Written By Joscelin
July 19, 2017, 12:27 a.m.(11/12/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Malik
Don't stop breathing, messere, I didn't mean to steal it.
Written By Joscelin
July 17, 2017, 8:21 p.m.(11/9/1006 AR)
Many believe that inspiration is a gift from Jayus, akin to a present or a beautiful dream. This is not the case for me. Inspiration is something I have to hunt down, seduce, tie up, pin to the floor, feed, and then cut off in pieces to be consumed slowly or I'll burn out like a candle who's wick is too short and too weak to support a proper flame.
I'm pleased with the results, however, with a newly stocked shop and new designs. Very satisfying.
Scholar, I think that entry sounded a little too much like cannibalism.
Ah, damn. Leave it as is.
I'm pleased with the results, however, with a newly stocked shop and new designs. Very satisfying.
Scholar, I think that entry sounded a little too much like cannibalism.
Ah, damn. Leave it as is.
Written By Joscelin
July 17, 2017, 3:09 p.m.(11/9/1006 AR)
To say I've locked myself away to the throes of inspiration is an understatement. My assistants in the shop are busy selling and I'm sitting in my quarters scribbling madly away through my sketchbooks, designing and fiddling as I go.
Ever since I met Malik, one of our newer Crafters (and an amazing painter, for certain), I was reminded in one of his language lessons of a cuff I saw on the Lady Aislin. Wide, intricate, beautiful, I've made a few cuffs of my own inspired by it. The ones I've made are gold, with cooler-colored gems. The granulation isn't right but I can't hope to duplicate such intricate craftsmanship.
I'm going to put up my poor excuse of an attempt up for sale soon. Malik's lessons on Eurusi have also given me the option of engraving in said language as well, but I've no idea what to write!
Ever since I met Malik, one of our newer Crafters (and an amazing painter, for certain), I was reminded in one of his language lessons of a cuff I saw on the Lady Aislin. Wide, intricate, beautiful, I've made a few cuffs of my own inspired by it. The ones I've made are gold, with cooler-colored gems. The granulation isn't right but I can't hope to duplicate such intricate craftsmanship.
I'm going to put up my poor excuse of an attempt up for sale soon. Malik's lessons on Eurusi have also given me the option of engraving in said language as well, but I've no idea what to write!
Written By Joscelin
June 26, 2017, 9:30 p.m.(9/23/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Victus
... I think I just misread an entry, scholar. Can you assure me this is from the actual owner himself? This isn't fake, is it? I'd hate for anything fraudulent to wind up in these records-
You're joking. Cat -breeder-?
........-wait, are you take this as dictation? No I didn't mean for you t
You're joking. Cat -breeder-?
........-wait, are you take this as dictation? No I didn't mean for you t
Written By Joscelin
June 19, 2017, 1:36 p.m.(9/6/1006 AR)
I have been out and about since restocking my inventory, taking the next day to run a classified declaring such and then using the rest of the time to shop for more supplies, materials I'll need for commissions I've got to get done-
(-on a side note, if there are any enamelists in the Guild, the vendor in the marketplace with the new banner? Furthest from the fountain? They have an -exquisite- array of reds but they're sensitive to heat, be sure you use them for the last few firings and not a firing more, it turns brown-)
-I came back to my shop that evening to find a rather haggard looking assistant leaning against the counter looking like he was about to faint. After making sure he wasn't cursed with some kind of illness, I got him to sit and tell me all about this trauma etched into his face.
Turns out, after I'd listed my classified, word got around quickly (or perhaps someone's been bribed at the crier's office?) and a, I'm quoting this, "stampede of princesses with lust and murder in their eyes" swept into my shop with all the power of a hurricane and cleared me out not once, but -twice-.
I sent the poor boy home. He'd done great work, I wouldn't have known it for walking into the shop, the place was immaculate, but the receipts and accounts proved his story true. Goodness.
To all of those that enjoy my work: thank you, I am, as ever, humbled by your patronage. The Crafters Guildmaster can have no official patron and the funding in the accounts for the guild are not meant for me. The coin I make is only for my living and materials to continue to make that living. I appreciate every one of you.
Yes. Even -you-.
(-on a side note, if there are any enamelists in the Guild, the vendor in the marketplace with the new banner? Furthest from the fountain? They have an -exquisite- array of reds but they're sensitive to heat, be sure you use them for the last few firings and not a firing more, it turns brown-)
-I came back to my shop that evening to find a rather haggard looking assistant leaning against the counter looking like he was about to faint. After making sure he wasn't cursed with some kind of illness, I got him to sit and tell me all about this trauma etched into his face.
Turns out, after I'd listed my classified, word got around quickly (or perhaps someone's been bribed at the crier's office?) and a, I'm quoting this, "stampede of princesses with lust and murder in their eyes" swept into my shop with all the power of a hurricane and cleared me out not once, but -twice-.
I sent the poor boy home. He'd done great work, I wouldn't have known it for walking into the shop, the place was immaculate, but the receipts and accounts proved his story true. Goodness.
To all of those that enjoy my work: thank you, I am, as ever, humbled by your patronage. The Crafters Guildmaster can have no official patron and the funding in the accounts for the guild are not meant for me. The coin I make is only for my living and materials to continue to make that living. I appreciate every one of you.
Yes. Even -you-.
Written By Joscelin
May 16, 2017, 9:13 p.m.(6/22/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Isolde
Well now I want to know what your favorites are so far.
Written By Joscelin
May 16, 2017, 3:04 a.m.(6/20/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Silas
Jayus Capers, Silas! My assistant has never looked so cross carrying bags of silver!
Written By Joscelin
May 15, 2017, 7:13 p.m.(6/20/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Zakar
His name is Jeribald and he's smarter than you. Which, you know, isn't saying much.
Also, the dogshit was from a stray right outside your door. Jeribald gently guided the aim, that's all.
I would never give you a necklace. You don't deserve one of my pieces.
But I do like the idea of polishing dried dog turds and stringing that over your door for good luck.
Also, the dogshit was from a stray right outside your door. Jeribald gently guided the aim, that's all.
I would never give you a necklace. You don't deserve one of my pieces.
But I do like the idea of polishing dried dog turds and stringing that over your door for good luck.
Written By Joscelin
May 14, 2017, 6:55 p.m.(6/18/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Eleyna
It's like having a very persistent, very attractive, very tempting suitor. Only much prettier.
Written By Joscelin
May 12, 2017, 4:10 p.m.(6/13/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Aureth
Don't start putting on airs, Archlector. I've seen you naked.
Written By Joscelin
May 12, 2017, 4:09 p.m.(6/13/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Eleyna
It never fails.
Siege or rain or war or peacetime, since discovering my work the Princess Eleyna Velenosa has swept into my shop on the 13th of every month, an uncharacteristically pleased smile on her face (at least so I hear; they say she's icy to most but she's only been kind to me). She saunters to my bench if I'm working, or the counter if I'm working there, or if I have a client, she sits demurely on my couch, sips tea and looks through my book of ready-made designs.
When we're alone, she says the same thing:
"Mistress Arterius. Will you reconsider my offer of patronage? It would be such an honor."
And I reply with the same:
"Your highness, I am the Guildmaster; we have no patrons because that would lead many to speculate a bias. But there are many fine jewelers in the Guild, I'd be happy to set up an interview or two for you."
Then the woman flicks those blue eyes at me, like I've just said the most amusing thing ever, shakes her head and that smile grows like a creeping glacier.
"No, but thank you; you're the only jeweler I want on my retinue."
It's like a script in some tiny play, never deviates until she tells me 'no thank you', and then we speak of projects she'd like to complete with me, or the weather, or .... anything else that comes to play. And then, after another cup of tea, she bids me good day, that she'll see me next month, and heads out the door.
Today played out like the months before, though she seems more amused this time. Perhaps she thinks she's winning.
Siege or rain or war or peacetime, since discovering my work the Princess Eleyna Velenosa has swept into my shop on the 13th of every month, an uncharacteristically pleased smile on her face (at least so I hear; they say she's icy to most but she's only been kind to me). She saunters to my bench if I'm working, or the counter if I'm working there, or if I have a client, she sits demurely on my couch, sips tea and looks through my book of ready-made designs.
When we're alone, she says the same thing:
"Mistress Arterius. Will you reconsider my offer of patronage? It would be such an honor."
And I reply with the same:
"Your highness, I am the Guildmaster; we have no patrons because that would lead many to speculate a bias. But there are many fine jewelers in the Guild, I'd be happy to set up an interview or two for you."
Then the woman flicks those blue eyes at me, like I've just said the most amusing thing ever, shakes her head and that smile grows like a creeping glacier.
"No, but thank you; you're the only jeweler I want on my retinue."
It's like a script in some tiny play, never deviates until she tells me 'no thank you', and then we speak of projects she'd like to complete with me, or the weather, or .... anything else that comes to play. And then, after another cup of tea, she bids me good day, that she'll see me next month, and heads out the door.
Today played out like the months before, though she seems more amused this time. Perhaps she thinks she's winning.
Written By Joscelin
May 6, 2017, 9:16 p.m.(6/1/1006 AR)
The blood still runs in the street and the dust is beginning to settle. People are howling their victory to the gods and the sky and it's a good day. And still, my head strays to those nearest to me, my heart hopes everyone is alright. Even then, I search for my hammer and a pocket of nails, a tall person with broad shoulders to help with the lifting.
Our work of rebuilding has just begun, but for now, it's a good night to breathe.
Our work of rebuilding has just begun, but for now, it's a good night to breathe.
Written By Joscelin
May 6, 2017, midnight(5/27/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Ansel
An upstanding gentleman of the highest accord. Honorable, kind, and fun. I hope to count him as friend.
Written By Joscelin
May 5, 2017, 10:57 p.m.(5/27/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Zakar
When you open your door on the morrow, watch your step. It's slippery.
Written By Joscelin
May 5, 2017, 10:43 p.m.(5/27/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Zakar
A few have asked why I am so humble, why I have my Guildmembers lead with me instead of me leading all of them. For one, it's a collective. For another, I know they work as hard as I do at the trade and now, with the war effort, working with them side by side, I know they throw most everything they have into whatever I've asked of them and they've agreed to.
And then there's this fucker.
If I ever put on airs, it's because he's dead and no longer leaving little 'gifts' in my shop. My poor assistant threatened to quit after the last one, and now I've received word that he's left rotten eggs there as well.
You. I'm watching you. Make no mistake, you're destined for great things and some of them are terrible too.
And then there's this fucker.
If I ever put on airs, it's because he's dead and no longer leaving little 'gifts' in my shop. My poor assistant threatened to quit after the last one, and now I've received word that he's left rotten eggs there as well.
You. I'm watching you. Make no mistake, you're destined for great things and some of them are terrible too.
Written By Joscelin
May 4, 2017, 8:02 p.m.(5/25/1006 AR)
The Crafters Guild is as ready as it can be, not to flee or head but to be there in the thick of it, ready to repair with hammer and fire, nail and wood.
Gods please, and Jayus most of all: watch over all of us, but watch over my people when danger is near.
Crafters: Please wear clothing that's comfortable and that you probably won't mind trashing to bits. I'm certain between the repairs and the rebuilding mid-battle, we are going to get messy.
If anyone needs extra hammers, for the love of Jayus, ask a blacksmith.
Gods please, and Jayus most of all: watch over all of us, but watch over my people when danger is near.
Crafters: Please wear clothing that's comfortable and that you probably won't mind trashing to bits. I'm certain between the repairs and the rebuilding mid-battle, we are going to get messy.
If anyone needs extra hammers, for the love of Jayus, ask a blacksmith.
Written By Joscelin
May 1, 2017, 3:23 a.m.(5/16/1006 AR)
I've discovered that it's -impossible- to work when you have the end of the world flapping around your head, like a flying rodent that pelts you with stinging nettles.
Jayus, I beseech You, I will do -anything- to get my focus back again. Barring that, grant me inspiration and patience, compassion and perception. Tried and true, yes, but I'm asking anyway. Just in case.
And I know I'm ridiculous. People dying, Bringers, demons, political mishaps, pregnancies, marriages... and I'm lamenting an unproductive creative crisis.
Well. My father would tell me to focus on what you can effect in the now, like a wolf, don't think beyond the next moment; you'll just go mad with fear.
So, all of that? Can take care of itself.
I have an emerald to bezel-set before I sleep.
Damn stones are like chalk, one wrong push and it crumbles-
...no, scholar, that's enough. Tha
Jayus, I beseech You, I will do -anything- to get my focus back again. Barring that, grant me inspiration and patience, compassion and perception. Tried and true, yes, but I'm asking anyway. Just in case.
And I know I'm ridiculous. People dying, Bringers, demons, political mishaps, pregnancies, marriages... and I'm lamenting an unproductive creative crisis.
Well. My father would tell me to focus on what you can effect in the now, like a wolf, don't think beyond the next moment; you'll just go mad with fear.
So, all of that? Can take care of itself.
I have an emerald to bezel-set before I sleep.
Damn stones are like chalk, one wrong push and it crumbles-
...no, scholar, that's enough. Tha
Written By Joscelin
April 30, 2017, 6:46 p.m.(5/15/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Lazarus
This is not the resolution I wanted or foresaw. I am sorry, Lazarus, that your story ended this way. You deserved far better regardless of the last words we exchanged.
Written By Joscelin
April 30, 2017, 6:45 p.m.(5/15/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Aureth
Well done, you bastard.
Post script: I know what you told him. I'm going to kill you.
Post script: I know what you told him. I'm going to kill you.
Written By Joscelin
April 29, 2017, 2:11 a.m.(5/12/1006 AR)
Things don't always go as we want them to. Sometimes, shit falls apart and we've nothing left to recognize the dreams of what were. People change. People leave, by death or circumstance, a change of heart or even a change of pace. And we have a hard time explaining it to the monsters in our chests, the hearts that press against the cages of our ribs as we plead with it, 'don't beat for them, they are gone, they are gone'. And still, the violent thing throbs.
Ba-bum. Ba-bum.
And in the silence in between, it speaks their name.
We have memories left over, gifts so precious and time-consuming in their creation, the value is impossible to calculate. Heirlooms of unspeakable age and meaning, coveted through the generations of loved ones gone. A pearl fished out of the sea by a child. A brooch worn by heroes and royalty alike. A pendant carved into a specific symbol, a hidden locket carrying some secret message. A ring with a lover's inscription written along the inside of the band, to press the words to the skin like a kiss.
More often than not, my pieces are never returned to me. But as often as they are requested, generic gifts (birthdays, holidays, anniversaries) are outnumbered by the love tokens and engagement rings I create. Even then, even when there are refusals, they are kept as treasures for some other day.
A few days ago is the first time a betrothal gift was returned.
A friend dropped a beautiful praseodymium ring in my hand, the green metal glinting mutely, decadent in its exquisite details. I knew this ring, I'd made it for him to give to his beloved. He'd given it to me and requested neither refund nor exchange. He bade me melt it down, disperse the materials into something new, the rose-cut diamond reshaped or re-cut, the green alloy melted with ounces of the same, to lose the meaning of what once was, to let the inscription that declared his beloved his 'mountain top' dissolve into nothing.
As we are friends, my lord told me some of why, and the rest was easy to guess. He wasn't struggling to let go; he was struggling to accept that he might always be angry, that he might always be distrusting. Even then, it's a complicated tangle, but the man was ready. He wanted complete destruction but understood the value of creating something useful from his pain.
Before his eyes, I dropped it into my crucible, fanned the flames and let it melt. With narrow steel tongs I plucked the diamond from its molten cradle, laying the gemstone on my anvil to cool. The puddle of praseodymium was added to an pile of scrap that eventually became an ingot.
Sometimes we need to tear down the old to create a better foundation. Sometimes, when the loss occurs, the grief strips away the bullshit and the lies and you see what work needs to be done. You look beyond the wounds and the sorrow and the ache of knowing they're gone and see, truly, what it is you -really- want. Peace. Satisfaction. Validation. Comfort. Safety. Love.
I have hope for the future, for the scouring clean of our old fears and hatreds to a better chance at thriving after so much loss. Things will grow as they can or die if need be. Our losses are irreplaceable but in time, they become easier to bear.
Do not give up, do not lose hope; tomorrow is coming and the fires are out, the rains bring solace and soon, the new green of life returning.
Ba-bum. Ba-bum.
And in the silence in between, it speaks their name.
We have memories left over, gifts so precious and time-consuming in their creation, the value is impossible to calculate. Heirlooms of unspeakable age and meaning, coveted through the generations of loved ones gone. A pearl fished out of the sea by a child. A brooch worn by heroes and royalty alike. A pendant carved into a specific symbol, a hidden locket carrying some secret message. A ring with a lover's inscription written along the inside of the band, to press the words to the skin like a kiss.
More often than not, my pieces are never returned to me. But as often as they are requested, generic gifts (birthdays, holidays, anniversaries) are outnumbered by the love tokens and engagement rings I create. Even then, even when there are refusals, they are kept as treasures for some other day.
A few days ago is the first time a betrothal gift was returned.
A friend dropped a beautiful praseodymium ring in my hand, the green metal glinting mutely, decadent in its exquisite details. I knew this ring, I'd made it for him to give to his beloved. He'd given it to me and requested neither refund nor exchange. He bade me melt it down, disperse the materials into something new, the rose-cut diamond reshaped or re-cut, the green alloy melted with ounces of the same, to lose the meaning of what once was, to let the inscription that declared his beloved his 'mountain top' dissolve into nothing.
As we are friends, my lord told me some of why, and the rest was easy to guess. He wasn't struggling to let go; he was struggling to accept that he might always be angry, that he might always be distrusting. Even then, it's a complicated tangle, but the man was ready. He wanted complete destruction but understood the value of creating something useful from his pain.
Before his eyes, I dropped it into my crucible, fanned the flames and let it melt. With narrow steel tongs I plucked the diamond from its molten cradle, laying the gemstone on my anvil to cool. The puddle of praseodymium was added to an pile of scrap that eventually became an ingot.
Sometimes we need to tear down the old to create a better foundation. Sometimes, when the loss occurs, the grief strips away the bullshit and the lies and you see what work needs to be done. You look beyond the wounds and the sorrow and the ache of knowing they're gone and see, truly, what it is you -really- want. Peace. Satisfaction. Validation. Comfort. Safety. Love.
I have hope for the future, for the scouring clean of our old fears and hatreds to a better chance at thriving after so much loss. Things will grow as they can or die if need be. Our losses are irreplaceable but in time, they become easier to bear.
Do not give up, do not lose hope; tomorrow is coming and the fires are out, the rains bring solace and soon, the new green of life returning.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.