Written By Piccola
May 24, 2021, 3:11 p.m.(7/13/1015 AR)
Having returned from a brief sojourn to Iriscal, I note with some vexation that it has once again become hot and humid in Arx.
Whereas some despite the cold, bitter chill of winter, so I loathe the oppressive brightness of summer.
Whereas some despite the cold, bitter chill of winter, so I loathe the oppressive brightness of summer.
Written By Piccola
May 12, 2021, 2:13 p.m.(6/17/1015 AR)
When I was eight or nine I used to know a family in a little village near Iriscal.
The family seemed as any other: father, mother and sons. They were small landowners and had an inn. I had heard, and therefore knew, that besides the sons we knew this woman had another son nobody had seen, who was spoken of in whispers as if he were a great disgrace for the mother. I remember that my father referred to this woman often as a martyr, who made great sacrifices for this son and put up with great sorrows. My mother refused to talk about her.
One day, I was sent to this family's inn on an errand for my father. I came upon the mother as she was shutting her door, dressed up to go out to socialize, with a hamper under her arm. On seeing me she hesitated then decided. She then told me to accompany her to a certain place, and that she would take delivery and give me the money for my errand upon our return. Having no reason not to trust that my status would protect me, we left the limits of the village.
We walked some ten minutes out of the village's sight into an orchard filled with garbage. In a copse there was a shack hidden, a sort of pig sty, about four feet high and windowless. The odor from there was atrocious. She opened the door to it and I could hear an animal-life howling. And inside this hovel was her son, a robust boy of 18, who couldn’t stand up and scraped along on his seat to the door as far as he was permitted by a chain linked to his waist and attached to the ring in the wall. He was covered with filth, and his eyes shone red, like those of a nocturnal animal.
His mother dumped the contents of her basket – a mixed mess of household leftovers – into a stone trough. She filled another trough with water, and we left. She returned back to the inn in silence, whereupon the mother gave me the sack of gold that I had been sent to fetch. I said nothing to my parents about what I had seen, so great an impression it had made on me, and so convinced was I that nobody would believe me. Nor when I later heard of the misery which had befallen that poor mother, did I interrupt to talk of the misery of the poor human wreck who had such a mother.
So it is, wise general, that I came to fear no fabled monster with such monstrosity lurking in every corner.
The family seemed as any other: father, mother and sons. They were small landowners and had an inn. I had heard, and therefore knew, that besides the sons we knew this woman had another son nobody had seen, who was spoken of in whispers as if he were a great disgrace for the mother. I remember that my father referred to this woman often as a martyr, who made great sacrifices for this son and put up with great sorrows. My mother refused to talk about her.
One day, I was sent to this family's inn on an errand for my father. I came upon the mother as she was shutting her door, dressed up to go out to socialize, with a hamper under her arm. On seeing me she hesitated then decided. She then told me to accompany her to a certain place, and that she would take delivery and give me the money for my errand upon our return. Having no reason not to trust that my status would protect me, we left the limits of the village.
We walked some ten minutes out of the village's sight into an orchard filled with garbage. In a copse there was a shack hidden, a sort of pig sty, about four feet high and windowless. The odor from there was atrocious. She opened the door to it and I could hear an animal-life howling. And inside this hovel was her son, a robust boy of 18, who couldn’t stand up and scraped along on his seat to the door as far as he was permitted by a chain linked to his waist and attached to the ring in the wall. He was covered with filth, and his eyes shone red, like those of a nocturnal animal.
His mother dumped the contents of her basket – a mixed mess of household leftovers – into a stone trough. She filled another trough with water, and we left. She returned back to the inn in silence, whereupon the mother gave me the sack of gold that I had been sent to fetch. I said nothing to my parents about what I had seen, so great an impression it had made on me, and so convinced was I that nobody would believe me. Nor when I later heard of the misery which had befallen that poor mother, did I interrupt to talk of the misery of the poor human wreck who had such a mother.
So it is, wise general, that I came to fear no fabled monster with such monstrosity lurking in every corner.
Written By Piccola
May 11, 2021, 9:48 a.m.(6/14/1015 AR)
The fear of death reduces life to dust.
That fear erects the walls which prevents true joy from touching us. That fear is then concealed and rendered banal by the spectacle of life. Death as a force loses all meaning when life is but a fatuous sequence of empty words. And death's head is an empty vessel when that which could fill it is obstructed by our own efforts to avoid and ignore that which is inevitable. Consequently, it is fear, not death, that reigns in the indolent, even worshipping that fear leads to nothing but a forgotten grave.
Remember, then, wise general: the carnival mask and the cadaver share the same fixed smile when one lives in fear.
That fear erects the walls which prevents true joy from touching us. That fear is then concealed and rendered banal by the spectacle of life. Death as a force loses all meaning when life is but a fatuous sequence of empty words. And death's head is an empty vessel when that which could fill it is obstructed by our own efforts to avoid and ignore that which is inevitable. Consequently, it is fear, not death, that reigns in the indolent, even worshipping that fear leads to nothing but a forgotten grave.
Remember, then, wise general: the carnival mask and the cadaver share the same fixed smile when one lives in fear.
Written By Piccola
May 10, 2021, 2:58 p.m.(6/13/1015 AR)
We of the Compact do not enjoy freedom because it was given to us on a piece of paper.
Freedom is only true when it is a habit. It only exists in how we treat one another with courtesy, respect, and dignity. It only survives when everyone rises up to meet any attempt to impair it with violence. And it only thrives where we are courageous enough not only to demand it from our private circles, but from those outside it without regard to tradition, title, or rank.
We owe all the rights and privileges we enjoy today not to the good will of our leaders, but to our own strength.
Freedom is only true when it is a habit. It only exists in how we treat one another with courtesy, respect, and dignity. It only survives when everyone rises up to meet any attempt to impair it with violence. And it only thrives where we are courageous enough not only to demand it from our private circles, but from those outside it without regard to tradition, title, or rank.
We owe all the rights and privileges we enjoy today not to the good will of our leaders, but to our own strength.
Written By Piccola
May 6, 2021, 10:24 p.m.(6/5/1015 AR)
Love is the best remedy for war.
Society is the most powerful remedy for restoring the mind's tranquility. Conversation is the best preservative of temperance, which is so necessary to self-satisfaction. Those who brood at home over either grief or resentment seldom possess that equality of temper which is so common among the worldly.
And the natural result of such experience is affection for life, the antithesis of destruction.
Society is the most powerful remedy for restoring the mind's tranquility. Conversation is the best preservative of temperance, which is so necessary to self-satisfaction. Those who brood at home over either grief or resentment seldom possess that equality of temper which is so common among the worldly.
And the natural result of such experience is affection for life, the antithesis of destruction.
Written By Piccola
May 5, 2021, 8:56 p.m.(6/3/1015 AR)
Every faculty in one soldier is the measure by which she judges of the like faculty in another.
"I judge of your sight by my sight; of your ear by my ear; of your reason by my reason; of your resentment by my resentment; of your love by my love."
There is no other means to judge than by experience; and therefore no judgment is purely objective.
"I judge of your sight by my sight; of your ear by my ear; of your reason by my reason; of your resentment by my resentment; of your love by my love."
There is no other means to judge than by experience; and therefore no judgment is purely objective.
Written By Piccola
May 4, 2021, 3:01 p.m.(6/1/1015 AR)
Wise general, heed this caution.
Those who look upon themselves born to reign and others to obey soon grow insolent. As rare as they may be, their minds are early poisoned by importance. The world they act in differs so materially from the world at large, that they have but little opportunity of knowing its true interest. When they do eventually rise to reign they are frequently the most ignorant and unfit of any throughout the dominions.
Your service to them is purer and more glorious than the ignominy they may bring upon themselves.
Those who look upon themselves born to reign and others to obey soon grow insolent. As rare as they may be, their minds are early poisoned by importance. The world they act in differs so materially from the world at large, that they have but little opportunity of knowing its true interest. When they do eventually rise to reign they are frequently the most ignorant and unfit of any throughout the dominions.
Your service to them is purer and more glorious than the ignominy they may bring upon themselves.
Written By Piccola
April 28, 2021, 11:35 a.m.(5/17/1015 AR)
Glory is as a great tree.
It takes root and then extends itself. All false pretensions fall from it as leaves in autumn, dead and useless. It cannot feign or commit fraud.
Glory follows virtue as if it were its shadow.
It takes root and then extends itself. All false pretensions fall from it as leaves in autumn, dead and useless. It cannot feign or commit fraud.
Glory follows virtue as if it were its shadow.
Written By Piccola
April 21, 2021, 8:07 a.m.(5/2/1015 AR)
The knowledge of anything is not complete unless it is known by its causes.
In medicine, physicians seek causes of sickness and health. In business, merchants seek causes of wealth. In theology, truth. In philosophy, understanding.
In war, victory; in politics, death.
In medicine, physicians seek causes of sickness and health. In business, merchants seek causes of wealth. In theology, truth. In philosophy, understanding.
In war, victory; in politics, death.
Written By Piccola
April 20, 2021, 9:10 p.m.(5/1/1015 AR)
Nothing is more difficult to seize, wise general, than the lead in the introduction of something new.
An innovator has for enemies all those who have done well in the past and who believe they will do well in the future. These enemies are not only found in the minds and hearts of men, but also the laws and the writings of the victorious' history. This is not to say that tradition is bad or evil or wrong -- to the contrary, actually, tradition steers the faint of heart and spirit away from transgressions -- but that it tests the bodies and wills of those who would do right despite the same.
So it is that to grow and adapt there must be the courageous and brave, else the present will breed naught but the timid and fearful.
An innovator has for enemies all those who have done well in the past and who believe they will do well in the future. These enemies are not only found in the minds and hearts of men, but also the laws and the writings of the victorious' history. This is not to say that tradition is bad or evil or wrong -- to the contrary, actually, tradition steers the faint of heart and spirit away from transgressions -- but that it tests the bodies and wills of those who would do right despite the same.
So it is that to grow and adapt there must be the courageous and brave, else the present will breed naught but the timid and fearful.
Written By Piccola
April 19, 2021, 3:33 p.m.(4/27/1015 AR)
Recent events have caused me to reflect on something I wrote earlier, wise general.
To win one hundred victories in one hundred battles is not the acme of skill; it is the ability to subdue the enemy without fighting.
To win one hundred victories in one hundred battles is not the acme of skill; it is the ability to subdue the enemy without fighting.
Written By Piccola
April 18, 2021, 8:43 p.m.(4/25/1015 AR)
I have a story for you.
I once dreamt that I was a cat, wandering and hunting as they do. I was only aware of my happiness as a cat, unaware that I was a woman. Soon, I awakened, and I was a woman once more. But now I do not know whether I was then a woman dreaming she was a butterfly or I am now a cat dreaming that she is a woman.
That is how I became who I am now, wise general.
It matters not who I am now or what I was; all that matters is the now. Now, I am in the city; now, I am a general; now, I am a voice. Whether I dream or play pretend is immaterial; all that matters is what I make of what is before me, with every ounce of effort and moment of time cast within that role, the one I have elected to choose by surrendering to death.
Pondering whether one is aware or not is a waste of time.
I once dreamt that I was a cat, wandering and hunting as they do. I was only aware of my happiness as a cat, unaware that I was a woman. Soon, I awakened, and I was a woman once more. But now I do not know whether I was then a woman dreaming she was a butterfly or I am now a cat dreaming that she is a woman.
That is how I became who I am now, wise general.
It matters not who I am now or what I was; all that matters is the now. Now, I am in the city; now, I am a general; now, I am a voice. Whether I dream or play pretend is immaterial; all that matters is what I make of what is before me, with every ounce of effort and moment of time cast within that role, the one I have elected to choose by surrendering to death.
Pondering whether one is aware or not is a waste of time.
Written By Piccola
April 15, 2021, 10:19 p.m.(4/19/1015 AR)
A wise general once advised me to only measure the height of a mountain when one has reached the top; then one will see how low it was.
Written By Piccola
April 14, 2021, 10:59 p.m.(4/18/1015 AR)
The feeling of commiseration is the beginning of humanity.
The feeling of shame is the beginning of righteousness.
The feeling of deference is the beginning of propriety.
The feeling of right or wrong is the beginning of wisdom.
The feeling of shame is the beginning of righteousness.
The feeling of deference is the beginning of propriety.
The feeling of right or wrong is the beginning of wisdom.
Written By Piccola
April 9, 2021, 7:53 p.m.(4/7/1015 AR)
A wise general cannot be contented with planning without exerting herself in the use of means for the obtaining the objects we strategize for.
To attribute the efficacy of strategy to their mere external performance, apart from the interior discipline they demand, is to fall into superstition.
To attribute the efficacy of strategy to their mere external performance, apart from the interior discipline they demand, is to fall into superstition.
Written By Piccola
April 7, 2021, 8:24 p.m.(4/3/1015 AR)
To hate injustice and stand on righteousness is a difficult thing; to think that being righteous is the best one can do will bring many mistakes.
Honor is in a higher place than righteousness. This is very difficult to discover, but it is the highest wisdom. When seen from this standpoint, things like righteousness are rather shallow. If one does not understand this on their own, it cannot be known.
There is a method of finding honor, however, even if one cannot discover it by himself. This is found in consultation with others. Even a person who has not attained honor sees others from the side. Thought by thought we see our own mistakes.
Thus one can only be honorable in the shadow of others.
Honor is in a higher place than righteousness. This is very difficult to discover, but it is the highest wisdom. When seen from this standpoint, things like righteousness are rather shallow. If one does not understand this on their own, it cannot be known.
There is a method of finding honor, however, even if one cannot discover it by himself. This is found in consultation with others. Even a person who has not attained honor sees others from the side. Thought by thought we see our own mistakes.
Thus one can only be honorable in the shadow of others.
Written By Piccola
April 6, 2021, 5:34 p.m.(4/1/1015 AR)
The winter will soon lift and remove its indiscriminate judgment on the living.
The lively and libidinous spring beckons to bring opportunity to the cunning.
I survive and persist.
The lively and libidinous spring beckons to bring opportunity to the cunning.
I survive and persist.
Written By Piccola
April 2, 2021, 7:57 p.m.(3/21/1015 AR)
Do not be tempted by honors, wise general.
Others forget that the fulfilment of a warrior's duty is the only honor adequate to them. Apart from moral conduct, all that a warrior thinks themselves able to do in order to become honored is mere superstition and supposition. Once a warrior believes in a service which is not purely moral, but is supposed to be agreeable to others or popular, they have lost their sight and are as useful as a blind archer. Once a warrior believes that they can justify their actions by acts of pleading or worship, they will always be found where the essence is sought not in principles of morality, but in mere commands and unthinking obedience.
And while this may be an acceptable trait for a dog, it is not for a general.
Others forget that the fulfilment of a warrior's duty is the only honor adequate to them. Apart from moral conduct, all that a warrior thinks themselves able to do in order to become honored is mere superstition and supposition. Once a warrior believes in a service which is not purely moral, but is supposed to be agreeable to others or popular, they have lost their sight and are as useful as a blind archer. Once a warrior believes that they can justify their actions by acts of pleading or worship, they will always be found where the essence is sought not in principles of morality, but in mere commands and unthinking obedience.
And while this may be an acceptable trait for a dog, it is not for a general.
Written By Piccola
March 31, 2021, 8:15 p.m.(3/17/1015 AR)
A horse in nature is always stronger and more robust in their forests than in our service.
It is the same with men: in proportion as he becomes sociable and servile, he becomes weak, fearful, and mean-spirited.
This is why, wise general, one should not be a stranger to savagery.
It is the same with men: in proportion as he becomes sociable and servile, he becomes weak, fearful, and mean-spirited.
This is why, wise general, one should not be a stranger to savagery.
Written By Piccola
March 30, 2021, 9:43 a.m.(3/14/1015 AR)
To believe that truth has any inherent power denied to fraud or prevailing against death is but sentimental.
Men are not more zealous for truth than they often are for error. The application of physical or social penalties will generally succeed in stopping the propagation of either. The only advantage truth has is that, when an opinion is true, it may be extinguished many times only to be rediscovered. And when one such reappearance occurs and escapes persecution, it may then withstand all subsequent attempts to hide it.
Thus, the best way to find the truth is to follow the pattern of those who have attempted to eradicate it.
Men are not more zealous for truth than they often are for error. The application of physical or social penalties will generally succeed in stopping the propagation of either. The only advantage truth has is that, when an opinion is true, it may be extinguished many times only to be rediscovered. And when one such reappearance occurs and escapes persecution, it may then withstand all subsequent attempts to hide it.
Thus, the best way to find the truth is to follow the pattern of those who have attempted to eradicate it.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.