Written By Max
Nov. 25, 2016, 7:43 a.m.(3/17/1005 AR)
I met with the seeking one tonight.
She tried, as before, to be overeager and rush things. I challenged her - I pushed her back. I made her talk to me. I made her have a conversation. It went very well.
I hope very much she takes my lessons to heart. They will serve her well in her quest.
She tried, as before, to be overeager and rush things. I challenged her - I pushed her back. I made her talk to me. I made her have a conversation. It went very well.
I hope very much she takes my lessons to heart. They will serve her well in her quest.
Written By Max
Nov. 25, 2016, 7:41 a.m.(3/17/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Sebell
I met a priest I like. He manages to not be a complete asshole. I think I shall ask he be appointed as the faiths vicar to my house. He is of Mangata, and was born in Tyde hall, and his disposition is what one might call charming. I like him, I will let him bless my home.
But I won't leave him near the silver or the women.
But I won't leave him near the silver or the women.
Written By Sabella
Nov. 25, 2016, 4:06 a.m.(3/17/1005 AR)
The Romance continues with a different masculine figure. Orange and red colors blend across the sky in a beautiful setting sun. We talked, and cuddled, and talked some more by the fire light. He learned my secret, and time will tell if he can keep it to himself. I am taking some big leaps with my love life. Either I will be carried, or the fall will end in crushing heartbreak.
Either ending should make for quite a journey.
Either ending should make for quite a journey.
Written By Eirene
Nov. 25, 2016, 2:21 a.m.(3/17/1005 AR)
If I wasn't fond of alcohol before, coming to Arx would certainly turn me into a drunk. Mind you, I'm no lush. I'm perfectly capable of not drinking. I just choose to not -not- drink. I've learned enough in the past month to equal thirty years worth of stories and tales and terrors.
I take that back - ALMOST in the past month. There's some things in my past which will likely go without equal and if I do go through it again? I'll guarantee that I crawl into a bottle to not have to deal with that sort of torment twice in one lifetime.
I take that back - ALMOST in the past month. There's some things in my past which will likely go without equal and if I do go through it again? I'll guarantee that I crawl into a bottle to not have to deal with that sort of torment twice in one lifetime.
Written By Viktarkim
Nov. 24, 2016, 10:01 p.m.(3/16/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Natalia
I'm still trying to figure her out. She may be what she seems, but she comes across rather too sugar coated. Trying too hard to be everyone's friend and especially mine? I don't trust her and she knows that. Doesn't mean I don't like her, but how can a woman like that be as simple as she claims? Too many layers. Women are complicated enough but she's also every inch the overly refined Princess who very much doesn't like someone to tell her 'No', no matter how politely I put it.
Written By Viktarkim
Nov. 24, 2016, 9:53 p.m.(3/16/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Morrighan
Clothier, prodigal to House Redrain. Drinks whiskey, has a big black raven named Brahm. I like the bird. Handsome and probably good eating, too. Morrighan's all right too, friend of Joscelin's apparently. Had a good drink together recently.
Written By Viktarkim
Nov. 24, 2016, 9:46 p.m.(3/16/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Edain
I ran into the Prince the other day at a tavern. He paid me about the nicest compliment of my entire life, saying my employer spoke well of me. I won't go into details, but ... well, it was unexpected. He then told the barkeep to put my drink and anything else I wanted on /his/ tab. Coffee has to be imported from the tropics and on my wages, not a luxery I can often afford. But that was about the best cup I ever tasted. Thank you, Your Highness.
Written By Costas
Nov. 24, 2016, 8:56 p.m.(3/16/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Ianthe
On the second ship I crewed, there was this mate named Titch. Shifty little bastard but he'd been sailing longer than most had seen summers. Not officer material on account of a petty temper, but canny enough to know that was for the best. The one weird thing about Titch was he had this knife, taken it off some Thraxian marine in his first boarding action. It was a nice knife, honestly. Wickedly curved, sharp as hell, set with some of the largest peridots I've ever seen. He took good care of it too, every time we came into port he'd have the gripped re-wrapped with new leather.
I remember one night we had this card game. Ship was at anchor and we'd been hard at oar that day, so all awake were getting well into cups. We're in the middle of a hand and out of nowhere Titch starts losing his mind. Screaming about where's his knife. Sure enough, empty strap where he kept it. We're all thinking drunk bastard must've dropped it, but everyone knows this will just go on until he gets it so we get up to start looking, and then we hear this giggle. One of the new fish, he's got the fucking thing in his teeth, wiggling his eyebrows, having a good stitch up.
Titch flew at the bloke like crossbolt. Knocks him down and just starts pummeling his gob, screaming. I remember he kept saying "You don't touch it.", over and over while he knocked out teeth. Brun, this big fucking islander we had as a quarterman, tries to pull him off and gets his nose broke for the trouble. We're all thinking, okay, just let him get it all out, we'll toss them both in the cage after and get on with the night. Titch though, he grabs this growler off the floor and before we can realize what's going to happen, caves the kids head right in with one blow. We all get lashes the next morning. Titch gets double, takes it smiling the whole time.
So about a year later we're pulling the cork on this little sloop. Titch is in the sling after sledging the bitch, and he gets caught up in the anchor rode as they're hauling him in. He pulls out that knife to cut it and the wind comes up- knocks it right out his hand. I'm thinking, well, that's the end of that. But Titch, no hesitation, slips right out of the fucking sling and dives straight into the water after it. Down there for three, four minutes before we all start thinking okay, that's the end of Titch. But then he shoots up out of chop, grinning like a damn fool, and sure enough he's got that fucking knife. He's holding it up above his head, laughing his ass off, and of course we're all shouting and clapping because hell, it was damn impressive thing. And that's when this big old toothy white shark comes up outta nowhere, and bites Titch right in half. Was probably down there the whole time gnawing on a corpse until Titch started splashing around and hollering.
Point of this story is- I don't know if this girl is the knife, or the shark.
I remember one night we had this card game. Ship was at anchor and we'd been hard at oar that day, so all awake were getting well into cups. We're in the middle of a hand and out of nowhere Titch starts losing his mind. Screaming about where's his knife. Sure enough, empty strap where he kept it. We're all thinking drunk bastard must've dropped it, but everyone knows this will just go on until he gets it so we get up to start looking, and then we hear this giggle. One of the new fish, he's got the fucking thing in his teeth, wiggling his eyebrows, having a good stitch up.
Titch flew at the bloke like crossbolt. Knocks him down and just starts pummeling his gob, screaming. I remember he kept saying "You don't touch it.", over and over while he knocked out teeth. Brun, this big fucking islander we had as a quarterman, tries to pull him off and gets his nose broke for the trouble. We're all thinking, okay, just let him get it all out, we'll toss them both in the cage after and get on with the night. Titch though, he grabs this growler off the floor and before we can realize what's going to happen, caves the kids head right in with one blow. We all get lashes the next morning. Titch gets double, takes it smiling the whole time.
So about a year later we're pulling the cork on this little sloop. Titch is in the sling after sledging the bitch, and he gets caught up in the anchor rode as they're hauling him in. He pulls out that knife to cut it and the wind comes up- knocks it right out his hand. I'm thinking, well, that's the end of that. But Titch, no hesitation, slips right out of the fucking sling and dives straight into the water after it. Down there for three, four minutes before we all start thinking okay, that's the end of Titch. But then he shoots up out of chop, grinning like a damn fool, and sure enough he's got that fucking knife. He's holding it up above his head, laughing his ass off, and of course we're all shouting and clapping because hell, it was damn impressive thing. And that's when this big old toothy white shark comes up outta nowhere, and bites Titch right in half. Was probably down there the whole time gnawing on a corpse until Titch started splashing around and hollering.
Point of this story is- I don't know if this girl is the knife, or the shark.
Written By Kima
Nov. 24, 2016, 8:55 p.m.(3/16/1005 AR)
Do we judge men for their blood, or for their actions? The answer is both, of course, even if within the court of Sentinel they will assure you only the latter holds true. Yet look around - look to me, if you will. Shavs I have slain, and more than a few. Of a hundred different tribes, each no more than a snarling mask stretched over bone. They all screamed with one voice from a thousand different throats. Their guilt?
It is simple, and it is this: We are not them, and they are not us.
Oh, I realize all manner of atrocity that can be hidden within those few, innocuous little words. But to the thornier subject...
A fellow Arvani, standing in blood up to his elbows. His background is not the same as your own, his customs strange and...perhaps even a little barbaric. They are distasteful to you, but do they not still fall under the law of the Compact? What about the fealty owed to their high lord? Does serving that man or woman, whose orders may be rooted in cruelty, besmirch the honor of the one following them...Or does it make them more honorable?
If he is deemed unworthy, if he is judged for that, then is that not picking and choosing which law you wish to follow? More importantly, is it not choosing to whom the law applies...and to whom it does not?
These are my musings, which are worth less than the ink and parchment which binds them into reality. After all, everyone knows that the shape of virtue is inked in obscenity.
Myself most of all.
It is simple, and it is this: We are not them, and they are not us.
Oh, I realize all manner of atrocity that can be hidden within those few, innocuous little words. But to the thornier subject...
A fellow Arvani, standing in blood up to his elbows. His background is not the same as your own, his customs strange and...perhaps even a little barbaric. They are distasteful to you, but do they not still fall under the law of the Compact? What about the fealty owed to their high lord? Does serving that man or woman, whose orders may be rooted in cruelty, besmirch the honor of the one following them...Or does it make them more honorable?
If he is deemed unworthy, if he is judged for that, then is that not picking and choosing which law you wish to follow? More importantly, is it not choosing to whom the law applies...and to whom it does not?
These are my musings, which are worth less than the ink and parchment which binds them into reality. After all, everyone knows that the shape of virtue is inked in obscenity.
Myself most of all.
Written By Kima
Nov. 24, 2016, 7:55 p.m.(3/16/1005 AR)
I cannot light a true bonfire in honor of my father's passing, but what I can do - and have done - is light a candle. For the next several nights I will keep it lit within my window. The pain of loss will never truly leave, never truly fade, but that is what it is to live.
There are few, I think, that truly understand that all emotions have their place. Anger. Sorrow. Joy. Just as we think it wrong to be sad more often than not, to never know it is just as peculiar.
Some day, maybe sooner, maybe later, I will think of my father, and recall all that was good and wonderful about the man. It will be tinged with remorse, yes, but I will not be overshadowed by the emptiness that is his absence.
I think I'll write mother more often.
There are few, I think, that truly understand that all emotions have their place. Anger. Sorrow. Joy. Just as we think it wrong to be sad more often than not, to never know it is just as peculiar.
Some day, maybe sooner, maybe later, I will think of my father, and recall all that was good and wonderful about the man. It will be tinged with remorse, yes, but I will not be overshadowed by the emptiness that is his absence.
I think I'll write mother more often.
Written By Costas
Nov. 24, 2016, 7:40 p.m.(3/16/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Eirene
This woman has more in common with some I've met in sea havens, and on some ships, than anything I've imagined of the nobility.
Firstly, she reeks of booze. Well not reeks really, I happen to like the smell of whiskey and think it goes fine with women but again, nobility. Second, unlike her unreadable niece, there is little room for interpretation of her words. Not to say that all is on the surface. Uncomplicated would fall short of the mark. I suspect this woman is in fact quite complicated. Does she stand off others by nature? I've met some like this. But her way with Calypso did not put me in mind of a simply quarrelsome woman. Of the two times I've seen her one was wearing a dress - well, I add - and much joking was made of it by those familiar with her. I think this distance she puts between her and others is instead similar to the way that some folk keep a conspicuously clean home. Their way of keeping the sight-lines clear round the fort. Some place to exist where the context is comfortable, in their control.
My curiosity is best left at that else I risk incurring it in return.
Firstly, she reeks of booze. Well not reeks really, I happen to like the smell of whiskey and think it goes fine with women but again, nobility. Second, unlike her unreadable niece, there is little room for interpretation of her words. Not to say that all is on the surface. Uncomplicated would fall short of the mark. I suspect this woman is in fact quite complicated. Does she stand off others by nature? I've met some like this. But her way with Calypso did not put me in mind of a simply quarrelsome woman. Of the two times I've seen her one was wearing a dress - well, I add - and much joking was made of it by those familiar with her. I think this distance she puts between her and others is instead similar to the way that some folk keep a conspicuously clean home. Their way of keeping the sight-lines clear round the fort. Some place to exist where the context is comfortable, in their control.
My curiosity is best left at that else I risk incurring it in return.
Written By Tulasam
Nov. 24, 2016, 6:55 p.m.(3/16/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Donella
Well I have been hired to do some work by this amazing woman. She has agreed to help me with the plan to build. Donated to the cause now to write this song.
Written By Sabella
Nov. 24, 2016, 5:53 p.m.(3/16/1005 AR)
I saw two Redrain Princes have a verbal fight the other night. I have learned that tongues are wagging about me, and who I am with. People have their perceptions, but most do not know what is really going on. If they want to know, they are more than welcome to ask me to my face. I am a friendly woman, and I strive to be kind to all. Even those who say unkind things about me.
Before you believe something, speak to the source.
Before you believe something, speak to the source.
Written By Costas
Nov. 24, 2016, 5:37 p.m.(3/16/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Calypso
There is no comfort in considering why this woman has spared my life.
When I saw it was the hall of the Black Hawk to which the silent guards hauled me, I made serious calculations about my chance of escaping from their custody. Four armed men and me bruised and beaten, I might have dispatched one, maybe a second by way of surprise but didn't like my chances after that- Malvici armsmen have no reputation as slouches. Still, I was briefly tempted to try. Dying in a street with a blade in my hand would be better than many of the fates I could imagine waited for me within those walls. Perhaps it would just be hanging, which in the end is a few short moments of scorn and choking.
I chose cowardice. I wonder if I will again, when next I come close to the threshold of death.
Anyway- Calypso. What to make of this woman? She leaves little to consider, few clefts in her disposition to begin judgement. How much of that hard exterior is truth? Every word she speaks seems measured, but against what rule? The product of hard spirit, knowledge of what it take to command men, noble indifference? I have only questions, and the deep foreboding that answers will come at cost. I rule out compassion as her motivation in the outcome of our meeting. Not that I suspect she is without it, but then why take me into the house? No, she conceives of some use for me. To put me to work as a blade? Doubtful, she has no appraisal of my competence. To sea seems more likely. In this case I have two advantages- my long experience in navigation, and my knowledge of the routes and habits of pirates. I see no edge in revealing these first, better to wait for her command.
When I saw it was the hall of the Black Hawk to which the silent guards hauled me, I made serious calculations about my chance of escaping from their custody. Four armed men and me bruised and beaten, I might have dispatched one, maybe a second by way of surprise but didn't like my chances after that- Malvici armsmen have no reputation as slouches. Still, I was briefly tempted to try. Dying in a street with a blade in my hand would be better than many of the fates I could imagine waited for me within those walls. Perhaps it would just be hanging, which in the end is a few short moments of scorn and choking.
I chose cowardice. I wonder if I will again, when next I come close to the threshold of death.
Anyway- Calypso. What to make of this woman? She leaves little to consider, few clefts in her disposition to begin judgement. How much of that hard exterior is truth? Every word she speaks seems measured, but against what rule? The product of hard spirit, knowledge of what it take to command men, noble indifference? I have only questions, and the deep foreboding that answers will come at cost. I rule out compassion as her motivation in the outcome of our meeting. Not that I suspect she is without it, but then why take me into the house? No, she conceives of some use for me. To put me to work as a blade? Doubtful, she has no appraisal of my competence. To sea seems more likely. In this case I have two advantages- my long experience in navigation, and my knowledge of the routes and habits of pirates. I see no edge in revealing these first, better to wait for her command.
Written By Costas
Nov. 24, 2016, 3:42 p.m.(3/15/1005 AR)
I'm not sure why I bought this. Who buys an empty book?
That's a lie actually. I surely know. The shop girl had my silver the moment she flashed that smile. Gods, what a mark I am. If I'm not careful this city will eat me alive. How much did I even give her? Have to figure out what things are actually worth. Can't just throw what feels like the right sized handful on the counter anymore.
Is this really how land folk live? I don't know how the common class can't see how rigged it all is. Last night I met a Prince (a Prince!), and if I had to I'd wager the cloak round his shoulders, bought in a shop, could restock a three-mast thrice over. I'd seen its like before in plunder. Traded a dress made from the same stuff to a hustler for one of the better nights of my life- gods what was her name? Alia? Dahlia? Something like that... Anyway, well let's do the figures- Probably a plantation grows the stuff, we can assume the serfs working it get paid next to nothing if at all, but there's overhead in feed and board paid by the master. I don't recall seeing much raw silk in cargo so I assume he'll turn around, sell it for a profit to the cloth maker. That one's got to pay for some skilled labor, probably some fancy equipment, warehousing... Then that goes to a tailor, likely by way of a merchant- more overages there. To finally end up on a display rack as a finished product that's a lot of hands involved and all need to get silvered, each margin increasing by leaps and bounds else what would be the point in doing the thing.
Does the cloth-maker envy the tailor his superior profit? Do they all envy the merchant? What is it that allows them to coexist? How does the noble walk into the shop with so full a purse, and escape with his life? The tailor must pay the cloth-maker for his wares. Does each man in the chain simply go along because of the need to cover his debt to the one before? That rings right, but traced backward that would would put all debts ultimately paid to the plantation hand, whose wages are the most meager of all. What is his end, the pleasure of toil?
Seen this way, the number of pirates seems suspiciously low.
That's a lie actually. I surely know. The shop girl had my silver the moment she flashed that smile. Gods, what a mark I am. If I'm not careful this city will eat me alive. How much did I even give her? Have to figure out what things are actually worth. Can't just throw what feels like the right sized handful on the counter anymore.
Is this really how land folk live? I don't know how the common class can't see how rigged it all is. Last night I met a Prince (a Prince!), and if I had to I'd wager the cloak round his shoulders, bought in a shop, could restock a three-mast thrice over. I'd seen its like before in plunder. Traded a dress made from the same stuff to a hustler for one of the better nights of my life- gods what was her name? Alia? Dahlia? Something like that... Anyway, well let's do the figures- Probably a plantation grows the stuff, we can assume the serfs working it get paid next to nothing if at all, but there's overhead in feed and board paid by the master. I don't recall seeing much raw silk in cargo so I assume he'll turn around, sell it for a profit to the cloth maker. That one's got to pay for some skilled labor, probably some fancy equipment, warehousing... Then that goes to a tailor, likely by way of a merchant- more overages there. To finally end up on a display rack as a finished product that's a lot of hands involved and all need to get silvered, each margin increasing by leaps and bounds else what would be the point in doing the thing.
Does the cloth-maker envy the tailor his superior profit? Do they all envy the merchant? What is it that allows them to coexist? How does the noble walk into the shop with so full a purse, and escape with his life? The tailor must pay the cloth-maker for his wares. Does each man in the chain simply go along because of the need to cover his debt to the one before? That rings right, but traced backward that would would put all debts ultimately paid to the plantation hand, whose wages are the most meager of all. What is his end, the pleasure of toil?
Seen this way, the number of pirates seems suspiciously low.
Written By Cicero
Nov. 24, 2016, 10:57 a.m.(3/15/1005 AR)
Bookwork can be dull
Numbers, figures, charts and notes
But such recompense
Numbers, figures, charts and notes
But such recompense
Written By Cicero
Nov. 24, 2016, 10:55 a.m.(3/15/1005 AR)
The dream, the idea, grows
Merchants of the river on board
Must reach still further
Merchants of the river on board
Must reach still further
Written By Cicero
Nov. 24, 2016, 10:53 a.m.(3/15/1005 AR)
Generous Lady
Children seen to with true care
Still can't reach high shelves.
Children seen to with true care
Still can't reach high shelves.
Written By Fortunato
Nov. 24, 2016, 10:02 a.m.(3/15/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Hana
A surprise niece. Thanks, Aureth. Hana is a good kid, talented, scarily talented, even. Hard to feel like the Lower Boroughs aren't a bit too much for her, though. These streets are the water I swim in, but I've been told repeatedly they're dirty and dangerous. Fortunate she already has a shop in the Ward of the Compact. Now she just has to manuever the waters that proper people swim in, and I know what I'd prefer.
But we're here for her. No matter what she encounters.
But we're here for her. No matter what she encounters.
Written By Morrighan
Nov. 24, 2016, 7:36 a.m.(3/14/1005 AR)
Ah, hello my old friend. Welcome back. It's been a while since I hurt this bad. The bottles of whiskey I've drank kind of help, but it sure didn't help me with my spar with that damn Darkwater Count. (He has a very talented stormcrow though, I like how it opens bottles of liquor and says obscene things. I like this bird.) It seemed like a good idea at the time, though it proved to be mostly cathartic. Now I can focus on something else for a while. My body hurts, my face hurts - I think one swollen eye is getting black, and my nose better not be fucking broken. I'm probably going to have to go pester Benjamin. Needed to visit him anyway. I don't foresee myself easily being able to get out of bed in the morning. I need to get more whiskey.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.