Written By Kima
April 11, 2017, 7:08 p.m.(4/4/1006 AR)
How do you teach wisdom to Man? The wisdom of others is the wisdom we ignore, even should they know how to communicate 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 Ariel
April 11, 2017, 5:15 p.m.(4/4/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Asger
I wish Lord Asger would keep his word about the fur cloak I won off of him in a card game. I suppose I should just realize not everyone is good of their word.
Written By Dulcinea
April 11, 2017, 4:44 p.m.(4/4/1006 AR)
Dear Me,
Every time I try to understand how it is Thraxian thralls can earn their freedom, but our serfs spend their lives laboring on a plot of land they will never own, I get a terrible headache. What an awful conundrum.
I need brandy and a bath.
Frown Lines are Forever,
Me
Every time I try to understand how it is Thraxian thralls can earn their freedom, but our serfs spend their lives laboring on a plot of land they will never own, I get a terrible headache. What an awful conundrum.
I need brandy and a bath.
Frown Lines are Forever,
Me
Written By Eirene
April 11, 2017, 3:33 p.m.(4/4/1006 AR)
Equal parts frightened and angry. A touch honored I fucked something up for someone else.
Oh who am I kidding. Fuck-ton more angry than scared.
Oh who am I kidding. Fuck-ton more angry than scared.
Written By Valery
April 11, 2017, 2:21 p.m.(4/4/1006 AR)
I still don't know how right or wrong is it.
But I guess I don't care anymore.
It's warm.
It's nice.
And it feels safe.
But I guess I don't care anymore.
It's warm.
It's nice.
And it feels safe.
Written By Ariel
April 11, 2017, 1:20 p.m.(4/4/1006 AR)
How beautiful,
Yet how tragic,
The sight of a burning bridge,
Ignited by an unrequited lover's fire,
Not out of hate,
Not out of anger,
But to make sure,
That to the very person he or she longs for,
They are no longer a burden,
They are no longer a bother.
Yet how tragic,
The sight of a burning bridge,
Ignited by an unrequited lover's fire,
Not out of hate,
Not out of anger,
But to make sure,
That to the very person he or she longs for,
They are no longer a burden,
They are no longer a bother.
Written By Ariel
April 11, 2017, 12:54 p.m.(4/4/1006 AR)
Roll the dice and watch them fall.
Whisper words to those waiting, wanting.
Twirl away across the dance floor, taunting
me with those eyes and with that carefree sprawl.
Embrace the lights and let the music flow,
my hands on your hips, your hands on my chest.
The tempo slows and time runs into arrest.
Hold me in your arms, and don't let go.
Sing with me to our favorite song,
the melody of the laughing chase
that ends in an honest, ardent embrace.
Sing with me, dance with me, all night long.
Join with me in the gambler's dance,
You don't need to join with me at the lips,
nor certainly need we join at the hips.
(Though if we did, it wouldn't be remiss)
Just share with me an airborne kiss;
take my hand, take my heart, take a chance.
Whisper words to those waiting, wanting.
Twirl away across the dance floor, taunting
me with those eyes and with that carefree sprawl.
Embrace the lights and let the music flow,
my hands on your hips, your hands on my chest.
The tempo slows and time runs into arrest.
Hold me in your arms, and don't let go.
Sing with me to our favorite song,
the melody of the laughing chase
that ends in an honest, ardent embrace.
Sing with me, dance with me, all night long.
Join with me in the gambler's dance,
You don't need to join with me at the lips,
nor certainly need we join at the hips.
(Though if we did, it wouldn't be remiss)
Just share with me an airborne kiss;
take my hand, take my heart, take a chance.
Written By Ariel
April 11, 2017, 12:51 p.m.(4/4/1006 AR)
Thought of the Day: I wish Lord Asger would keep his word about the fur cloak I won off of him in a card game. I suppose I should just realize not everyone is good of their word.
Written By Samantha
April 11, 2017, 10:14 a.m.(4/3/1006 AR)
Do not show us what is in the right hand when there has been a demand to answer for what the left hand has done.
Written By Silas
April 11, 2017, 7:11 a.m.(4/3/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Ailys
The princess has requested a couple custom teas.
Challenge accepted.
Challenge accepted.
Written By Merek
April 11, 2017, 12:35 a.m.(4/3/1006 AR)
I bought patron membership at the Whisper House. I know it seems a curious thing to do in recent times, but my hard work has paid off enough that I had a little extra to put towards it, and it's giving back to the community. We must keep the economy alive. And I can't deal with the stress of war, without a place to keep my mind off it, that isn't a bar. I'm hopeful I'll meet many fine Whispers that won't mind intelligent discussions, a nice drink, and perhaps talk of history and times before the siege. Longer sieges have been held, I do worry about supplies at times, but I'm doing my best to help with that as well. Still, it makes me wonder, just when will we be able to take down Brand?
Written By Max
April 11, 2017, 12:28 a.m.(4/3/1006 AR)
And now I rest.
Written By Orazio
April 10, 2017, 11:21 p.m.(4/2/1006 AR)
To the Faithful Reader:
A long list of horrors occupies my sleepless thoughts of late, and my nightmares - ever fertile ground - have an ever-widening array of seeds from which to grow a bountiful harvest. And yet, on this night, as I study the reports in front of me, accounts of those lost, honorably and otherwise, it is not to the recent past that my mind returns.
Sometimes, it does not seem very long ago that I was a very young man in the Saiklands, a man with a large family, and parents who had in the last few years been blessed with twins, my youngest siblings. I was the second born, and I suspect that many who only know me since I joined the Faith would be surprised at that young man, before he changed completely.
You see, that was the summer plague came to the Saiklands.
It began among the workers in the vineyards, as a peculiar rash that began on the forearms. It spread quickly, and I remember how the summer heat beat down on the shelters we erected to try and quarantine the sick. My father ordered my eldest brother away; he was the heir, and the hope of the main family's continuing line. I stayed, for the rash had already appeared on my mother's arms, and my other brother was studying in Arx. The twins caught it next. They were too young to understand why their mother was too weak to hold them, or why their bodies had suddenly become prisons of agony. A toddler does not understand the concept of plague. They wish to be held by their parents. They want their big brother to take the pain away. They beg, and when begging fails, they cry. I remember that it took them almost a fortnight to die, and how they screamed from the fourth day until their throats became so swollen and bloodied that all the noise they could make was a throaty croak, rising and falling with their labored breaths. I remember how the plague pustules grew and swelled, turning purple and hard beneath their delicate skin, until it seemed like the Saikland's grapes were trying to be born from their thrashing, sweat-soaked bodies. I remember working with the house healer, making draughts of drugged wine to try and give them a few moments of peace, here and there. I remember finding their still bodies, already going rigid, and breathing a prayer to Lagoma that she, in her mercy, had finally allowed them to escape back to her side.
My parents took longer to die, being stronger and better able to care for themselves. Once their strength failed, the healer and I worked to keep them as cool as possible, to change them and bathe them, and dose them. After the healer caught the disease, I worked alone, trying to make them as comfortable as I could while I watched the light in their eyes burn and burn and burn until there was nothing left but ashes and meat, which we, the survivors, buried.
I can say, without any doubt or hesitation, that without the plague, I would not be where I am today. I certainly would not have joined the Faith; there is something about seeing injustice on such a horrific scale that makes the heart and soul yearn for light. I can also say that I would not inflict that experience on even the worst of my enemies. Not even those whose humanity is doubtful or nonexistent, and certainly not on noncombatants. Tens of thousands.
May the gods have mercy on our souls, although sometimes I doubt that we deserve it.
A long list of horrors occupies my sleepless thoughts of late, and my nightmares - ever fertile ground - have an ever-widening array of seeds from which to grow a bountiful harvest. And yet, on this night, as I study the reports in front of me, accounts of those lost, honorably and otherwise, it is not to the recent past that my mind returns.
Sometimes, it does not seem very long ago that I was a very young man in the Saiklands, a man with a large family, and parents who had in the last few years been blessed with twins, my youngest siblings. I was the second born, and I suspect that many who only know me since I joined the Faith would be surprised at that young man, before he changed completely.
You see, that was the summer plague came to the Saiklands.
It began among the workers in the vineyards, as a peculiar rash that began on the forearms. It spread quickly, and I remember how the summer heat beat down on the shelters we erected to try and quarantine the sick. My father ordered my eldest brother away; he was the heir, and the hope of the main family's continuing line. I stayed, for the rash had already appeared on my mother's arms, and my other brother was studying in Arx. The twins caught it next. They were too young to understand why their mother was too weak to hold them, or why their bodies had suddenly become prisons of agony. A toddler does not understand the concept of plague. They wish to be held by their parents. They want their big brother to take the pain away. They beg, and when begging fails, they cry. I remember that it took them almost a fortnight to die, and how they screamed from the fourth day until their throats became so swollen and bloodied that all the noise they could make was a throaty croak, rising and falling with their labored breaths. I remember how the plague pustules grew and swelled, turning purple and hard beneath their delicate skin, until it seemed like the Saikland's grapes were trying to be born from their thrashing, sweat-soaked bodies. I remember working with the house healer, making draughts of drugged wine to try and give them a few moments of peace, here and there. I remember finding their still bodies, already going rigid, and breathing a prayer to Lagoma that she, in her mercy, had finally allowed them to escape back to her side.
My parents took longer to die, being stronger and better able to care for themselves. Once their strength failed, the healer and I worked to keep them as cool as possible, to change them and bathe them, and dose them. After the healer caught the disease, I worked alone, trying to make them as comfortable as I could while I watched the light in their eyes burn and burn and burn until there was nothing left but ashes and meat, which we, the survivors, buried.
I can say, without any doubt or hesitation, that without the plague, I would not be where I am today. I certainly would not have joined the Faith; there is something about seeing injustice on such a horrific scale that makes the heart and soul yearn for light. I can also say that I would not inflict that experience on even the worst of my enemies. Not even those whose humanity is doubtful or nonexistent, and certainly not on noncombatants. Tens of thousands.
May the gods have mercy on our souls, although sometimes I doubt that we deserve it.
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 Harald
April 10, 2017, 10:21 p.m.(4/2/1006 AR)
I hear the recent proclamations with disappointment, but not surprise.
My house has sent its sons to fight in every great battle the Compact has faced in this war. We were at Pridehall, at Giant's Fall, at Krakensmaw, and at Arx, where half our strength remains.
Where is the list of our atrocities? Where is a single complaint given voice at our loyalty or obedience? Let any speak who would claim that Grimhall has offended the Gods with our conduct in this war.
We fought with valor under command of Calypso Malvici when the Formorian was slain and the Bringers' host broken, and we fought with honor: let her name me a liar if I am false.
We have supported the Iron Guard and the defense of Arx as much as any House, with no thought of greed or profit. Let Silas Mercier name me a liar if I am false.
My son Valdemar led Grimhall's men against the Gyre with courage and honor unstained. I defy any to claim otherwise.
Yet now I must hear Legate Orazio use the deeds of other men as a flimsy cause to attack thralldom, heedless of the damage it would do to the Mourning Isles and to my House, which has committed no wrongs. I am not so learned in the ways of the Gods as he, so perhaps there is good precedent to punish the innocent in this manner.
I await it.
My house has sent its sons to fight in every great battle the Compact has faced in this war. We were at Pridehall, at Giant's Fall, at Krakensmaw, and at Arx, where half our strength remains.
Where is the list of our atrocities? Where is a single complaint given voice at our loyalty or obedience? Let any speak who would claim that Grimhall has offended the Gods with our conduct in this war.
We fought with valor under command of Calypso Malvici when the Formorian was slain and the Bringers' host broken, and we fought with honor: let her name me a liar if I am false.
We have supported the Iron Guard and the defense of Arx as much as any House, with no thought of greed or profit. Let Silas Mercier name me a liar if I am false.
My son Valdemar led Grimhall's men against the Gyre with courage and honor unstained. I defy any to claim otherwise.
Yet now I must hear Legate Orazio use the deeds of other men as a flimsy cause to attack thralldom, heedless of the damage it would do to the Mourning Isles and to my House, which has committed no wrongs. I am not so learned in the ways of the Gods as he, so perhaps there is good precedent to punish the innocent in this manner.
I await it.
Written By Merek
April 10, 2017, 8:50 p.m.(4/2/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Selene
The Radiant Whisper of the Whisper House. She is kind and caring, and she has accepted my membership as a patron within the Whisper House. I hope to have intellectual discussions with her sometime when she is free, and I should send her a copy of some of my work.
Written By Magpie
April 10, 2017, 8:47 p.m.(4/2/1006 AR)
Decided to go over to the Thrax side of the city today. (More blood stains, but much cleaner) I like visiting the Ebb and Flow Inn there, lots of my people. (Sailors, that is. People of the sea!!) I bumped into Mae (always a delight! she's like a delicious spiced rum on a cold day), and she introduced me to some well-to-do folk. The princess was nice (like a cake with some light pink frosting). One of the other nobles got offended when I took too close of interest in her card game. (yesterday's bread. A bit stiff, but still good.) Look. I bathed two days ago, I really don't see what I did wrong.
Whatever.
So I met with a friend about some business. Then I met with some other friends about some other business. Then Thena dropped in, on break from a guard patrol. She told me about how Calaudrin was terribly concerned for my welfare and seeking only the best of health for me. He's such a sweetheart. <3 <3 <3
While we were talking a man came in that bore a striking resemblance to some sketches I was given by Aleksei. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Tall. Strong. It could have been him! I slipped the pictures quietly to Thena and then went over to strike up a conversation with the fellow. You know, ask a few questions? Get a feel for things. Turns out the man in question? Marquis Ford Kennex. (A tall drink of water... Darkwater.)
Kennex didn't seem to like me. I'm not sure why, but that's two for two that I struck out on today. I have decided after no deliberation what-so-ever it had something to do with my shirt. Therefore, I have commissioned the lovely Lyiana (that I only just met, courtesy of the also just-met Simone) for a fine seasilk shirt. Blue. I am certain this will make the difference in future meetings with nobility and/or royalty.
I dedicate this journal entry to you, Lyiana Averdeen. You're a top-notch lady.
Whatever.
So I met with a friend about some business. Then I met with some other friends about some other business. Then Thena dropped in, on break from a guard patrol. She told me about how Calaudrin was terribly concerned for my welfare and seeking only the best of health for me. He's such a sweetheart. <3 <3 <3
While we were talking a man came in that bore a striking resemblance to some sketches I was given by Aleksei. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Tall. Strong. It could have been him! I slipped the pictures quietly to Thena and then went over to strike up a conversation with the fellow. You know, ask a few questions? Get a feel for things. Turns out the man in question? Marquis Ford Kennex. (A tall drink of water... Darkwater.)
Kennex didn't seem to like me. I'm not sure why, but that's two for two that I struck out on today. I have decided after no deliberation what-so-ever it had something to do with my shirt. Therefore, I have commissioned the lovely Lyiana (that I only just met, courtesy of the also just-met Simone) for a fine seasilk shirt. Blue. I am certain this will make the difference in future meetings with nobility and/or royalty.
I dedicate this journal entry to you, Lyiana Averdeen. You're a top-notch lady.
Written By Margot
April 10, 2017, 8:26 p.m.(4/2/1006 AR)
Here is to bloodless victories. Julia is now a Marquessa, and her husband has yielded to myself and House Thrax. Not only giving us more men and boats but each a lost arm and sail from the Gyre's forces.
I am not a tactician but I believe that can be classified as a double victory, and the sort we ought to strive more for.
Now... if only the Compact would give such as much attention as they do a handful of flayings done by Abbas and his over zealous reavers.
I am not a tactician but I believe that can be classified as a double victory, and the sort we ought to strive more for.
Now... if only the Compact would give such as much attention as they do a handful of flayings done by Abbas and his over zealous reavers.
Written By Ariel
April 10, 2017, 8:15 p.m.(4/2/1006 AR)
The moonlight
our spotlight,
the ground is
our stage.
The stars
our audience,
the night is
our music.
As the light fades,
we pick up the pace.
We dance together
in the moon's embrace.
The moonlight
our spotlight,
the ground is
our stage.
The stars
our audience,
the night is
our music.
You are
my partner,
and this is
our dance.
our spotlight,
the ground is
our stage.
The stars
our audience,
the night is
our music.
As the light fades,
we pick up the pace.
We dance together
in the moon's embrace.
The moonlight
our spotlight,
the ground is
our stage.
The stars
our audience,
the night is
our music.
You are
my partner,
and this is
our dance.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.