Written By Kima
April 11, 2017, 7:08 p.m.(4/4/1006 AR)
Written By Aureth
April 11, 2017, 5:55 p.m.(4/4/1006 AR)
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
Written By Dulcinea
April 11, 2017, 4:44 p.m.(4/4/1006 AR)
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)
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)
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)
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)
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)
Written By Samantha
April 11, 2017, 10:14 a.m.(4/3/1006 AR)
Written By Silas
April 11, 2017, 7:11 a.m.(4/3/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Ailys
Challenge accepted.
Written By Merek
April 11, 2017, 12:35 a.m.(4/3/1006 AR)
Written By Max
April 11, 2017, 12:28 a.m.(4/3/1006 AR)
Written By Orazio
April 10, 2017, 11:21 p.m.(4/2/1006 AR)
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
Written By Harald
April 10, 2017, 10:21 p.m.(4/2/1006 AR)
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
Written By Magpie
April 10, 2017, 8:47 p.m.(4/2/1006 AR)
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)
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)
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.