Written By Tyche
July 1, 2021, 5:50 p.m.(10/5/1015 AR)
I love a good book. I especially love a good book that was given to me as a gift, with no evidence of the sender. Mystery, intrigue, and knowledge all wrapped up in one? Be still my heart.
I do wonder at the title, however: Be the Life of the Party. I thought I already was.
Still, chapters two and seven are particularly fascinating.
I do wonder at the title, however: Be the Life of the Party. I thought I already was.
Still, chapters two and seven are particularly fascinating.
Written By Piccola
July 1, 2021, 2:42 p.m.(10/5/1015 AR)
A wise general can obtain freedom neither by refraining from action nor refusing to act.
She who remains motionless while brooding is a fool, for only she who does her duty can attain perfection. The maintenance of body, mind, and soul is impossible without action. But action for profit only attaches a difference chain, so her acts should be done by sacrifice in furtherance of duty only. This is because only through sacrifice can you truly attain one's highest form, as the Gods have achieved their perfection through sacrifice.
Therefore, because sacrifice is to creation as death is to life, so the Wheel spins to draw us to the Queen to be renewed.
She who remains motionless while brooding is a fool, for only she who does her duty can attain perfection. The maintenance of body, mind, and soul is impossible without action. But action for profit only attaches a difference chain, so her acts should be done by sacrifice in furtherance of duty only. This is because only through sacrifice can you truly attain one's highest form, as the Gods have achieved their perfection through sacrifice.
Therefore, because sacrifice is to creation as death is to life, so the Wheel spins to draw us to the Queen to be renewed.
Written By Tikva
July 1, 2021, 2:41 p.m.(10/5/1015 AR)
One of the interesting things about living in Arx is the regional differences you don't even think about. Food, sure, everyone thinks about that; even the woods and fabrics from different places in Arvum. But today I am thinking about musical instruments.
I have several instruments about the place, of course, including the lovely crafted floor harp Ainsley and I had installed by Mistress Petal and her carpenter brother shortly after our marriage, so many years ago now, on which I do a lot of my musical composition. The oldest and most cared for, though, is a balalaika, which is essentially the same as any other lute, but with a longer neck and more triangular head, and only three strings. They're designed for quick, short bursts, for dance music and life and vibrancy. I don't know much about the history of the instrument, but it was actually my first.
It was crafted at Brighthold, from seasoned wood from our people's groves, as a gift to me on behalf of my brothers, Tibault and Sen. Tibault was the Count who adopted me, but he always said that he was not my father, but that we foundlings were the little brothers and sisters of his heart. I don't know if this is _true_, but what he told me was that it was an instrument used by my mother's people, and although my mother was gone, and disgraced, it's natural for any orphan to want to know as much about her blood as she can.
We gave the balalaika a name, Amanita. I don't remember why, but I've called her that my entire life. And my mother's people may or may not have adopted her style of instrument from the Ravashari, but that's what Tibault thought, and I believed him without examination because of course I did; inquiry comes later. Children are full of faith even when they are full of doubt. Tiber shows me this all the time.
When I play Amanita, I feel freedom in her strings, and the dance in her voice, mellow sweet. She's not an instrument on whom to compose an opera, or to sing a dirge. She's full of life and passion and all the bright joy and yearning hope that I have infused into her over my years of using her to play. And I wonder, if I played a different style of lute, if it came from a different shape, a different region, a different history: how would it shape my song?
Do you have a favorite instrument? A favored tool? A pen you've filled with all your thoughts and dreams? Has it shaped you?
I have several instruments about the place, of course, including the lovely crafted floor harp Ainsley and I had installed by Mistress Petal and her carpenter brother shortly after our marriage, so many years ago now, on which I do a lot of my musical composition. The oldest and most cared for, though, is a balalaika, which is essentially the same as any other lute, but with a longer neck and more triangular head, and only three strings. They're designed for quick, short bursts, for dance music and life and vibrancy. I don't know much about the history of the instrument, but it was actually my first.
It was crafted at Brighthold, from seasoned wood from our people's groves, as a gift to me on behalf of my brothers, Tibault and Sen. Tibault was the Count who adopted me, but he always said that he was not my father, but that we foundlings were the little brothers and sisters of his heart. I don't know if this is _true_, but what he told me was that it was an instrument used by my mother's people, and although my mother was gone, and disgraced, it's natural for any orphan to want to know as much about her blood as she can.
We gave the balalaika a name, Amanita. I don't remember why, but I've called her that my entire life. And my mother's people may or may not have adopted her style of instrument from the Ravashari, but that's what Tibault thought, and I believed him without examination because of course I did; inquiry comes later. Children are full of faith even when they are full of doubt. Tiber shows me this all the time.
When I play Amanita, I feel freedom in her strings, and the dance in her voice, mellow sweet. She's not an instrument on whom to compose an opera, or to sing a dirge. She's full of life and passion and all the bright joy and yearning hope that I have infused into her over my years of using her to play. And I wonder, if I played a different style of lute, if it came from a different shape, a different region, a different history: how would it shape my song?
Do you have a favorite instrument? A favored tool? A pen you've filled with all your thoughts and dreams? Has it shaped you?
Written By Noah
July 1, 2021, 10:27 a.m.(10/4/1015 AR)
Things I've learned:
1. People already thought we were friends - oops.
2. People are shocked someone would marry me. They may send condolences to Jaenelle.
3. One should not throw people at mirrors.
3b. Not all mirrors will make people go into them and away from you.
3c. Mirrors are sturdier than one thinks when a body is tossed at them.
1. People already thought we were friends - oops.
2. People are shocked someone would marry me. They may send condolences to Jaenelle.
3. One should not throw people at mirrors.
3b. Not all mirrors will make people go into them and away from you.
3c. Mirrors are sturdier than one thinks when a body is tossed at them.
Written By Auda
July 1, 2021, 9:58 a.m.(10/4/1015 AR)
..they rubbed roses on some leather that's too thin to offer protection?
Silks will do anything for something new, won't they.
Silks will do anything for something new, won't they.
Written By Sydney
July 1, 2021, 8:51 a.m.(10/4/1015 AR)
Relationship Note on Piccola
It may be petty-minded of me, or a result of a youth living hand-to-mouth, but I rather reckon that it depends on what the reward is, and in how badly you need it.
When failure means going hungry or returning to the wheel, success becomes a rather motivating factor.
When failure means going hungry or returning to the wheel, success becomes a rather motivating factor.
Written By Gael
July 1, 2021, 7:11 a.m.(10/4/1015 AR)
Of the many warriors who fought alongside me in Pieros one whom I've not seen since the field came back to me in dream last night. Ciro, from Pravos, an old and aged swordmaster who possessed the queerest sword; a pointy thing, refined to a near needle-like shape, which I recognized as a rapier. His was rarer yet, the grip surrounded by a basket-like structure that did more than simply protect the hand, it acted as a gauntlet of sorts. With which to punch, he very blithely explained each time anyone looked at it dubiously.
Before the fight, I found him undergoing the beginning of a ritual I interrupted. Saw him struggling to set himself down on a tree stump. As he gingerly lowered, I saw his legs quaking as though they could barely bend at all. When he finally did, he heaved the longest of sighs. His sword was beside him. It looked younger than the hands that owned it, I realize. A replacement of a replacement of a replacement. However beautiful the sword was, he showed no fondness for it, but when he touched it I could sense there was a wistful reflection in the very idea of a sword to him, of how a man lengthens himself with it, and how he shortens others by its very blade. This saddened him greatly. Coming to terms, I think, with what he was about to do.
I looked for him and his frayed tabard for many hours after the fight, and couldn't find him. He was no knight at all, a mere man at arms, respected only by his skill rather than status. I hope he and it haven't gone into the mud.
With his lead foot, his clicking knees and his going vision I would've feared facing him a hundred times more than the Skal'dajans.
Before the fight, I found him undergoing the beginning of a ritual I interrupted. Saw him struggling to set himself down on a tree stump. As he gingerly lowered, I saw his legs quaking as though they could barely bend at all. When he finally did, he heaved the longest of sighs. His sword was beside him. It looked younger than the hands that owned it, I realize. A replacement of a replacement of a replacement. However beautiful the sword was, he showed no fondness for it, but when he touched it I could sense there was a wistful reflection in the very idea of a sword to him, of how a man lengthens himself with it, and how he shortens others by its very blade. This saddened him greatly. Coming to terms, I think, with what he was about to do.
I looked for him and his frayed tabard for many hours after the fight, and couldn't find him. He was no knight at all, a mere man at arms, respected only by his skill rather than status. I hope he and it haven't gone into the mud.
With his lead foot, his clicking knees and his going vision I would've feared facing him a hundred times more than the Skal'dajans.
Written By Gael
July 1, 2021, 6:49 a.m.(10/4/1015 AR)
The damnedest thing.
I saw a man cut down by lightning a few hours ago. Elberich was his name. He had a lumber mill for a mouth, a wooden bite from side to side. Termites for teeth I would've said, had I the chance. Anyway, I'd found his head aflame, grinning hot fire back at me, his flesh curled down in strips of black and purple. The ground around him was scorched, smoke drifting around and little fires crackling. But he was still alive. So I ran off to get some help when I heard a horrid noise behind me. Damned lightning struck him again. Smote by the gods through and through.
Well, may he rest in peace.
I saw a man cut down by lightning a few hours ago. Elberich was his name. He had a lumber mill for a mouth, a wooden bite from side to side. Termites for teeth I would've said, had I the chance. Anyway, I'd found his head aflame, grinning hot fire back at me, his flesh curled down in strips of black and purple. The ground around him was scorched, smoke drifting around and little fires crackling. But he was still alive. So I ran off to get some help when I heard a horrid noise behind me. Damned lightning struck him again. Smote by the gods through and through.
Well, may he rest in peace.
Written By Martino
July 1, 2021, 5:43 a.m.(10/4/1015 AR)
Went through the gardens to have an early-autumn breakfast and came across a new sculpture it looks like someone has installed.
For this statue though, I think, I am the inspiration for this one.
For this statue though, I think, I am the inspiration for this one.
Written By Mabelle
July 1, 2021, 1:23 a.m.(10/4/1015 AR)
Oh the supple rose leather is sitting there staring at me and throwing its scent to the air of the room.
Roses.
When will it be winter? I fancy me some boots. And gloves. Maybe a whole gown. Now that will be interesting.
Roses.
When will it be winter? I fancy me some boots. And gloves. Maybe a whole gown. Now that will be interesting.
Written By Claude
June 30, 2021, 11:54 p.m.(10/4/1015 AR)
Idle hands. Idle hands. I have some more work. But not nearly enough. Enough to live sure. But not enough to keep me busy. There are seventy four knots of wood visible on the eastern wall of my shop. How many on the western wall? I'll find out!
Written By Delia
June 30, 2021, 11:14 p.m.(10/3/1015 AR)
How delightful to be back in the city again, though my wandering has given me the ability to look upon each street as if it were new. How priceless the gift of fresh eyes and what a blessing to know that one need only travel to find all the joy of discovering home anew. How many conflicts might we avoid in life if we could at will recall that simple trick? To step back, take a moment and simply reassess the situation anew? Fresh eyes. How funny that I should consider it often when looking at the social intricates of the world but forget it in the small pleasures, the little things like the joyous song of a bubbling fountain?
We aspire ourselves to such gilded heights but those little things, the stolen moments of normalcy? They seem to slip by, lost in the hub-bub of a crowd, a juicy piece of gossip, the latest fashion. It's something I'd like to keep in mind going forward. A new challenge for myself with each new day. To find one remarkable utterly normal moment to savor and enjoy, to cherish. To serve as an anchor.
Today's Moment: The crisp scent of a freshly peeled apple.
We aspire ourselves to such gilded heights but those little things, the stolen moments of normalcy? They seem to slip by, lost in the hub-bub of a crowd, a juicy piece of gossip, the latest fashion. It's something I'd like to keep in mind going forward. A new challenge for myself with each new day. To find one remarkable utterly normal moment to savor and enjoy, to cherish. To serve as an anchor.
Today's Moment: The crisp scent of a freshly peeled apple.
Written By Aureth
June 30, 2021, 8:47 p.m.(10/3/1015 AR)
There comes a time when you finally stop writing the last year's date when you write down the date, and for me, in this year, it has not come until the tenth month. For it is not 1014, but 1015, and today is October the 3rd.
In the annals of Vellichor, I believe this is my public confession that I am beginning to age.
There is a dirty rumor that next month I shall be 47. I am certain that Fortunato will never age past 34, however.
In the annals of Vellichor, I believe this is my public confession that I am beginning to age.
There is a dirty rumor that next month I shall be 47. I am certain that Fortunato will never age past 34, however.
Written By Cassimir
June 30, 2021, 7:49 p.m.(10/3/1015 AR)
I don't dictate enough for the Whites, scholar, but for her -- of her -- I could fill your entire book. Perhaps one day I will, when I have the mental fortitude to surpass the first sentence. For this moment, and for the purpose of this dictation, I humbly ask inquisitive readers to keep both eyes on the horizon for Lady Brigid Inverno. Black of hair, pale skin, eyes as blue and deep as the main, and in possession of an inhuman ability to conquer every challenge laid before her feet.
She always comes home. She will again.
She always comes home. She will again.
Written By Svana
June 30, 2021, 5:41 p.m.(10/3/1015 AR)
The rose leather smells even better than I expected and it is so fine, like a petal kissing your skin. Gods, I cannot wait to dress people in it. But especially Anisha, whose genius would not have brought it to life.
Written By Medeia
June 30, 2021, 12:35 p.m.(10/3/1015 AR)
I am, as ever, busy. Of late, there have been travels and patients and research and meetings. The usual, really. But I am finding the most peace and joy in the moments I spend in teaching. Tending my gardens and creating medicines. Raising my children. Working toward things that will improve the lot of my people and the Compact.
Which has me seeking out like-minded individuals from among the seamstresses, leatherworkers, jewelers, alchemists, and others. I have an abundance of projects and only so many hours in a day. Oh, and gardeners. Farmers. Disciples of Petrichor, perhaps? I may need to spend silver to have the criers help spread the word. A joke, that. Maybe.
Which has me seeking out like-minded individuals from among the seamstresses, leatherworkers, jewelers, alchemists, and others. I have an abundance of projects and only so many hours in a day. Oh, and gardeners. Farmers. Disciples of Petrichor, perhaps? I may need to spend silver to have the criers help spread the word. A joke, that. Maybe.
Written By Piccola
June 30, 2021, 10:27 a.m.(10/2/1015 AR)
Wise general, do not let the fruit of your actions be your motive.
Do what must be done because they are to be done. Success and failure should be viewed with equal desire, for failure yields lessons to be learned from and success the yield for which one has acted. Equanimity is as divine as the Gods themselves.
It is only the petty-minded who work for reward.
Do what must be done because they are to be done. Success and failure should be viewed with equal desire, for failure yields lessons to be learned from and success the yield for which one has acted. Equanimity is as divine as the Gods themselves.
It is only the petty-minded who work for reward.
Written By Titus
June 29, 2021, 8:29 p.m.(10/1/1015 AR)
Relationship Note on Piccola
I enjoy reading her writings when I'm made aware of them. A smart scholar or student of war would collect all her writings and put them in a book.
Written By Ophira
June 29, 2021, 7:06 p.m.(10/1/1015 AR)
Relationship Note on Dio
I have found myself reeling with the news of your death and the lack of information concerning it. Days and nights bleed together in a haze of smoke and drink as they afford me dreamless sleep. But sometimes, my beloved brother, I see you raising your glass to me in the shadows with a smile. If you are truly a spirit trapped in this realm of existence, I welcome your ghostly presence however it might pain me at the realization you are gone.
Words are ash in my mouth, quill shakes, and my eyes are sightless as they peer out towards the horizon. If I was your stone in which to keep your blade sharp, your star to guide your ship home - what does that now mean for me with you gone?
Words are ash in my mouth, quill shakes, and my eyes are sightless as they peer out towards the horizon. If I was your stone in which to keep your blade sharp, your star to guide your ship home - what does that now mean for me with you gone?
Written By Veronica
June 29, 2021, 5:24 p.m.(10/1/1015 AR)
Also, been exploring the Shadowood with Amari and various Clements and Keatons and friends--there's a lot going on there, but much of it is marsh. The Mudfoot clan in the Greenmire swamp at least were willing to be friendly, even if I very much lost my composure at the hats they wear. Amari made me one of my own as a reminder of good manners.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.