. We did not get to spend enough time together. We parted ways too soon. You gave me a precious gift of life. She will foster. She will grow. When she is old enough to understand the stories I tell her today. She will know her father. My regret is that you had to go before me. Perhaps to pave the way like the one that came before you. While you have rejoined the Wheel, I must continue. I have many miles to walk before I join you.
I'm still here.
I'm still here.
Written By Aeryn
Jan. 26, 2018, 5:17 p.m.(1/16/1008 AR)
All this talk about flowers and symbols... Reminds me of another happy memory!
I know what flower I would be!
My father, when I was a child, went south to the Lyceum and brought back a rather withered, strange looking branch as a gift for me. I remember thinking, why would my father bring back a branch as a gift. It was confusing. I mean, I was only about 8 years old and it looked like a gray sausage. What on earth was he thinking? I asked him as much, and he laughed and told me it was still alive, all it needed was some water and sunlight.
So I put it in a vase and then placed it beside my bed. And quite honestly, I forgot about it.
About a month later though? The branch had sprouted roots and was getting green at the top with little buds that eventually turned into leaves once I planted it. As a matter of fact, I put it right outside of my room - it was actually the tree from which Littlefoot sang to me every morning - but I'm getting a little off topic!
I told my father, "Look! It's growing just as you said!"
"They'll be beautiful flowers next year - just wait." I only wondered what was so great about it, and let it slip my mind, but I weathered an entire year. The curiosity didn't exactly eat me alive. Actually I forgot about it until one night in my room, as spring was turning into summer, I smelled the most beautiful fragrance -- ever. I asked my nanny if she was wearing a new perfume.
She said no, but she smelled it too, and in the morning we would go look for it.
In the morning it was a bit less fragrant, but still hung in the air. That's when we discovered the little branch had grown these long leaves and bunches of these small five-petaled flowers that were white, with a yellow center, and the lightest dusting of pinky-orange at their tips.
I plucked one, and ran to my father who was in his study and I put myself in his lap and said, "Look! They blossomed! And they smell great!" Or something like that. And he began to tell me what the flower, called a Plumeria, meant.
I had no ideas flowers could have emotional or social meanings up until that point - but apparently where he took it from, some island further south, they ascribed to it the meaning of positivity. And on special occasions, the young men and women of the tribe would wear one in their hair. If they wore it at the right ear, it meant that they were single - above the left, they were courting or not looking.
From this, it became a symbol of devotion. In their religion it became a symbol of the gods because of the way the petals interlock and how the tree branches will keep blooming and growing after its been broken off, or if the tree is uprooted - and they will live hundreds of years!
Their healers also use the oils from the petals as a warming oil that is said to sooth the broken heart, or fears - and when their warriors come back from battles, their spouses boil the oil to release the fragrance into the air so they can get a good night's sleep. For babies, its said to get rid of nightmares, if used in the same way.
Oh, how I miss that tree!
--No scribe, I don't think I missed the point!
I know what flower I would be!
My father, when I was a child, went south to the Lyceum and brought back a rather withered, strange looking branch as a gift for me. I remember thinking, why would my father bring back a branch as a gift. It was confusing. I mean, I was only about 8 years old and it looked like a gray sausage. What on earth was he thinking? I asked him as much, and he laughed and told me it was still alive, all it needed was some water and sunlight.
So I put it in a vase and then placed it beside my bed. And quite honestly, I forgot about it.
About a month later though? The branch had sprouted roots and was getting green at the top with little buds that eventually turned into leaves once I planted it. As a matter of fact, I put it right outside of my room - it was actually the tree from which Littlefoot sang to me every morning - but I'm getting a little off topic!
I told my father, "Look! It's growing just as you said!"
"They'll be beautiful flowers next year - just wait." I only wondered what was so great about it, and let it slip my mind, but I weathered an entire year. The curiosity didn't exactly eat me alive. Actually I forgot about it until one night in my room, as spring was turning into summer, I smelled the most beautiful fragrance -- ever. I asked my nanny if she was wearing a new perfume.
She said no, but she smelled it too, and in the morning we would go look for it.
In the morning it was a bit less fragrant, but still hung in the air. That's when we discovered the little branch had grown these long leaves and bunches of these small five-petaled flowers that were white, with a yellow center, and the lightest dusting of pinky-orange at their tips.
I plucked one, and ran to my father who was in his study and I put myself in his lap and said, "Look! They blossomed! And they smell great!" Or something like that. And he began to tell me what the flower, called a Plumeria, meant.
I had no ideas flowers could have emotional or social meanings up until that point - but apparently where he took it from, some island further south, they ascribed to it the meaning of positivity. And on special occasions, the young men and women of the tribe would wear one in their hair. If they wore it at the right ear, it meant that they were single - above the left, they were courting or not looking.
From this, it became a symbol of devotion. In their religion it became a symbol of the gods because of the way the petals interlock and how the tree branches will keep blooming and growing after its been broken off, or if the tree is uprooted - and they will live hundreds of years!
Their healers also use the oils from the petals as a warming oil that is said to sooth the broken heart, or fears - and when their warriors come back from battles, their spouses boil the oil to release the fragrance into the air so they can get a good night's sleep. For babies, its said to get rid of nightmares, if used in the same way.
Oh, how I miss that tree!
--No scribe, I don't think I missed the point!
Written By Marian
Jan. 26, 2018, 4:51 p.m.(1/16/1008 AR)
The cold rain down upon my hair, molding it to my head as I stilled behind the tree. I could smell the moss, green earth. A rustle from the underbrush, the parting of the green foliage, followed by grunts told me that my quarry was near. He stepped out of the brush, his snout protected by piercing tusks that gleamed white even through the autumn canopy of leaves. His large, powerful body ignoring the chill in the air that spoke of winter coming soon. My own clothes, wet with rain, did not offer any protection. I shivered, not from cold but excitement as my stiff limbs are slowly moving, silently as I get into position.
Silver tipped bristles layered by blackish brown hair. This boar had lived through many battles. I saw the scars, the broken patches of skin where the fur had been torn by hard won battles. The alertness at which he took in his surroundings. This wasn't a young-ling cut off from his farrow. A warrior who had fought for his territory time and time again. My green eyes narrow as I gauge the distance. I feel the breeze and silently curse because my scent carries. While I have rolled in the mud, the rain has washed some of the camouflage away. He pounds a foot into the ground and snorts. I pause. He knows I'm there.
I burst out of my hiding place, spear raised, ready to strike...but then I look into his intense brown eyes that are the color of my mother's favorite dress. I see his knowledge that his death is near. I hesitate. I hold from striking the final blow. He does not pause in the face of his own death. He rams his tusk into my thigh and twists causing me to fall with a cry.
I plunge my spear forward. I pierce one of those raged filled eyes. I feel the sharp hooves break my skin as he tries to take me with him. I lay there covered in my own blood, covered in his blood. I smell the copper red seeping into the dew covered grass. My father comes up and looks at me laying side by side the boar. He tells me softly as I weep from my pain, "Don't ever hesitate. Because your enemy will not." Then he calls over some healers to take me away.
I will always remember that lesson. Don't hesitate...least you become one of the fallen.
Silver tipped bristles layered by blackish brown hair. This boar had lived through many battles. I saw the scars, the broken patches of skin where the fur had been torn by hard won battles. The alertness at which he took in his surroundings. This wasn't a young-ling cut off from his farrow. A warrior who had fought for his territory time and time again. My green eyes narrow as I gauge the distance. I feel the breeze and silently curse because my scent carries. While I have rolled in the mud, the rain has washed some of the camouflage away. He pounds a foot into the ground and snorts. I pause. He knows I'm there.
I burst out of my hiding place, spear raised, ready to strike...but then I look into his intense brown eyes that are the color of my mother's favorite dress. I see his knowledge that his death is near. I hesitate. I hold from striking the final blow. He does not pause in the face of his own death. He rams his tusk into my thigh and twists causing me to fall with a cry.
I plunge my spear forward. I pierce one of those raged filled eyes. I feel the sharp hooves break my skin as he tries to take me with him. I lay there covered in my own blood, covered in his blood. I smell the copper red seeping into the dew covered grass. My father comes up and looks at me laying side by side the boar. He tells me softly as I weep from my pain, "Don't ever hesitate. Because your enemy will not." Then he calls over some healers to take me away.
I will always remember that lesson. Don't hesitate...least you become one of the fallen.
Written By Skye
Jan. 26, 2018, 4:13 p.m.(1/16/1008 AR)
I am Sedums, also known as Stonecrop, a flower that often blooms late in the season. Easy to grow, I latch onto whatever nutrients I can gather. I am apt to survive drought, salty coastal conditions, and poor soil. I have neat, upright growth habit and succulent, grey-green leaves. Tiny star-shaped, normally pink flowers. I have a habit of attracting bees and butterflies with my sweet nectar.
Written By Aiden
Jan. 26, 2018, 4:11 p.m.(1/16/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Gwenna
You are too kind Princess Gwenna. I am honored for the public invite as it has been upon my mind to get to know more of the Redrain family, especially after meeting Princess Astraea, Princess Echo, and Prince Artur, not to mention my previous acquaintances with those of the family. I absolutely look forward to this evening. Princess Astraea was agreeable to having my accompaniment. I look forward to meeting all who attend and reacquainting with others.
Written By Ida
Jan. 26, 2018, 4:05 p.m.(1/16/1008 AR)
There are times when the silence of the forge becomes so heavy, I need to walk away from it for not a day or two, but weeks - even months. Other times? That silence is a welcome embrace in what seems an otherwise mad world just outside my door.
Written By Isolde
Jan. 26, 2018, 4:01 p.m.(1/16/1008 AR)
I had come to pen a white journal on the subject of two children I dearly love.
Yet, after taking a passing glance at the recent whites? I fear it'd be an inappropriate time.
Yet, after taking a passing glance at the recent whites? I fear it'd be an inappropriate time.
Written By Jacque
Jan. 26, 2018, 3:54 p.m.(1/16/1008 AR)
Still hard at work in my arduous task of studying these damn maps. Hopefully I am better prepared for the upcoming challenges.
Written By Gwenna
Jan. 26, 2018, 3:48 p.m.(1/16/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Aiden
I suspect any number of our fealty might invite you, Prince Aiden. In the unlikely event one does not, please allow me to extend an invitation directly. There will be no bear wrestling, however, which I hope is not too disappointing. Their table manners are often questionable and they tend to do immeasurable damage to the fine wood furniture we keep in the dining room.
Written By Alis
Jan. 26, 2018, 3:43 p.m.(1/16/1008 AR)
Any person who has ever led a group of people into any battle is likely to be forced to make unpleasant decisions. And in battle such as the ones we have had to face, it is likely that death will result no matter which choice you make. Ideally, we have a rough idea of what we will be facing going in. The extent of the forces, what type of weapons they will have, and how likely they are to lay down those weapons and bend the knee if we happen to be engaged with Abandoned forces.
Let me note here, that one does not spread plague without knowing that kind of information in advance. You don't accidentally bring enough diseased 'weapons' (clothing, food, rats to let loose) unless you know how much to bring. And it seems to me, that it's a far too dangerous tactic to save as a just in case.
But, let us go through some of the questions a tactician likely asks themselves as they put their options together:
1) How well equipped is our enemy, and how many do we face?
2) How many soldiers do I need in order to win?
3) What will our casualties likely be?
4) What supplies do we need?
5) What can we use to leverage against them?
6) What are all the angles of approach? The best weapons to use?
7) Can we force a surrender with minimal losses?
Out of these questions come multiple options. Each with varying probabilities of success. And as they are reviewed, I also ask myself...
Can I live with myself, choosing this option? Will I venerate Gloria, or disappoint her? Is Sentinel's justice met when doing this? Can we succeed?
Spreading a plague among people in order to kill them off without having to send your soldiers into battle gives me a firm NO on at least the first three questions. There is nothing honorable about making men, women, and children suffer an agonizing, prolonged, death just to save yourself a battle. And that is assuming that a parlay doesn't work.
Prince Abbas chose the easy way out. A cowards choice, that tortured those people before they died. He gave neither they, or his own warriors, a chance to resolve anything honorably. He deserves no praise for that choice. None. In the Oathlands, he is a war criminal. There is no redeeming that with the pretty words of others.
And any Valardin Knight would rather die in battle than agree to this tactic.
Let me note here, that one does not spread plague without knowing that kind of information in advance. You don't accidentally bring enough diseased 'weapons' (clothing, food, rats to let loose) unless you know how much to bring. And it seems to me, that it's a far too dangerous tactic to save as a just in case.
But, let us go through some of the questions a tactician likely asks themselves as they put their options together:
1) How well equipped is our enemy, and how many do we face?
2) How many soldiers do I need in order to win?
3) What will our casualties likely be?
4) What supplies do we need?
5) What can we use to leverage against them?
6) What are all the angles of approach? The best weapons to use?
7) Can we force a surrender with minimal losses?
Out of these questions come multiple options. Each with varying probabilities of success. And as they are reviewed, I also ask myself...
Can I live with myself, choosing this option? Will I venerate Gloria, or disappoint her? Is Sentinel's justice met when doing this? Can we succeed?
Spreading a plague among people in order to kill them off without having to send your soldiers into battle gives me a firm NO on at least the first three questions. There is nothing honorable about making men, women, and children suffer an agonizing, prolonged, death just to save yourself a battle. And that is assuming that a parlay doesn't work.
Prince Abbas chose the easy way out. A cowards choice, that tortured those people before they died. He gave neither they, or his own warriors, a chance to resolve anything honorably. He deserves no praise for that choice. None. In the Oathlands, he is a war criminal. There is no redeeming that with the pretty words of others.
And any Valardin Knight would rather die in battle than agree to this tactic.
Written By Victus
Jan. 26, 2018, 3:39 p.m.(1/16/1008 AR)
I'm not one for dramatics in white journals, but while it's relevant I feel like I should make one comment:
The tolerance of Prince Abbas' actions and atrocities was a mistake on my part that can't be taken back. I will take whatever measures are needed to ensure they don't happen a second time.
My regret is not coming to that conclusion when lives were threatened.
The tolerance of Prince Abbas' actions and atrocities was a mistake on my part that can't be taken back. I will take whatever measures are needed to ensure they don't happen a second time.
My regret is not coming to that conclusion when lives were threatened.
Written By Shard
Jan. 26, 2018, 3:37 p.m.(1/16/1008 AR)
Enough people have written plenty of words already, so I'm not sure what mine will add. But I'll put this down anyway.
The things that Abbas Thrax did in the Isles, that's the kind of story that spreads and lasts. 'That's part of the point', some might say. But let me say this. I grew up on those stories. My tribe was often far from the Compact, but when we wandered close, we were terrified of you. We thought of you as the worst of enemies. My elders, my teachers, the parents in my tribe, they all taught the children to fear you. Our stories of you never carried the kinds of things you talk about in your stories. They never spoke of honor, or bravery, or sacrifice. They never talked about your heroes, or if they did, never /as/ heroes. They never talked about your gods the way you talk about your gods. And it was always your gods. Never /the/ gods. Never our gods.
Do you know why that was? Do you understand? It wasn't because my tribe wanted to be enemies with you. We wanted to live free of you, but we never fought you. We never wanted to fight you. We avoided you. We hid from you. We heard those stories from other tribes, who heard them from other tribes, and on and on. The story of Abbas Thrax will live on as the legacy of the Compact in the minds of dozens and dozens of tribes that never met him, alongside all the stories of all the other Abbas Thraxes real and exaggerated, in the same way you have stories of brutal rampaging barbarians that sacrifice people to demons in horrible blood rituals that are true, but not nearly the entire truth.
And then a liar comes along and spins stories about the Compact poisoning shamans and killing spirits, and tribes willingly turn to the Horned One. A powerful warlord comes by and promises revenge against the Compact for all of their horrible acts, and tribes listen to Brand. Your diplomats try to convince tribes to join you, and find they'd rather fight and die than submit at the point of a sword.
Do you understand? This is not just about the bodies long cold.
The things that Abbas Thrax did in the Isles, that's the kind of story that spreads and lasts. 'That's part of the point', some might say. But let me say this. I grew up on those stories. My tribe was often far from the Compact, but when we wandered close, we were terrified of you. We thought of you as the worst of enemies. My elders, my teachers, the parents in my tribe, they all taught the children to fear you. Our stories of you never carried the kinds of things you talk about in your stories. They never spoke of honor, or bravery, or sacrifice. They never talked about your heroes, or if they did, never /as/ heroes. They never talked about your gods the way you talk about your gods. And it was always your gods. Never /the/ gods. Never our gods.
Do you know why that was? Do you understand? It wasn't because my tribe wanted to be enemies with you. We wanted to live free of you, but we never fought you. We never wanted to fight you. We avoided you. We hid from you. We heard those stories from other tribes, who heard them from other tribes, and on and on. The story of Abbas Thrax will live on as the legacy of the Compact in the minds of dozens and dozens of tribes that never met him, alongside all the stories of all the other Abbas Thraxes real and exaggerated, in the same way you have stories of brutal rampaging barbarians that sacrifice people to demons in horrible blood rituals that are true, but not nearly the entire truth.
And then a liar comes along and spins stories about the Compact poisoning shamans and killing spirits, and tribes willingly turn to the Horned One. A powerful warlord comes by and promises revenge against the Compact for all of their horrible acts, and tribes listen to Brand. Your diplomats try to convince tribes to join you, and find they'd rather fight and die than submit at the point of a sword.
Do you understand? This is not just about the bodies long cold.
Written By Calaudrin
Jan. 26, 2018, 3:34 p.m.(1/16/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Orazio
I'm having a hard time picturing what's more heinous than multiple attempts at genocide. But I'm coming up short. I find myself glad to not possess that kind of imagination.
Written By Orazio
Jan. 26, 2018, 3:22 p.m.(1/16/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Aleksei
With all due respect to Blessed Aleksei, I feel a public record must be corrected.
Prince Abbas was not removed from his post for the slaughter of Abandoned. He remained Warlord for a significant time afterwards, all the way up to the Darkwater assault on Malestrom, and was only removed from his post and whipped as punishments for even more heinous acts committed after the slaughter of tens of thousands of children and noncombatants. Up until that point, he had the full support of Prince Victus, and remained the supreme commander over the forces he led in acts abhorrent to Gloria.
Where Prince Abbas is concerned, Prince Victus has consistently done the least he could do to correct or control him. The literal least he could do.
Prince Abbas was not removed from his post for the slaughter of Abandoned. He remained Warlord for a significant time afterwards, all the way up to the Darkwater assault on Malestrom, and was only removed from his post and whipped as punishments for even more heinous acts committed after the slaughter of tens of thousands of children and noncombatants. Up until that point, he had the full support of Prince Victus, and remained the supreme commander over the forces he led in acts abhorrent to Gloria.
Where Prince Abbas is concerned, Prince Victus has consistently done the least he could do to correct or control him. The literal least he could do.
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