Written By Leta
May 6, 2018, 11:48 a.m.(9/11/1008 AR)
I've had some time to think. And to say things. I wouldn't say I feel better, not really, but I've been sleeping better and going out more and such things as I'm told I ought to do. Things still don't make much sense, but I suppose that's something to live with. Things just don't make much sense.
I wonder what to make of myself. The truth is I've lost the taste for war and fighting. That's not to say I won't put on my old armor if duty calls and such, but I don't know if it's the trade for me anymore. But it's what I'm good at, not much else besides it.
I can play the lute a bit, and sing, I just haven't been in the mood for singing or writing verse. I can stitch a bit, and paint a bit, and whittle a bit. I've thought of becoming a doll-maker. I've made a few before, little soldiers and animals and such. They're not too good, and I don't think there will be much call for them from buyers, but I've more than enough silver to live on. Or I could be a hat maker. Or I could be both, and make dolls all with their own little hats. It's something to think about.
I wonder what to make of myself. The truth is I've lost the taste for war and fighting. That's not to say I won't put on my old armor if duty calls and such, but I don't know if it's the trade for me anymore. But it's what I'm good at, not much else besides it.
I can play the lute a bit, and sing, I just haven't been in the mood for singing or writing verse. I can stitch a bit, and paint a bit, and whittle a bit. I've thought of becoming a doll-maker. I've made a few before, little soldiers and animals and such. They're not too good, and I don't think there will be much call for them from buyers, but I've more than enough silver to live on. Or I could be a hat maker. Or I could be both, and make dolls all with their own little hats. It's something to think about.
Written By Leta
May 3, 2018, 2:54 p.m.(9/3/1008 AR)
I don't have much in the way of news to write about. I don't suppose Vellichor much cares either, but I thought I'd try to write something, maybe for future Scholars, maybe just because.
I have been trying to leave the house and meet folk and find something to busy myself with. It's just hard. I know other folk have lost as much as I have, and they're doing things instead of locking themselves in their quarters. I reckon that's one good thing about having responsibilities and such.
The kittens are all growing up fine and healthy, except for Pawdric. He's a bit smaller than the rest and he's got funny legs, but he seems happy so that's what matters. I suppose I should start looking for folk who might want to take them in. It's too many for me, soon they'll be out and running through the streets and getting in trouble, I'm sure.
I hope Vellichor likes cats.
I have been trying to leave the house and meet folk and find something to busy myself with. It's just hard. I know other folk have lost as much as I have, and they're doing things instead of locking themselves in their quarters. I reckon that's one good thing about having responsibilities and such.
The kittens are all growing up fine and healthy, except for Pawdric. He's a bit smaller than the rest and he's got funny legs, but he seems happy so that's what matters. I suppose I should start looking for folk who might want to take them in. It's too many for me, soon they'll be out and running through the streets and getting in trouble, I'm sure.
I hope Vellichor likes cats.
Written By Leta
April 23, 2018, 12:05 a.m.(8/8/1008 AR)
I have not written much of late, but there's not much to write about. I was inducted into the Order of the Lily. I'm sure there's more deserving folk than me, but it's a great honor to be among the others. I figure that's about all that's worth a mention. Besides that, one day comes after another and that is about it.
Written By Leta
April 13, 2018, 1:40 p.m.(7/17/1008 AR)
I don't rightly understand knighthood, to write the truth. I was never much of a knight. Some folk drink knighthood with their mother's milk and that's what their whole life's about. I was made a knight for just one reason, only reason I ever did anything worthy of the title, and that reason's gone now. I'm no knight, I always told her, but I tried my best not to shame the House that knighted me.
I was the last person to fall during the Tournament of the Roses, and I was the one who knocked the High Lord Victus out of the fight. I can't claim it all came down to skill, much less anything loftier, and I don't know what that's got to do with anything, but I'm told this means I got the right to speak on the matter.
I'd write up a proclamation, but I still got half a bottle of wine to finish and I'm thinking I know a lot less about knighthood than I thought I did, which isn't much. Our Meowlarice would make a fine Baroness or something if anyone's keen on it.
I was the last person to fall during the Tournament of the Roses, and I was the one who knocked the High Lord Victus out of the fight. I can't claim it all came down to skill, much less anything loftier, and I don't know what that's got to do with anything, but I'm told this means I got the right to speak on the matter.
I'd write up a proclamation, but I still got half a bottle of wine to finish and I'm thinking I know a lot less about knighthood than I thought I did, which isn't much. Our Meowlarice would make a fine Baroness or something if anyone's keen on it.
Written By Leta
April 7, 2018, 6:30 p.m.(7/6/1008 AR)
Maybe some day, in another turn of the wheel, you'll read this. I reckon you won't remember me, I don't think. I don't much understand how that works or what the point is in living again if we can't remember. Anyhow, I'm no hero or great scholar that anyone will care to read my journals, but maybe you'll be a Scholar and writing a history of what happened in these wars or something like it and you'll come across my journals.
I wish I wrote more about you. I wish I said more about you before all this, when the skies were blue and we were going to be old biddies together. You deserved so many more words, and better ones at that. I haven't taken up my lute in month and a half or so. I haven't taken up my sword either. I don't know what I'll do. Maybe I'll take up some craft. You liked it when I made things for you, even if they weren't very good.
I don't know what to do with your things. The house is so big and so empty. I spend a lot of time in the garden. Most of the flowers and such aren't doing too well, I'm afraid. The thistles are in bloom. I sit and stare at them and sometimes I try writing or thinking up words but they don't come so well.
If you're reading this, I'm sorry. What do you care about my garden and about my clutter? So, here it is. I'm sorry I didn't keep you alive. And if anyone says otherwise or doesn't remember, it was a monster what killed you. It was big as houses. So much bigger than you. You were so strong, but it was just too big, with so many arms. Serafine Velenosa wouldn't have died to anything but a nightmare bigger than a house, no matter what folk might say in days to come. I was so proud of how strong you were, I was so sure no beast could kill you. I wasn't even looking when it grabbed you. It was the only thing I should have been doing, and I didn't.
I think you'll forgive me. I can't, but I think you will. If you're reading this in years to come, I suppose I should write I think you will have forgiven me, or somesuch. Time is a tricky thing that way. I expect I'll be dead by then. Maybe we've already met by the time you read this, with different faces and different everythings but the same souls, if that's how it works. I like to think I'll do better the next time around.
I love you. However many years it is until you read this, if you read this, I love you. Maybe you'll remember me a little when you read this, if you read this, maybe not. I reckon I should ask a Godsworn, but maybe I'd rather not know.
I wish I wrote more about you. I wish I said more about you before all this, when the skies were blue and we were going to be old biddies together. You deserved so many more words, and better ones at that. I haven't taken up my lute in month and a half or so. I haven't taken up my sword either. I don't know what I'll do. Maybe I'll take up some craft. You liked it when I made things for you, even if they weren't very good.
I don't know what to do with your things. The house is so big and so empty. I spend a lot of time in the garden. Most of the flowers and such aren't doing too well, I'm afraid. The thistles are in bloom. I sit and stare at them and sometimes I try writing or thinking up words but they don't come so well.
If you're reading this, I'm sorry. What do you care about my garden and about my clutter? So, here it is. I'm sorry I didn't keep you alive. And if anyone says otherwise or doesn't remember, it was a monster what killed you. It was big as houses. So much bigger than you. You were so strong, but it was just too big, with so many arms. Serafine Velenosa wouldn't have died to anything but a nightmare bigger than a house, no matter what folk might say in days to come. I was so proud of how strong you were, I was so sure no beast could kill you. I wasn't even looking when it grabbed you. It was the only thing I should have been doing, and I didn't.
I think you'll forgive me. I can't, but I think you will. If you're reading this in years to come, I suppose I should write I think you will have forgiven me, or somesuch. Time is a tricky thing that way. I expect I'll be dead by then. Maybe we've already met by the time you read this, with different faces and different everythings but the same souls, if that's how it works. I like to think I'll do better the next time around.
I love you. However many years it is until you read this, if you read this, I love you. Maybe you'll remember me a little when you read this, if you read this, maybe not. I reckon I should ask a Godsworn, but maybe I'd rather not know.
Written By Leta
March 25, 2018, 9:04 p.m.(6/6/1008 AR)
I am sorry for every time she embarrassed me, every time I asked her not to kiss me and every time I was mad at her for grabbing my ass because there were folk watching. I miss every kiss she didn't get to give me. I just thought we'd have time to make up for it. I was an idiot. She was always smarter than me, too.
Written By Leta
March 21, 2018, 11:34 p.m.(5/26/1008 AR)
I don't know why I write. I do not expect future Scholars to care, for why should they? I cannot give my account of the battle. There were keener minds and keener eyes there who can write down what they saw with better words than I ever could, and discuss the whys and the why nots and argue over tactics and such things as folk argue over.
The house is quiet. I feed the kittens and I tend to her garden. It was always her garden.
Written By Leta
March 21, 2018, 1:29 p.m.(5/25/1008 AR)
Our Meowlarice is well. The kittens are weaned. They have grown a lot, and all seem healthy and happy as kittens are. I know I told some folk they could have some of the kittens but I don't think I'll be giving them away.
Written By Leta
March 20, 2018, 1:09 a.m.(5/22/1008 AR)
(Written on a heavily stained note delivered from Setarco.)
She sits and braids her long dark hair,
Among the flowers in the garden,
And I know the world's worth saving,
So she can lay her head right there,
Among the flowers in the garden,
And dream of skies so blue and bright,
And lands near perfect, but not quite,
For the want of her dark hair,
Among the flowers in the garden.
She sits and braids her long dark hair,
Among the flowers in the garden,
And I know the world's worth saving,
So she can lay her head right there,
Among the flowers in the garden,
And dream of skies so blue and bright,
And lands near perfect, but not quite,
For the want of her dark hair,
Among the flowers in the garden.
Written By Leta
March 9, 2018, 2:15 a.m.(4/28/1008 AR)
I sometimes think about children and such. I never thought I'd ever have any, for reasons. I've thought about adopting now and then, and that's the truth, seeing as I'm rich and all, but given my trade and certain other things, I figure I'd be leaving an orphan behind sooner than I'd like, and I don't know if I was made for being a mother anyhow. It would be a mess, that's what.
Now, I expect Scholars in times to come who read this journal can find a lot more about proper adoptions by folk with titles and such, in other journals from around the same time, if they care to read them. These are just some thoughts I've been thinking.
My father is a dyer. My mother cooks and tends to bars and such. Now, if they'd died when I was little, I don't think any Lords would have adopted me or anything, would they? Guilt and blame and such evils don't pass from parents to children, but good breeding and titles and silver spoons up one's rear surely do. And so maybe the noble bits of a Prince go to their children, even if the Prince is not a proper Prince anymore, and Lordly folk feel like that's worth saving from being common. Poor children inherit being common and poor through no fault of their own, but they haven't got the noble bits to go with, and if you can't adopt every child, you might as well adopt the special ones, I figure.
I don't rightly understand how any of this works, and if when someone's made a noble they get these noble bits stuffed in them or what, but it doesn't make much of a difference. Like I always say, I wouldn't want to be a noble on account of all the burdens that go with the silver spoon up one's rear, anyhow. Wouldn't have said no to silk diapers, mind you, as I imagine the King wore when he was a babe. Maybe steelsilk diapers, such as royal children wear in Cardia, as everyone knows.
Now, I expect Scholars in times to come who read this journal can find a lot more about proper adoptions by folk with titles and such, in other journals from around the same time, if they care to read them. These are just some thoughts I've been thinking.
My father is a dyer. My mother cooks and tends to bars and such. Now, if they'd died when I was little, I don't think any Lords would have adopted me or anything, would they? Guilt and blame and such evils don't pass from parents to children, but good breeding and titles and silver spoons up one's rear surely do. And so maybe the noble bits of a Prince go to their children, even if the Prince is not a proper Prince anymore, and Lordly folk feel like that's worth saving from being common. Poor children inherit being common and poor through no fault of their own, but they haven't got the noble bits to go with, and if you can't adopt every child, you might as well adopt the special ones, I figure.
I don't rightly understand how any of this works, and if when someone's made a noble they get these noble bits stuffed in them or what, but it doesn't make much of a difference. Like I always say, I wouldn't want to be a noble on account of all the burdens that go with the silver spoon up one's rear, anyhow. Wouldn't have said no to silk diapers, mind you, as I imagine the King wore when he was a babe. Maybe steelsilk diapers, such as royal children wear in Cardia, as everyone knows.
Written By Leta
March 6, 2018, 4:27 p.m.(4/23/1008 AR)
When I die, Princess Serafine Velenosa can do what she likes with my belongings.
If she can't have them, then they should go back to my folks.
That's all.
If she can't have them, then they should go back to my folks.
That's all.
Written By Leta
March 4, 2018, 11:05 p.m.(4/20/1008 AR)
I don't rightly know where I'll be going. South, most likely. I expect I'll be on a boat, and then off it, and then maybe on a boat again. With any luck I won't to fight on any boats, not that I can't, but a woman likes a little space to swing her sword. But there is always thrusting.
I'll be taking care of my woman on the journey there. My folks are taking care of Meowlarice and the kittens.
I don't know what else to write. I have been trying to write some lines of verse but I'm not feeling so good with words. With any luck I'll come back alive. With a lot of luck I'll kill some unnatural things before we return.
I'll be taking care of my woman on the journey there. My folks are taking care of Meowlarice and the kittens.
I don't know what else to write. I have been trying to write some lines of verse but I'm not feeling so good with words. With any luck I'll come back alive. With a lot of luck I'll kill some unnatural things before we return.
Written By Leta
Feb. 25, 2018, 10:28 p.m.(4/6/1008 AR)
I've been buying up finer kit for the battles to come. So far it's just been armor, I've some fine pieces in red steel with pretty brass fittings and such, to match my brigandine, though I expect it'll be some time before I switch that for something fancier than steel. I've given weapons a lot of thought, but it's not easy to know how to spend my coin. Anything fancier than rubicund costs a coin and a half, and it makes me sick to my stomach to think of spending that much silver on a thing, no matter how fancy. Because then I'll be stuck with it, won't I?
Written By Leta
Feb. 18, 2018, 10:32 p.m.(3/20/1008 AR)
Silver comes and silver goes,
Silver builds highs out of lows,
Silver wrought in chains and rings,
Silver clinking, jingling, sings,
Silver moves forges and mills,
Silver feeds and silver kills,
Silver like a leaden yoke,
Silver like a plume of smoke,
Silver comes and silver goes,
Silver fades and so wine flows.
Silver builds highs out of lows,
Silver wrought in chains and rings,
Silver clinking, jingling, sings,
Silver moves forges and mills,
Silver feeds and silver kills,
Silver like a leaden yoke,
Silver like a plume of smoke,
Silver comes and silver goes,
Silver fades and so wine flows.
Written By Leta
Feb. 15, 2018, 7:51 p.m.(3/7/1008 AR)
I have decided to take up painting. Some folk will tell you that you'd better pick one thing and be very good at it. I'm good enough at fighting, even if I'm no match for some folk, I expect I could beat most, and I do well enough in the field. And a woman can't spar and fight all the time, it'd be a dull life indeed. If you ask me, doing nothing but work and duty is no life worth living.
Seeing as all else is just something to do, I think I might as well try my hand at a whole number of things. I was at the thing they did at the Shrine of Jayus, where they had paint and canvas for folk to paint on. Now, I sometimes do some drawings and put some pictures here in my journals and other places, but painting's different, with all the color and everything. I'm sure there's much skill and technique that goes into it, seeing as half what I tried to paint just turned into a smudge of sorts, especially the little things, and that's what I like in a painting. As with most things, I've much to learn.
Seeing as all else is just something to do, I think I might as well try my hand at a whole number of things. I was at the thing they did at the Shrine of Jayus, where they had paint and canvas for folk to paint on. Now, I sometimes do some drawings and put some pictures here in my journals and other places, but painting's different, with all the color and everything. I'm sure there's much skill and technique that goes into it, seeing as half what I tried to paint just turned into a smudge of sorts, especially the little things, and that's what I like in a painting. As with most things, I've much to learn.
Written By Leta
Jan. 27, 2018, 12:01 a.m.(1/16/1008 AR)
Is an ear of wheat a flower? It's a bit like a flower, I feel, but not really. It's just a question that came to mind as I heard folk were talking about flowers, and one thing leads to another.
Meowlarice is about ready to have her kittens, if I know anything. She's curled in my old gambeson, which is fine, as I wasn't going to wear it anymore other than maybe for sparring now and then. If it gets some more stains on it so be it. Now, she's hissing a bit, but I don't suppose that's nothing but some spider or some spirits or such things as cats see.
Here is a drawing of Meowlarice sitting in my gambeson.
<What follows is a not-very-good depiction of a naively stylized cat with a mottled pattern, curled up on top of a lump of something, presumably a gambeson, with some vague diamond-like pattern doodled on it.>
Meowlarice is about ready to have her kittens, if I know anything. She's curled in my old gambeson, which is fine, as I wasn't going to wear it anymore other than maybe for sparring now and then. If it gets some more stains on it so be it. Now, she's hissing a bit, but I don't suppose that's nothing but some spider or some spirits or such things as cats see.
Here is a drawing of Meowlarice sitting in my gambeson.
<What follows is a not-very-good depiction of a naively stylized cat with a mottled pattern, curled up on top of a lump of something, presumably a gambeson, with some vague diamond-like pattern doodled on it.>
Written By Leta
Jan. 24, 2018, 3:25 p.m.(1/12/1008 AR)
If all you have is a bit of red steelsilk, you can still send it and I'd rightly appreciate it, not trying to look a gift horse in the mouth or nothing. I just mean if you're buying it on purpose to send me, then I'd make better of use it being undyed, but you can send anything and that would be more than fine and I would be most grateful with any color or hue or anything.
Just silk is fine as well, really. Or if you've good fine wool, I'll also take it.
Just silk is fine as well, really. Or if you've good fine wool, I'll also take it.
Written By Leta
Jan. 24, 2018, 3:19 p.m.(1/12/1008 AR)
In case anyone is reading who is very rich, when I said red is best, that is only if it's a lot of steelsilk that you are sending me. If you aren't sending me a lot of steelsilk, just a bit, maybe just raw is best, not dyed or nothing, so I can see if I can have it dyed to match the rest I get. My father is a dyer, not that he works with steelsilk or nothing like it, it's just mostly linen and plain colors, nothing fancy, but he does good work, so I figure I could find someone to dye it for me and that way I won't have different kinds of red.
If it was red and yellow or red and green or blue, that would be one thing and that would be fine, but I'd rather not have two different shades of red, most likely.
Anyway, I don't know anyone rich as a Duke who's reading this or not, as I've no idea who'd care. If it's about the songs, I'm working on another but that won't be for a while. But in case anyone feels like their purse is a bit too heavy for comfortable carrying all the way to the bank, here I am. And it'd be a good deed for the Compact too.
If it was red and yellow or red and green or blue, that would be one thing and that would be fine, but I'd rather not have two different shades of red, most likely.
Anyway, I don't know anyone rich as a Duke who's reading this or not, as I've no idea who'd care. If it's about the songs, I'm working on another but that won't be for a while. But in case anyone feels like their purse is a bit too heavy for comfortable carrying all the way to the bank, here I am. And it'd be a good deed for the Compact too.
Written By Leta
Jan. 24, 2018, 2:41 p.m.(1/12/1008 AR)
I had a good time at the fight up to a point. I nearly lasted right to the end, but there were too many folk hitting me and I arrived late so I wasn't able to make any deals with folk, which is useful in these things.
I find it's better practice than dueling, as you're almost never fighting one person alone on the battlefield. In sparring and I figure duels, though I don't duel myself, sometimes you just focus only on the person in front of you. Now a good helmet's likely to block some of my sight on the sides and such, so any reminders to keep an eye out are good reminders. You put two folk down that you've been fighting, and someone else hits you from the side and that's it. Usually on a battlefield you at least know who's likely to attack you and who isn't, but some folk might have reason to worry about treachery.
Also, I don't rightly understand what all the fuss is about, but if anyone cares to spoil me, I reckon I'd be proper spoiled by some steelsilk. You can send it to Leta Broadbent in the Uppers and I wouldn't mind any. Red is best.
I find it's better practice than dueling, as you're almost never fighting one person alone on the battlefield. In sparring and I figure duels, though I don't duel myself, sometimes you just focus only on the person in front of you. Now a good helmet's likely to block some of my sight on the sides and such, so any reminders to keep an eye out are good reminders. You put two folk down that you've been fighting, and someone else hits you from the side and that's it. Usually on a battlefield you at least know who's likely to attack you and who isn't, but some folk might have reason to worry about treachery.
Also, I don't rightly understand what all the fuss is about, but if anyone cares to spoil me, I reckon I'd be proper spoiled by some steelsilk. You can send it to Leta Broadbent in the Uppers and I wouldn't mind any. Red is best.
Written By Leta
Jan. 22, 2018, 12:32 a.m.(1/6/1008 AR)
This one's sung to the tone of the Jolly Oathland's Shepherd.
Gallant Milicent the slayer,
of big ghastly foes galore,
wandered through woods long untrodden
since those dreary days of yore.
And Bolfobric her squire,
with her packs upon his back,
he trod on after her footsteps,
sighing as the night turned black.
While she fought o'er hill and valley,
And slew fishbeasts in a brook,
He sat underneath his lantern,
Reading from some ancient book.
While she battled wolven fiends,
And a drooling dark nightmare,
He picked up their bones and treasure,
And then cleaned them with great care.
When Milicent turned and saw him,
sorting loot by hue and size,
She yelled, "You cowardly squire,
Good thing you've got pretty eyes."
She growled as she crushed a ghoul,
She grunted as she cleaved a ghost,
Deaf to Bolfobric's soft warnings,
As they strayed deep and got lost.
Deep in the woods slumbered bigger,
Badder beasts of times long gone,
And Milicent's blade grew weary,
Long before the coming dawn.
And so as the demons teemed,
and then dragons, wyrms and hags,
the good squire gave to Millicent,
ancient trinkets from his bags.
And each one he carefully chose,
Bolfobric the slow but wise,
And as each beast fell down dead,
Sparks flew from her pretty eyes.
And when at last she kissed him,
and he cried, "Oh, your Highness!"
She cried "I'll never underestimate
the value of preparedness!"
Gallant Milicent the slayer,
of big ghastly foes galore,
wandered through woods long untrodden
since those dreary days of yore.
And Bolfobric her squire,
with her packs upon his back,
he trod on after her footsteps,
sighing as the night turned black.
While she fought o'er hill and valley,
And slew fishbeasts in a brook,
He sat underneath his lantern,
Reading from some ancient book.
While she battled wolven fiends,
And a drooling dark nightmare,
He picked up their bones and treasure,
And then cleaned them with great care.
When Milicent turned and saw him,
sorting loot by hue and size,
She yelled, "You cowardly squire,
Good thing you've got pretty eyes."
She growled as she crushed a ghoul,
She grunted as she cleaved a ghost,
Deaf to Bolfobric's soft warnings,
As they strayed deep and got lost.
Deep in the woods slumbered bigger,
Badder beasts of times long gone,
And Milicent's blade grew weary,
Long before the coming dawn.
And so as the demons teemed,
and then dragons, wyrms and hags,
the good squire gave to Millicent,
ancient trinkets from his bags.
And each one he carefully chose,
Bolfobric the slow but wise,
And as each beast fell down dead,
Sparks flew from her pretty eyes.
And when at last she kissed him,
and he cried, "Oh, your Highness!"
She cried "I'll never underestimate
the value of preparedness!"
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