Written By Donella
Dec. 19, 2017, 12:50 p.m.(10/19/1007 AR)
Finally. Something I can work with.
Written By Donella
Nov. 6, 2017, 11:36 p.m.(7/15/1007 AR)
Relationship Note on Mira
Poor Mira. I hope that you do recover from your wounds, so that you can play as you wish.
Written By Donella
Oct. 1, 2017, 11:28 p.m.(4/26/1007 AR)
Darren is going North. This time, I am fortunate to be able to go with him. I dislike being dependant on interpreters, but I fear having people pantomiming at you and gradually increasing their volume, as funny as it can be, isn't really making a good showing of it if you intend earnesty. So I am writing a phrasebook, may Vellichor forgive me. I have hired a tutor, so I have someone to ask, "How do you say, "My eyes are up here?"" There is precious little in the way of pronunciation to be gleaned from writings in the library—words are my life, and important to me... this should be easier. But my tongue must be misshapen, that I can't make it curl around the sounds for, "Thank you for your hospitality, but please get your dog off my leg," or, "Are elk supposed to smell that way?" Syntax and grammar are only ever practice. I build vocabulary as I can. But are there words compelling enough to stammer through to convey the substance of what I have to say. There is no interpretive dance I can use to tell someone that they are being cruelly deceived and betrayed, and that I want to help them. No amount of shouting, not even the correct syllables will make someone believe me, if they don't wish to. I pray that at least my intent may be read in my eyes, if it cannot be found on my lips.
Written By Donella
Sept. 7, 2017, 12:19 a.m.(2/28/1007 AR)
Relationship Note on Jaenelle
Little dove, nothing could hide your light under a bushel very long. I rejoice that you mean to get your audacity back off the shelf. And no one who loves food as much as I know you do could ever be a bad dinner date. If your dining partners squander the opportunity or are bad to you, or tedious, I will have to ride people down on horseback again. Nobody wants that.
Written By Donella
Sept. 7, 2017, 12:08 a.m.(2/28/1007 AR)
I am a stranger in a strange land. The new land may be only be a short distance from the old one, but it is ideologically in many ways another world entirely. In others, though... same troubles, different walls.
I have attended the hours of my husband's Voice to get a sense of the work ahead and my place within it. That's a lot less clear than I hoped, and I felt more a nuisance than a help, but tried to contribute. Victus was also there so I was a little less 'alone' for a short while. There was also a fealty dinner, which was... awkward for me. The marriage of a High Lord is an opportunity to revel, to introduce yourself, to show off an alliance. What a failure I have been in that regard! I will have to find ways to make up for it. Fortunately, there is no shortage of marriages, birth announcements, and engagements just now. My husband is good to me, holds my arm... but it is so easy to try and hide in his shadow.
I'm shy; people often snort and shake their heads when I say that, because I can be assertive at need, and passionate when I speak, and I have been told that I am a little terrifying worked into a rage (or armed with a horse), but it's true. I very much feel like what I do has oftentimes been done by a me that is separate or other. A room full of strangers, even jovial ones, yawns before me like a special abyss, even when friends are there, or family. I have always this sense of being other, like a blackbird in a dovecote. I'd much rather meet people in a more intimate setting where I can take their measure and they can take mine. But there is no TIME to be shy, now, and being timid doesn't suit me, or accomplish anything.
Screw your game face on, Nell. You still have to face the monsters.
I have attended the hours of my husband's Voice to get a sense of the work ahead and my place within it. That's a lot less clear than I hoped, and I felt more a nuisance than a help, but tried to contribute. Victus was also there so I was a little less 'alone' for a short while. There was also a fealty dinner, which was... awkward for me. The marriage of a High Lord is an opportunity to revel, to introduce yourself, to show off an alliance. What a failure I have been in that regard! I will have to find ways to make up for it. Fortunately, there is no shortage of marriages, birth announcements, and engagements just now. My husband is good to me, holds my arm... but it is so easy to try and hide in his shadow.
I'm shy; people often snort and shake their heads when I say that, because I can be assertive at need, and passionate when I speak, and I have been told that I am a little terrifying worked into a rage (or armed with a horse), but it's true. I very much feel like what I do has oftentimes been done by a me that is separate or other. A room full of strangers, even jovial ones, yawns before me like a special abyss, even when friends are there, or family. I have always this sense of being other, like a blackbird in a dovecote. I'd much rather meet people in a more intimate setting where I can take their measure and they can take mine. But there is no TIME to be shy, now, and being timid doesn't suit me, or accomplish anything.
Screw your game face on, Nell. You still have to face the monsters.
Written By Donella
Aug. 16, 2017, 12:52 p.m.(1/13/1007 AR)
I am cold. It is cold. Dog is too stupid to be cold, more or less a gigantic wet tongue with fur. Horse and Galley are probably cold in their paddocks, though I had blankets made for them. Lycene fashions are cold, so I had to send back the designs for wedding clothes—because this is NOTHING compared to Farhaven, I am sure. Maelstrom's harbor is cold, the gap to the bay having to be worked more or less constantly to keep the approach open, according to my letters from home. This soup has become cold as I've written this leaf to add to my journal at the Archive.
And to top it all off, I think I have a cold. No, I don't think. I know.
Vellichor, give me patience. Lagoma, I pray for mercy. Why is it when you have a cold, that you feel hot, and sore, and stuffy, and miserable? Winter is ordinarily beautiful, and clear, and brisk! Instead, examining my reflection briefly, my eyes and puffy, my nose is red, my hair mussed even though I just dressed it, and I feel as though I have gargled broken fishbones and chased it with a tall glass of Mangata's own briny brew.
Send help. Do not send any more rum, or if you do, at least have the decency to poison it first.
And to top it all off, I think I have a cold. No, I don't think. I know.
Vellichor, give me patience. Lagoma, I pray for mercy. Why is it when you have a cold, that you feel hot, and sore, and stuffy, and miserable? Winter is ordinarily beautiful, and clear, and brisk! Instead, examining my reflection briefly, my eyes and puffy, my nose is red, my hair mussed even though I just dressed it, and I feel as though I have gargled broken fishbones and chased it with a tall glass of Mangata's own briny brew.
Send help. Do not send any more rum, or if you do, at least have the decency to poison it first.
Written By Donella
June 7, 2017, 12:51 a.m.(8/9/1006 AR)
I am going to undertake a vow, to Limerance, that I hope will help lift the weight of shame of some of the things I have done and also failed to do in my life as I work to fulfill my promise. I met with Archlector Ilvin to discuss my penance, and to ask questions about situations where different duties, different loves pull you in many directions. How do you resolve the internal conflict? How do you best honor your vows? It was an interesting discussion, over these little cookies he has for supplicants.
Though it will take time to internalize the advice I was given, and to compose the vow with the right words, I hope that the gods, and maybe my papa in Elysium will know that though imperfect, I am trying harder to become who they, and I too, want to be.
Though it will take time to internalize the advice I was given, and to compose the vow with the right words, I hope that the gods, and maybe my papa in Elysium will know that though imperfect, I am trying harder to become who they, and I too, want to be.
Written By Donella
June 5, 2017, 12:48 p.m.(8/6/1006 AR)
The confessional has been very busy this morning, and the priests keep wiping their hands as if they feel greasy. Something something, olive oil, cornhole, ha-ha. If I have to go over to the Redrain estate to beat women off of the Prince of Farhaven with a stick, I would like to remind various and sundry that I hold the Isles cup for Shinwack, a game played by gods-fearing islanders in times of exceptional pique, the name of which pretty much tells you all that you need to know about it. Rather like the game of pitchpot, played by angry wives. The tallow would really only decrease friction. I view this as a tactical advantage.
By the by, little brother, if you are reading this, I'm utterly certain that your wife does not care who you undress at the pool. You see dogs chasing carts, but never driving them. And it occurs to me that Thrax men are so pleased with their skill in handling their noodles, they never consider what becomes of their reputation when someone comes along who can hand it to them in a beach sling.
By the by, little brother, if you are reading this, I'm utterly certain that your wife does not care who you undress at the pool. You see dogs chasing carts, but never driving them. And it occurs to me that Thrax men are so pleased with their skill in handling their noodles, they never consider what becomes of their reputation when someone comes along who can hand it to them in a beach sling.
Written By Donella
April 10, 2017, 11:05 p.m.(4/2/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Branan
Master Branan has become Brother Branan, a Godsworn, but I enjoy his company just the same as though we were not living each moment under a shadow. He made a fine gift to me of two volumes of his Mirrorguard series, after I commented how I like the stones of the character of dashing Talane. A good adventure is needed, because as he said: fiction teaches us where we can go, what could be possible. A lot of history of late has turned out to be less based in fact. Perhaps if I read about bold characters, I will absorb some of their boldness. Remember though, to go round to the shop again; there are many new friends on his shelves waiting to be discovered. Sirikit the Crownbreaker, and Orlando, next, I think.
Written By Donella
March 24, 2017, 2:06 p.m.(2/24/1006 AR)
It is my eve of my natality, tomorrow. It occurred to me as I was out, checking on the repair of our ward gates, and the state of out southern walls. It's not my family's way to mark such things with celebration, or gifts. Really, right now, marking it at all seems like the mind trying to distract itself, or looking for an excuse to eat sand peony cakes until I gain a stone of weight.
I told Prince Darren the other night, that I am becoming soft as a mainlander, that I fret for my friends or relations at war. The outcome is out of my hands—why waste time or sentiment on what you cannot do anything about? I know the war effort is in capable hands, and so far, things have gone well. Still, I lie awake in the bitter watches and wonder if these cavalier attitudes I have toward possible loss are faith, fatalism, or scar tissue?
My brother went away, and we took no leave of each other. None of us do, the cousins Thrax. He survived, of course, because he is fearless and fierce in battle. But what if he had not? Is there anything I could say to him, or to any of the others, that if they didn't return would make me feel better about those relationships in hindsight? No, not really, says my mind. But my heart — I assure you, I do have one, priest — aches to think that the reality is so cold; there is nothing that would make my grief less, if someone dear to me fell. I would toast them, and praise the virtues of a good death (if there is such a thing).
But I would not die of it.
If I am honest with myself, I don't think people really die of broken hearts; not really. I mean, they do if their chests are crushed or cloven through, or if they expire as the very old sometimes do, clutching at the organ. Sometimes I have even heard that some will refuse to eat and waste away, but that I think is stubbornness or narcissism. Otherwise we just persist, and learn ways to honor our dead, and transmute grief into something useful.
So I don't understand where this anxiety comes from. We win, or we all die. It's not much of a choice, so we must, we will prevail. And after...?
Cake, I think.
I told Prince Darren the other night, that I am becoming soft as a mainlander, that I fret for my friends or relations at war. The outcome is out of my hands—why waste time or sentiment on what you cannot do anything about? I know the war effort is in capable hands, and so far, things have gone well. Still, I lie awake in the bitter watches and wonder if these cavalier attitudes I have toward possible loss are faith, fatalism, or scar tissue?
My brother went away, and we took no leave of each other. None of us do, the cousins Thrax. He survived, of course, because he is fearless and fierce in battle. But what if he had not? Is there anything I could say to him, or to any of the others, that if they didn't return would make me feel better about those relationships in hindsight? No, not really, says my mind. But my heart — I assure you, I do have one, priest — aches to think that the reality is so cold; there is nothing that would make my grief less, if someone dear to me fell. I would toast them, and praise the virtues of a good death (if there is such a thing).
But I would not die of it.
If I am honest with myself, I don't think people really die of broken hearts; not really. I mean, they do if their chests are crushed or cloven through, or if they expire as the very old sometimes do, clutching at the organ. Sometimes I have even heard that some will refuse to eat and waste away, but that I think is stubbornness or narcissism. Otherwise we just persist, and learn ways to honor our dead, and transmute grief into something useful.
So I don't understand where this anxiety comes from. We win, or we all die. It's not much of a choice, so we must, we will prevail. And after...?
Cake, I think.
Written By Donella
March 6, 2017, 12:24 a.m.(1/15/1006 AR)
My project is hitting a stumbling block; I don't know much about gardening, and I struggle to keep my houseplants from dying. It is harder than I thought it would be to find people inside the city who know more, though, about agriculture. A little more luck finding artificers and artists, tinkerers, dreamers. I think perhaps I will have to go back to the archives. There are some weeks of winter remaining... and the mental exercise is good for me. It keeps me occupied, every spare moment.
I am afraid. I don't mind admitting it, Thrax or no. When I discussed the nature of warfare with Victus-- what it actually feels like to be out in it, he told me that it doesn't matter if I am. You can't ever be brave if you are never frightened. Which seems like wisdom, to me. But too, I related to him that I am so afraid so often that my life seems permeated with its stench. It clings to the walls of my room, it's in the food I eat, the air I breathe. I have never had anything to defend me, till now, but my wits-- is it any wonder that I cling to my thoughts, desperate to accomplish something.
I will find a farmer, or someone knowledgeable this week. I will find a way to talk to Jaenelle about her thoughts on it. She is a minister, afterall. And then I will start having the ideas put to rendering, since I think that is more compelling. Show, not tell. I can do this. Every spare moment, until the last moment.
I am afraid. I don't mind admitting it, Thrax or no. When I discussed the nature of warfare with Victus-- what it actually feels like to be out in it, he told me that it doesn't matter if I am. You can't ever be brave if you are never frightened. Which seems like wisdom, to me. But too, I related to him that I am so afraid so often that my life seems permeated with its stench. It clings to the walls of my room, it's in the food I eat, the air I breathe. I have never had anything to defend me, till now, but my wits-- is it any wonder that I cling to my thoughts, desperate to accomplish something.
I will find a farmer, or someone knowledgeable this week. I will find a way to talk to Jaenelle about her thoughts on it. She is a minister, afterall. And then I will start having the ideas put to rendering, since I think that is more compelling. Show, not tell. I can do this. Every spare moment, until the last moment.
Written By Donella
Feb. 21, 2017, 12:30 a.m.(12/17/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Alis
Princess Alis has a sense of humor that I can appreciate in long meetings, and at small-scale events. We both feel protective toward our brothers. I have nothing but respect. She can do her fighting with her clothes on. Take that, boys.
Written By Donella
Feb. 19, 2017, 11:59 p.m.(12/15/1005 AR)
Today, I find that people are giving me the eye. A lot of raised eyebrows, in fact. I wondered for a short while if it is the pair of leather riding trousers I commissioned from Seaward Exports. But I am not the only Thrax woman that wears such things, and no one was staring at my ass. At least I don't think so. I recognize the smell of scandal, though. It is alluring, like a perfume on the skin for a people who are desperate to think about anything at all but 160,000 marching feet, closing the distance to Arx daily.
For those bored enough to read my scribblings, I went riding in good company. I ate a meal in the grass, and for an afternoon I did not talk about the darkness that is my preoccupation every waking hour, these days. That is enough of a sin, I suppose. But Mangata stroked my hair as I rode in the field, and it felt like a blessing to do as some have lately told me; to learn to live, while I still have life in my veins. The desire to have some corner of my life not be tainted by fear or shame is like a strong tide pulling with the moon.
For those bored enough to read my scribblings, I went riding in good company. I ate a meal in the grass, and for an afternoon I did not talk about the darkness that is my preoccupation every waking hour, these days. That is enough of a sin, I suppose. But Mangata stroked my hair as I rode in the field, and it felt like a blessing to do as some have lately told me; to learn to live, while I still have life in my veins. The desire to have some corner of my life not be tainted by fear or shame is like a strong tide pulling with the moon.
Written By Donella
Feb. 8, 2017, 3:26 p.m.(11/19/1005 AR)
Gods be praised for being cleared of the excommunication. And the representatives of the faith who heard my appeal at their conclave. And the new Dominus.
It feels like forever since I have been allowed to sit here, and make my communion with the page, and collect my thoughts. I didn't know that I would miss a comfort as commonplace. I am glad that what I had written privately on my own could be added to my folio, for the sake of completion, though I never intend that other eyes should read the contents of my black journals. Much of the time, my words are my attempts to find myself, reading between the lines. Sometimes they shame me, and other times, I discover things to encourage me.
These days have been a test, and a test that in many respects I have failed. So many questions. So few clear choices. My head at war with my spirit. The days are frightening and lonely ones. There are a few hands to reach for, though in the dark times, for strength, wisdom... and aid.
And my journals.
It feels like forever since I have been allowed to sit here, and make my communion with the page, and collect my thoughts. I didn't know that I would miss a comfort as commonplace. I am glad that what I had written privately on my own could be added to my folio, for the sake of completion, though I never intend that other eyes should read the contents of my black journals. Much of the time, my words are my attempts to find myself, reading between the lines. Sometimes they shame me, and other times, I discover things to encourage me.
These days have been a test, and a test that in many respects I have failed. So many questions. So few clear choices. My head at war with my spirit. The days are frightening and lonely ones. There are a few hands to reach for, though in the dark times, for strength, wisdom... and aid.
And my journals.
Written By Donella
Jan. 8, 2017, 10:50 p.m.(8/11/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Aldwin
I needed the conversation that he provided. The uncertain season has turned the world over on its face. For him, I would even drink tea.
Written By Donella
Dec. 23, 2016, 2:50 p.m.(6/18/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Abbas
It is taking time, but I think that we are coming to value and understand one another. It is a hard-fought victory. He challenges me, not just my authority, but my judgement, and my notion of what my place is for the future... and whereas I might have cheerfully helped him appreciate the lampreys up close for it, now I see that I need his perspective. This is Himself's influence.
Written By Donella
Dec. 18, 2016, 10:29 p.m.(6/4/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Rook
I am grateful to the Minister of Coin for the generous bestowal of his company upon request. It is pleasant to sit and talk with someone who wants nothing that I have to give, and who may be depended on. He is charming.
Written By Donella
Dec. 10, 2016, 4:14 p.m.(5/7/1005 AR)
إذا كنت لا تمانع في الشراء، ثم، وأنا أشرب معك.
Written By Donella
Dec. 7, 2016, 11:28 p.m.(4/27/1005 AR)
Preparation.
Know how you came to the conflict, and understand the theater in which you will fight. What variables are likely to affect the outcome in such a setting? Determine the probability of victory, given your logistical resources and liabilities. These are weighty matters, even for those steeped in blood. Consider carefully.
Know how you came to the conflict, and understand the theater in which you will fight. What variables are likely to affect the outcome in such a setting? Determine the probability of victory, given your logistical resources and liabilities. These are weighty matters, even for those steeped in blood. Consider carefully.
Written By Donella
Nov. 22, 2016, 4:18 p.m.(3/9/1005 AR)
I am flattered that people bother to read my scribblings. I am doubly flattered they seem to think I am crafty enough to cultivate some torrid love affair behind the scenes.
By all means, though, continue to send pastry! Offer to maim for me! You romantics, you.
By all means, though, continue to send pastry! Offer to maim for me! You romantics, you.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.