Written By Aureth
April 30, 2017, 10:39 p.m.(5/16/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Magpie
I do not piss holy water, but I am full of holy shit.
Written By Aureth
April 30, 2017, 8:40 p.m.(5/16/1006 AR)
On this day, of this year, I am sworn to the gods. I am a Brother of the Faith of the Pantheon. My work on Their behalf has already begun, but now it is official, and accomplished by rite, and recorded.
I knew this would be my path now, but it is a weight lifted, almost, that I have taken these first steps.
I've passed on the bar to Fortunato and into the hands of the Grayhope family. I have passed on the merchant concerns to Magpie and Moira to handle. And I have finished moving myself into the house on Legate Row.
Damn, I hope I didn't forget anything.
I knew this would be my path now, but it is a weight lifted, almost, that I have taken these first steps.
I've passed on the bar to Fortunato and into the hands of the Grayhope family. I have passed on the merchant concerns to Magpie and Moira to handle. And I have finished moving myself into the house on Legate Row.
Damn, I hope I didn't forget anything.
Written By Aureth
April 28, 2017, 12:35 a.m.(5/9/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Magpie
Magpie's been around forever. I mean, sometimes out of sight out of mind, since he's sailing ships all the time.
Family's a funny thing. Thinking about what defines it, because I know it isn't blood, and for commoners like us, it isn't oaths either. Nothing like. It's something else. But it's real.
And it grows, when you nurture it. Twisting up out of the earth like vines from deep roots. . .
I can't really remember a time when he wasn't a Grayhope. Wasn't like my little brother but taller. Or like my little cousin but sassier.
He's sick as a dog just at this moment, so I'm sure he won't read this to see me being mushy about him in public. Best time to say I love you, when nobody can hear it and catch you out.
Better take care of yourself, you stupid bastard.
Family's a funny thing. Thinking about what defines it, because I know it isn't blood, and for commoners like us, it isn't oaths either. Nothing like. It's something else. But it's real.
And it grows, when you nurture it. Twisting up out of the earth like vines from deep roots. . .
I can't really remember a time when he wasn't a Grayhope. Wasn't like my little brother but taller. Or like my little cousin but sassier.
He's sick as a dog just at this moment, so I'm sure he won't read this to see me being mushy about him in public. Best time to say I love you, when nobody can hear it and catch you out.
Better take care of yourself, you stupid bastard.
Written By Aureth
April 26, 2017, 11:15 p.m.(5/7/1006 AR)
This is my prayer for Skald:
I'm going to do just what I choose to do and not bother you about it.
I'm going to do just what I choose to do and not bother you about it.
Written By Aureth
April 26, 2017, 11:11 p.m.(5/7/1006 AR)
I run an inn and I work as a businessman. These are things that I plan to give up, when I step forward into the Faith; hand of the deed to the bar, hand of the papers for the business, and devote myself truly to the gods, say true. But for most of my life, I haven't been too far from Gild's auspices.
Yet it's easy to become jaded, isn't it? To know the works of charity that must be done and to suspect the perfidy in the hearts of humans. Because we do all have a choice, don't we? To do as we should, as we ought, or as we ... want. Haven't we all seen it, all too often?
If the Sentinel watches the injustice we work, what must Gild feel when she sees what so many of us do with our coin?
This is my prayer to Gild, Goddess of Fellowship, may I never forget the Boroughs, the hard-hearted and the downtrodden. Let my works do good for more than just myself and my goddess and those I love. Let me work in service of the common good. And may my fellows not forget what all that charity is supposed to be for.
Yet it's easy to become jaded, isn't it? To know the works of charity that must be done and to suspect the perfidy in the hearts of humans. Because we do all have a choice, don't we? To do as we should, as we ought, or as we ... want. Haven't we all seen it, all too often?
If the Sentinel watches the injustice we work, what must Gild feel when she sees what so many of us do with our coin?
This is my prayer to Gild, Goddess of Fellowship, may I never forget the Boroughs, the hard-hearted and the downtrodden. Let my works do good for more than just myself and my goddess and those I love. Let me work in service of the common good. And may my fellows not forget what all that charity is supposed to be for.
Written By Aureth
April 26, 2017, 11:06 p.m.(5/7/1006 AR)
My mother was the foremost seamstress in Arx. The finest designer, the height of taste. Anyone who was anyone was dressed by Myrinda. Her work was art, the aesthetic married to the functional, and she'd never let you forget it. She used to craft things specifically to leave for Jayus and rail against whoever stole them.
I have never underestimated the value of art in life. Of course, Fortunato will tell you I don't know what art is. But ... the ability to express, to create, to work whole upon the world something that fired your imagination, the power of the mind behind that, it's always astounded me.
Yet he was always my mother's god, not mine.
I was always certain of that, even as a boy, even when my first vision touched me and I first spoke of it to a trusted friend. "But seers are the realm of Jayus, aren't they?" No. Not this one. Even then, I knew. I didn't know why, but I knew.
Yet that doesn't mean I don't have a sense of my own, a sense of art, a knowing of beauty. I don't myself create much. But maybe that's not so either, anymore. When Sylvie spoke to me of her vision for the Temple that I am to create, I could see it in my mind's eye. . .
This is my prayer to Jayus. May I never forsake my inspirations. And hey ... keep an eye out for my little brother, will you?
I have never underestimated the value of art in life. Of course, Fortunato will tell you I don't know what art is. But ... the ability to express, to create, to work whole upon the world something that fired your imagination, the power of the mind behind that, it's always astounded me.
Yet he was always my mother's god, not mine.
I was always certain of that, even as a boy, even when my first vision touched me and I first spoke of it to a trusted friend. "But seers are the realm of Jayus, aren't they?" No. Not this one. Even then, I knew. I didn't know why, but I knew.
Yet that doesn't mean I don't have a sense of my own, a sense of art, a knowing of beauty. I don't myself create much. But maybe that's not so either, anymore. When Sylvie spoke to me of her vision for the Temple that I am to create, I could see it in my mind's eye. . .
This is my prayer to Jayus. May I never forsake my inspirations. And hey ... keep an eye out for my little brother, will you?
Written By Aureth
April 23, 2017, 6:43 p.m.(5/1/1006 AR)
Thoughts on love, duty and fealty:
Family is everything. My mother, my daughter, my brother, yes. My friends, close enough in heart to being family. They are everything to me. Soon I will leave my family behind to take oath to the Faith, because the gods must come first in the heart of a priest. I struggle with that. I know my family struggles with that. I know that it's been hardest on Hana. I know that Fortunato shows me is strongest face, but I think it's hard on him, too.
Yet I have come to understand the power -- the value -- of an oath. An oath that means a task of epic proportions. The heaviest oath is already made. It's done, and I know what it paid for, and I know what I will pay for it.
If you break oath lightly, if it is _possible_ for you to break faith lightly, then you never understood the power of your promise in the first place.
Or you're a faithless wretched coward, I suppose.
This is my prayer to Limerance. May I never forget the value of my oath. But may I never give way the love that sustains my heart, either. I pray that I may have the fortitude to be who and what I have sworn to be. I pray that I will not falter.
Family is everything. My mother, my daughter, my brother, yes. My friends, close enough in heart to being family. They are everything to me. Soon I will leave my family behind to take oath to the Faith, because the gods must come first in the heart of a priest. I struggle with that. I know my family struggles with that. I know that it's been hardest on Hana. I know that Fortunato shows me is strongest face, but I think it's hard on him, too.
Yet I have come to understand the power -- the value -- of an oath. An oath that means a task of epic proportions. The heaviest oath is already made. It's done, and I know what it paid for, and I know what I will pay for it.
If you break oath lightly, if it is _possible_ for you to break faith lightly, then you never understood the power of your promise in the first place.
Or you're a faithless wretched coward, I suppose.
This is my prayer to Limerance. May I never forget the value of my oath. But may I never give way the love that sustains my heart, either. I pray that I may have the fortitude to be who and what I have sworn to be. I pray that I will not falter.
Written By Aureth
April 23, 2017, 1:51 p.m.(5/1/1006 AR)
On flash:
As my mother's son, I will tell you this: clothing is a language and that outfits are a message.
I could think of no better design for my armor than this to wear to shout "fuck you" to Tolamar Brand on behalf of the Queen of Endings and Beginnings.
As my mother's son, I will tell you this: clothing is a language and that outfits are a message.
I could think of no better design for my armor than this to wear to shout "fuck you" to Tolamar Brand on behalf of the Queen of Endings and Beginnings.
Written By Aureth
April 22, 2017, 12:09 p.m.(4/26/1006 AR)
It is probably not a surprise to anyone that the Sentinel is not a god to whom I have much addressed myself in my life. Abstract justice is a seductive concept that even as a boy I believed practical reality was inclined to neglect. It's not that I don't appreciate the lure, to some degree. But here's the thing.
I wasn't born poor. I've never been poor. Myrinda Grayhope was the foremost seamstress and designer in the city. She had her detractors but she earned them by her tongue, not her work. Her work was unsurpassed. She dressed every High Lord and Lady. She was sponsored by Grand Duchess Esera, a woman whose taste and finesse were unquestionably unsurpassed. When Fortunato and I were little, she was still building to her final pinnacle, but even in those early days after she first escaped the mess that my father left her, well ... we weren't _poor_.
But I was a Boroughs scrapper, a brat. The privileged son of a family that most were wise enough not to cross. But not the _sheltered_ one. I watched lotus eaters die, I watched men beat each other in the street, I watched wealthy people use charity as a stopgap to make themselves feel better and then wander off back to their own luxuries without ever giving any of these people a thought. I saw other children who were my friends disappear to no one notice. It's not that any of this was especially traumatic for me. The point was, I saw.
So did the Sentinel.
I struggled with that more then than I do now. Resentment is an old friend of my heart, it's true, but I have a better, clearer understanding of what it means for a god to act. Of what it means for the gods to watch. And I am newly come to a very clear, up close, and personal understanding of what it feels like to watch cruelty, violence and injustice happen while you are powerless to intervene. For whatever reason. Perhaps because you're actually powerless, or perhaps because the consequences of action would be far worse.
I'm sitting now, waiting as a dent in my brand new armor is repaired, and thinking as I write, about spilled blood in the Cathedral, about dead children, and pain, and violence, and wanton malice for its own sake, and ... the Sentinel saw it all. Because the Sentinel sees everything.
The power of justice is in the hands of men. I feel, like I felt the rush of light through me last night, that the gift of justice is not only from the Sentinel to us, but the gift that we can grant _to_ the Sentinel by the work of our hands, our minds and our honor. Because I can think of no greater gift than the relief I felt when it was finally over.
This is my prayer to the Sentinel. Let the light of righteousness guide more of my choices. May I be more relief to your burden than weight added to it.
In other words, my prayer to the Silent Watcher is that I will not be painful to watch.
I wasn't born poor. I've never been poor. Myrinda Grayhope was the foremost seamstress and designer in the city. She had her detractors but she earned them by her tongue, not her work. Her work was unsurpassed. She dressed every High Lord and Lady. She was sponsored by Grand Duchess Esera, a woman whose taste and finesse were unquestionably unsurpassed. When Fortunato and I were little, she was still building to her final pinnacle, but even in those early days after she first escaped the mess that my father left her, well ... we weren't _poor_.
But I was a Boroughs scrapper, a brat. The privileged son of a family that most were wise enough not to cross. But not the _sheltered_ one. I watched lotus eaters die, I watched men beat each other in the street, I watched wealthy people use charity as a stopgap to make themselves feel better and then wander off back to their own luxuries without ever giving any of these people a thought. I saw other children who were my friends disappear to no one notice. It's not that any of this was especially traumatic for me. The point was, I saw.
So did the Sentinel.
I struggled with that more then than I do now. Resentment is an old friend of my heart, it's true, but I have a better, clearer understanding of what it means for a god to act. Of what it means for the gods to watch. And I am newly come to a very clear, up close, and personal understanding of what it feels like to watch cruelty, violence and injustice happen while you are powerless to intervene. For whatever reason. Perhaps because you're actually powerless, or perhaps because the consequences of action would be far worse.
I'm sitting now, waiting as a dent in my brand new armor is repaired, and thinking as I write, about spilled blood in the Cathedral, about dead children, and pain, and violence, and wanton malice for its own sake, and ... the Sentinel saw it all. Because the Sentinel sees everything.
The power of justice is in the hands of men. I feel, like I felt the rush of light through me last night, that the gift of justice is not only from the Sentinel to us, but the gift that we can grant _to_ the Sentinel by the work of our hands, our minds and our honor. Because I can think of no greater gift than the relief I felt when it was finally over.
This is my prayer to the Sentinel. Let the light of righteousness guide more of my choices. May I be more relief to your burden than weight added to it.
In other words, my prayer to the Silent Watcher is that I will not be painful to watch.
Written By Aureth
April 20, 2017, 12:27 p.m.(4/22/1006 AR)
For those of you who are or have been concerned:
Reports of my demise have been greatly exaggerated.
I did get speared through the gut by an asshole demon. It was not an experience I care to repeat. Of course, that isn't going to stop me from calling him an asshole demon.
The House of Solace has done what they could about me, however. The rest is merely inherent to my personality.
Reports of my demise have been greatly exaggerated.
I did get speared through the gut by an asshole demon. It was not an experience I care to repeat. Of course, that isn't going to stop me from calling him an asshole demon.
The House of Solace has done what they could about me, however. The rest is merely inherent to my personality.
Written By Aureth
April 20, 2017, 12:24 p.m.(4/22/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Calypso
Last night, I made battle plans with the Minister of Defense, General Calypso Malvici.
I never imagined that I would be called to do any such thing.
But since I am called, I serve. I never imagined that I would be doing that, either.
Death calls. The Crown calls. The Compact calls.
Well, shit. Here I am.
I never imagined that I would be called to do any such thing.
But since I am called, I serve. I never imagined that I would be doing that, either.
Death calls. The Crown calls. The Compact calls.
Well, shit. Here I am.
Written By Aureth
April 20, 2017, 12:21 p.m.(4/22/1006 AR)
I find it funny--
Last year, maybe two years ago I forget, Lazarus Mercier publicly called my mother a criminal. She called him out for this, and demanded that he meet her with swords in a duel. He retracted the insult rather than stand behind his words, but publicly complained and acted without grace about the whole thing. At that time, I called him coward.
A few months ago, I attended a wedding at the Mercier home, on behalf of my friend, Jeremiah, and his wedding to the charming Bethany Mercier, about whom none should have anything bad to say. Lazarus Mercier summarily ejected me from the house. At that time, I called him both a coward and ungracious in this very journal. Of course, because he is a coward and a man without grace, he did not respond. I assume this is because he knew that if he had called for champions, Gloria would simply have borne me out.
Now by his actions he has made clear that he is both an ungracious coward and a man without honor, who would put his personal pride above oaths and fealty and expect his family to blindly follow him into it.
Lazarus Mercier: coward, ungracious, honorless, and very shortly? Very broke.
Pretty funny.
I think now is a time that loyal Crownlanders should benefit from a 20% discount at Grayhope-run properties. I hope my family members will, with consideration, follow me in this. But of course, I make no demand that they do so. That would be arrogant.
Last year, maybe two years ago I forget, Lazarus Mercier publicly called my mother a criminal. She called him out for this, and demanded that he meet her with swords in a duel. He retracted the insult rather than stand behind his words, but publicly complained and acted without grace about the whole thing. At that time, I called him coward.
A few months ago, I attended a wedding at the Mercier home, on behalf of my friend, Jeremiah, and his wedding to the charming Bethany Mercier, about whom none should have anything bad to say. Lazarus Mercier summarily ejected me from the house. At that time, I called him both a coward and ungracious in this very journal. Of course, because he is a coward and a man without grace, he did not respond. I assume this is because he knew that if he had called for champions, Gloria would simply have borne me out.
Now by his actions he has made clear that he is both an ungracious coward and a man without honor, who would put his personal pride above oaths and fealty and expect his family to blindly follow him into it.
Lazarus Mercier: coward, ungracious, honorless, and very shortly? Very broke.
Pretty funny.
I think now is a time that loyal Crownlanders should benefit from a 20% discount at Grayhope-run properties. I hope my family members will, with consideration, follow me in this. But of course, I make no demand that they do so. That would be arrogant.
Written By Aureth
April 15, 2017, 12:39 p.m.(4/12/1006 AR)
Each life matters.
Each soul matters.
Every time a new life begins, a new chapter, a new story, a new warp and weft in the weave -- whether it is a brand new soul or a new layer of memory and meaning added to an old soul -- it begins something new, something different, something in potential. It can grow, and change, and develop. It is endowed with will, and can use that will to become.
Every soul. Each human being. All life.
The fact that each ending opens an opportunity for a new beginning does not render anything meaningless. It grants more value to a life, not less. The cyclic nature of life is not a rhetorical tool to make earthly concerns not matter. Nihilism is, frankly, heretical.
The Wheel is and we must, we _must_ defend it.
The threat against the Wheel must not, however, become an excuse to devalue it.
Each soul matters.
Every time a new life begins, a new chapter, a new story, a new warp and weft in the weave -- whether it is a brand new soul or a new layer of memory and meaning added to an old soul -- it begins something new, something different, something in potential. It can grow, and change, and develop. It is endowed with will, and can use that will to become.
Every soul. Each human being. All life.
The fact that each ending opens an opportunity for a new beginning does not render anything meaningless. It grants more value to a life, not less. The cyclic nature of life is not a rhetorical tool to make earthly concerns not matter. Nihilism is, frankly, heretical.
The Wheel is and we must, we _must_ defend it.
The threat against the Wheel must not, however, become an excuse to devalue it.
Written By Aureth
April 11, 2017, 5:55 p.m.(4/4/1006 AR)
Sitting down to think about what to say about Vellichor is, itself, kind of strange. It's been an unexamined habit for so long, like cleaning my teeth or making tea in the morning. Yet there's so little of value to anything that I write into my journal, with a few rare and -- well, to me, at least -- powerful exceptions. When I search through my own archive of my life, some of it is a trigger to memory but others of it is the random detritus of a life, not the worthwhile history of a man or of a people.
Too often the entry is not 'This happened on this date, for these reasons' but 'Here is a remark that I thought was pithy at the time, to whom no one shall ever remember the context' or 'here is a particularly snarky commentary on a current event which is certainly vague enough in form and scope that no one shall ever, in future, be able to recognize it as attached'.
What a research project: to go back to the earliest journals in memory, and find the earliest examples of vague social snot submitted publicly to the court of public opinion, and see if it is possible to determine what they came from.
Yet even so, knowledge is of tremendous value. I'm desperate for it, at times, hungrier for facts than I am for food or thirsty for wine. Mysteries gape before me like vast holes in my understanding, and I'm convinced if only they were filled, the world might come into a new and shining focus. When I look upon the task that lies before me -- to write a doctrine for a goddess, to prepare prayers for her, to bring her worship back to a people who have forgotten her -- it is literally my duty to reinvent a wheel (ha, the Wheel) that, long ago, someone already has done, and perhaps someone more qualified. I mean, you never know. It's hard to argue with my present qualifications, admittedly.
I want to _know_.
This is my prayer for Vellichor. Let my thirst for knowledge be quenched in plenty, yet not be drowned in mystification. And let me be more mindful; may the historical record I create for future generations ... one day be comprehensible. Because _so far_, I wouldn't wish myself as a primary source to anyone about just about anything.
Too often the entry is not 'This happened on this date, for these reasons' but 'Here is a remark that I thought was pithy at the time, to whom no one shall ever remember the context' or 'here is a particularly snarky commentary on a current event which is certainly vague enough in form and scope that no one shall ever, in future, be able to recognize it as attached'.
What a research project: to go back to the earliest journals in memory, and find the earliest examples of vague social snot submitted publicly to the court of public opinion, and see if it is possible to determine what they came from.
Yet even so, knowledge is of tremendous value. I'm desperate for it, at times, hungrier for facts than I am for food or thirsty for wine. Mysteries gape before me like vast holes in my understanding, and I'm convinced if only they were filled, the world might come into a new and shining focus. When I look upon the task that lies before me -- to write a doctrine for a goddess, to prepare prayers for her, to bring her worship back to a people who have forgotten her -- it is literally my duty to reinvent a wheel (ha, the Wheel) that, long ago, someone already has done, and perhaps someone more qualified. I mean, you never know. It's hard to argue with my present qualifications, admittedly.
I want to _know_.
This is my prayer for Vellichor. Let my thirst for knowledge be quenched in plenty, yet not be drowned in mystification. And let me be more mindful; may the historical record I create for future generations ... one day be comprehensible. Because _so far_, I wouldn't wish myself as a primary source to anyone about just about anything.
Written By Aureth
April 10, 2017, 3:11 p.m.(4/2/1006 AR)
A little while ago, in this process I have undertaken prior to taking my vows before all the gods rather than only one, I was composing an essay on Gloria. At that time, I struggled a little with myself over the meaning of honor for a man who does not fight. I found the idea of my own honor nebulous; I struggled with the root of pride, and had to think hard about what it meant to me, where to seed Gloria's particular integrity within my own spirit. I reached a conclusion, and I will not rehash that now.
Yet I can answer that question another way, now, having heard the first horrific news of what Abbas Thrax has done to thousands of Shav'Arvani in the Isles.
It is so much easier to comprehend the necessity of honor to a moral life when confronted with its glaring lack.
If there is any among the people of the Compact who does not find this behavior shocking to your conscience ... I can only conclude that they must have lost their way. I hope that they consider a return to the Faith.
The gods are with us, but must we not be worthy of their grace?
Yet I can answer that question another way, now, having heard the first horrific news of what Abbas Thrax has done to thousands of Shav'Arvani in the Isles.
It is so much easier to comprehend the necessity of honor to a moral life when confronted with its glaring lack.
If there is any among the people of the Compact who does not find this behavior shocking to your conscience ... I can only conclude that they must have lost their way. I hope that they consider a return to the Faith.
The gods are with us, but must we not be worthy of their grace?
Written By Aureth
April 9, 2017, 2:09 p.m.(3/28/1006 AR)
I don't know that I have the hang of this sermonizing thing yet, but I wrote a letter this morning that I'm modifying to give to the White, because I think it is a sentiment worth saving. Especially since I'm pretty sure I'm going to have to write some prayers.
So, if you are reading this:
There is one godsgiven gift that each of you has.
You have a soul. It was formed and spun from the blood of a goddess. It is unique, individual, a seed of identity behind your eyes, the bedrock of your very self. She built it from her own self and she spun it into the weave of life. I don't know if this is your first life or not, but in the end, it doesn't matter. A new soul, an old soul: she created it, she shaped it, she loves it. She started you on your path.
Your choices brought you to where you are now, and your choices will shape the rest of your life, the memories that will sink deep into your soul stuff. When you act as leader to your people, as a captain to your soldiers, as lover to your lovers, as child to your parents, as a person among people, or as hero to the Compact -- if you do any of those things -- those are threads of something great that become part of who and what you are, on a level beneath your mind, on a level beyond your memory. When you die, the Queen of Endings will gather you up into her hands, and send you on: to wait in the Shining Lands, until you are again needed for her weave, for life, for the unknown future; or to send you on into Elysium, your journeys done, your story complete.
She will guard you and keep you safe, that soul of hers that she wove. She will protect your place upon the Wheel. It is hers to do so, and no other's. She will not squander you. You have value.
As long as we can defend Her and Her City from those that would unmake the world and destroy Her.
So, if you are reading this:
There is one godsgiven gift that each of you has.
You have a soul. It was formed and spun from the blood of a goddess. It is unique, individual, a seed of identity behind your eyes, the bedrock of your very self. She built it from her own self and she spun it into the weave of life. I don't know if this is your first life or not, but in the end, it doesn't matter. A new soul, an old soul: she created it, she shaped it, she loves it. She started you on your path.
Your choices brought you to where you are now, and your choices will shape the rest of your life, the memories that will sink deep into your soul stuff. When you act as leader to your people, as a captain to your soldiers, as lover to your lovers, as child to your parents, as a person among people, or as hero to the Compact -- if you do any of those things -- those are threads of something great that become part of who and what you are, on a level beneath your mind, on a level beyond your memory. When you die, the Queen of Endings will gather you up into her hands, and send you on: to wait in the Shining Lands, until you are again needed for her weave, for life, for the unknown future; or to send you on into Elysium, your journeys done, your story complete.
She will guard you and keep you safe, that soul of hers that she wove. She will protect your place upon the Wheel. It is hers to do so, and no other's. She will not squander you. You have value.
As long as we can defend Her and Her City from those that would unmake the world and destroy Her.
Written By Aureth
April 9, 2017, 12:41 a.m.(3/27/1006 AR)
Many bore witness to the hand of the Queen of Endings and Beginnings upon me today. Many heard Her say what Her gift shall be. Many heard me say that this is Her City and that we will defend it. We will defend Her, as She guards the souls of the fallen, and weaves them into their new lives.
Let tonight be an end of uncertainty. Let it be the beginning of hope. Open your hearts to faith. Join hands in love, in remembrance, and in the grace of the gods. Remember the goddess in night and starlight, as cold and beautiful as winter midnight, and know that we are not alone in this fight.
Stand with me, Arx. Stand before Death. Defy the Void and embrace life, and lives, and the future of the cycle.
She is with us.
Let tonight be an end of uncertainty. Let it be the beginning of hope. Open your hearts to faith. Join hands in love, in remembrance, and in the grace of the gods. Remember the goddess in night and starlight, as cold and beautiful as winter midnight, and know that we are not alone in this fight.
Stand with me, Arx. Stand before Death. Defy the Void and embrace life, and lives, and the future of the cycle.
She is with us.
Written By Aureth
April 3, 2017, 4:06 p.m.(3/16/1006 AR)
So like I said before, I'm a city boy. But I've ridden a boat before. I'm not a sailor and I never will have Magpie's hand at it, for example, but I can stand on the deck of a ship without falling over. The river and the sea are both a part of our lives in this city, and a part of our trade. The rotted sea life stink of the tide pools, the sweeter tang of salt, the fresh smell of rain, the sweetness of cold water on the tongue -- it matters.
There's something about wind on your skin, in your face, that feels and tastes like freedom. Not the freedom that Skald offers, the freedom to choose and the freedom to be, but a different kind: a freedom to go, a freedom to _escape_. It's that same wildness that, I think, we try to harness when we drink the wine. I asked around, why Mangata gets all the booze, and sure ... sure, it's all liquid, like the water, like the waves, but I don't think it's only that.
Water and sun. That's life.
And lately, when I look into the sky, I think about what it would be like without it. Without the heat and life of the sun. A thousand years without sunlight. What would that be like?
Mangata, Lady of the Sea and Sky, this is my prayer to you: may I never take your gifts for granted. Let me live on under the sky, and taste the freedom in your air, and never let it go.
There's something about wind on your skin, in your face, that feels and tastes like freedom. Not the freedom that Skald offers, the freedom to choose and the freedom to be, but a different kind: a freedom to go, a freedom to _escape_. It's that same wildness that, I think, we try to harness when we drink the wine. I asked around, why Mangata gets all the booze, and sure ... sure, it's all liquid, like the water, like the waves, but I don't think it's only that.
Water and sun. That's life.
And lately, when I look into the sky, I think about what it would be like without it. Without the heat and life of the sun. A thousand years without sunlight. What would that be like?
Mangata, Lady of the Sea and Sky, this is my prayer to you: may I never take your gifts for granted. Let me live on under the sky, and taste the freedom in your air, and never let it go.
Written By Aureth
March 31, 2017, 4:10 p.m.(3/10/1006 AR)
So it's like this.
I went to the Shrine of Gloria, which I can't say I'd _never_ done before, but I have to admit it's pretty rare. The place looks like it should be a war camp, and it looks like that all the time, not just when the entire city is under siege. Battle and war are a soldier's game. I own armor to not die in, and I can shoot a crossbow without murdering my own thumb but that's basically the extent of my skill in that area.
I was complaining to Aleksei about this and he wrote back, "You think honor only comes up when you're fighting?"
Makes you think, doesn't it?
Honor. It goes hand in hand with pride, doesn't it? The point on which you stand, the point of rage: that's not me, that is beneath me, that is not what I stand for, that is not what I am.
Where's your honor? Is it the line drawn in the sand, the point you reach of acts you won't do? "Hey, murder someone and throw them in the river."
Is it the point of integrity, the place where you won't lie anymore, even to protect yourself? "Hey, Death told me the Silence is coming."
Is it the point where even though you've got the battle skills of a limp noodle, you'll walk into the dark with your eyes wide open to protect people you care about, even if it's just to give the darkness another, shinier, blonder target?
I didn't really ever think that honor was something I was particularly entitled to, but that never stopped me from having a huge damn chip on my shoulder, did it?
This is my prayer to Gloria. Let me be worthy to protect the honor of the Queen. Allow me the fortitude not to disgrace the Faith. May I be strong enough to stand for what's right. May I be bold enough to defend the world from darkness.
May I be enough, and when I'm inevitably not -- let others stand with me.
I went to the Shrine of Gloria, which I can't say I'd _never_ done before, but I have to admit it's pretty rare. The place looks like it should be a war camp, and it looks like that all the time, not just when the entire city is under siege. Battle and war are a soldier's game. I own armor to not die in, and I can shoot a crossbow without murdering my own thumb but that's basically the extent of my skill in that area.
I was complaining to Aleksei about this and he wrote back, "You think honor only comes up when you're fighting?"
Makes you think, doesn't it?
Honor. It goes hand in hand with pride, doesn't it? The point on which you stand, the point of rage: that's not me, that is beneath me, that is not what I stand for, that is not what I am.
Where's your honor? Is it the line drawn in the sand, the point you reach of acts you won't do? "Hey, murder someone and throw them in the river."
Is it the point of integrity, the place where you won't lie anymore, even to protect yourself? "Hey, Death told me the Silence is coming."
Is it the point where even though you've got the battle skills of a limp noodle, you'll walk into the dark with your eyes wide open to protect people you care about, even if it's just to give the darkness another, shinier, blonder target?
I didn't really ever think that honor was something I was particularly entitled to, but that never stopped me from having a huge damn chip on my shoulder, did it?
This is my prayer to Gloria. Let me be worthy to protect the honor of the Queen. Allow me the fortitude not to disgrace the Faith. May I be strong enough to stand for what's right. May I be bold enough to defend the world from darkness.
May I be enough, and when I'm inevitably not -- let others stand with me.
Written By Aureth
March 31, 2017, 3:47 p.m.(3/10/1006 AR)
Lagoma, the Lady of Change.
You know, I sit down to write out my thoughts on Lagoma and I feel like I already have. Each step we take - every choice I take on this path that I've set myself - it requires change and adaptation, in becoming a new person, in becoming a new thing, in Becoming, with a capital B, whatever that means. The gift of change is the ability to become. When I think about it--
Hana was the first true gift of Lagoma, for all that, in the end, she's probably more a gift from Jayus, for all that the debt a father owes his daughter probably has more to do with Limerance. Because the boy I was when I met her mother could never have been her dad. Because the man I was when I met her ... I don't know that he could ever have been responsible enough to reach for what I have now.
But I opened my heart, because how not? I made that choice. I accepted that change.
Hana has brilliant hands. It's not just native instinct. It's a lifetime of hard work, of dedication. Without a father to guide her, she chose to be a better, more responsible, more sturdy and real, than he ever would have been in his life. I don't think this is usually how examples work, and yet--
And yet.
But if I could become real for one person, it turned out ... it turned out I could be more. Because I saw that there was a way forward. Fortunato says that, after she showed me the Silence, I could have just dumped it off on Orazio or Aldwin and let it be somebody else's problem, and you know ... I never once thought of that? I never once thought to stop? Pretend it away? I never once thought to _not_ try?
I don't know when or how I became the man who made that choice. But I did. Because people have the power to change who they are. The power to become.
Death begins our stories with a blank weave, or with an old soul threaded into a new pattern. Skald gave us the will so that we could forge our way across that new pattern, so that our choices have meaning. But Lagoma grants us the gift to become, to grow, to change into the form of that pattern, to reshape our lives.
This is my prayer to Lagoma, in thanks for what She has already granted me, and us. Let me never shy from an opportunity to grow. Spring is coming, right around the corner. May it bring new growth for us all.
You know, I sit down to write out my thoughts on Lagoma and I feel like I already have. Each step we take - every choice I take on this path that I've set myself - it requires change and adaptation, in becoming a new person, in becoming a new thing, in Becoming, with a capital B, whatever that means. The gift of change is the ability to become. When I think about it--
Hana was the first true gift of Lagoma, for all that, in the end, she's probably more a gift from Jayus, for all that the debt a father owes his daughter probably has more to do with Limerance. Because the boy I was when I met her mother could never have been her dad. Because the man I was when I met her ... I don't know that he could ever have been responsible enough to reach for what I have now.
But I opened my heart, because how not? I made that choice. I accepted that change.
Hana has brilliant hands. It's not just native instinct. It's a lifetime of hard work, of dedication. Without a father to guide her, she chose to be a better, more responsible, more sturdy and real, than he ever would have been in his life. I don't think this is usually how examples work, and yet--
And yet.
But if I could become real for one person, it turned out ... it turned out I could be more. Because I saw that there was a way forward. Fortunato says that, after she showed me the Silence, I could have just dumped it off on Orazio or Aldwin and let it be somebody else's problem, and you know ... I never once thought of that? I never once thought to stop? Pretend it away? I never once thought to _not_ try?
I don't know when or how I became the man who made that choice. But I did. Because people have the power to change who they are. The power to become.
Death begins our stories with a blank weave, or with an old soul threaded into a new pattern. Skald gave us the will so that we could forge our way across that new pattern, so that our choices have meaning. But Lagoma grants us the gift to become, to grow, to change into the form of that pattern, to reshape our lives.
This is my prayer to Lagoma, in thanks for what She has already granted me, and us. Let me never shy from an opportunity to grow. Spring is coming, right around the corner. May it bring new growth for us all.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.