Written By Joscelin
Dec. 12, 2018, 12:16 a.m.(2/27/1010 AR)
I think I've got the color green burned into my eyeballs. Emeralds are beautiful, dark and moss-veined, bright and light searing, pale like peridot or tints of blue. I don't think I've ever looked so hard for a set of raw gems in my life. If I weep, I wouldn't be surprised if I wept green.
Written By Joscelin
Dec. 9, 2018, 11:27 p.m.(2/23/1010 AR)
Gods, all the shit they don't tell you about new motherhood. It's so -messy-!
Written By Joscelin
Dec. 9, 2018, 12:34 p.m.(2/22/1010 AR)
Relationship Note on Silas
How dare you, my child is a -delight-. She sleeps and coos and she has the most beautiful black curls.
If you were talking about -me-, good luck with that. Also I'll be coming by to terrify your whole barracks with cake or something.
If you were talking about -me-, good luck with that. Also I'll be coming by to terrify your whole barracks with cake or something.
Written By Joscelin
Dec. 8, 2018, 5:28 p.m.(2/20/1010 AR)
I have an Ianthe back in my life. It's so surreal.
Written By Joscelin
Dec. 7, 2018, 9:20 p.m.(2/19/1010 AR)
I thought childbirth was supposed to take longer. I did not expect her to shoot out of me like some streaking bit of skyfire.
I owe Magpie a new couch. And a new tea set. And Aureth might need a new hand, I may have broken something.
Ianthe Myrinda Arterius.
Welcome to the world.
Post script: Lieutenant Carmen Harol made an excellent midwife. I highly recommend.
I owe Magpie a new couch. And a new tea set. And Aureth might need a new hand, I may have broken something.
Ianthe Myrinda Arterius.
Welcome to the world.
Post script: Lieutenant Carmen Harol made an excellent midwife. I highly recommend.
Written By Joscelin
Dec. 7, 2018, 2:39 p.m.(2/18/1010 AR)
Protege acquired, an amazing woman, one Lieutenant Carmen Harol. Not a moment too soon, it seems.
Written By Joscelin
Dec. 3, 2018, 10:51 p.m.(2/10/1010 AR)
Such lovely people, the Bislands.
Written By Joscelin
Dec. 2, 2018, 9:15 p.m.(2/8/1010 AR)
Relationship Note on Karadoc
Send me a message about the specifics and we'll talk.
Written By Joscelin
Dec. 2, 2018, 5:19 a.m.(2/7/1010 AR)
Relationship Note on Karadoc
No.
Written By Joscelin
Dec. 1, 2018, 5:02 p.m.(2/6/1010 AR)
Well, for the first time in ages, it seems I've obtained a Patron.
It's an odd mantle to reclaim, as 'protege'.
Here's to all our successful endeavors, and my our failures be educational and the damage of such, minimal, yes?
I'd drink if I could. In celebration! of course. And maybe nerves. Strange paths, strange days.
It's an odd mantle to reclaim, as 'protege'.
Here's to all our successful endeavors, and my our failures be educational and the damage of such, minimal, yes?
I'd drink if I could. In celebration! of course. And maybe nerves. Strange paths, strange days.
Written By Joscelin
Dec. 1, 2018, 5:01 p.m.(2/6/1010 AR)
For the first time in what feels like ages, I worked with my assistants to reproduce some pieces in semiprecious metals, easy to work with and quite rewarding in that they appeal to smaller pockets. I've also helped a few local apprentices manufacture pieces in finer metals, gold, silver, and electrum (my favorite), demonstrating a lesson and selling the results. Thanks to a few renewed trading contracts, I'm able to offer a heft discount on even my precious gemmed items.
Satisfying work. I do love teaching, I don't mind that it takes a little longer, the pace forces me to really look at what I'm creating and think about who it's meant for.
I hope this is just a taste of things to come.
Satisfying work. I do love teaching, I don't mind that it takes a little longer, the pace forces me to really look at what I'm creating and think about who it's meant for.
I hope this is just a taste of things to come.
Written By Joscelin
Nov. 25, 2018, 7:51 p.m.(1/22/1010 AR)
Relationship Note on Evaristo
You've jinxed it. Now it'll be a boy. If that's the case I'm naming him after you.
Written By Joscelin
Nov. 24, 2018, 7:34 p.m.(1/20/1010 AR)
Relationship Note on Evaristo
I don't waddle. I amble with great dignity.
Written By Joscelin
Nov. 23, 2018, 8:15 p.m.(1/18/1010 AR)
'Sweet sassy molassy'. Adding that to the repertoire. Also ow. My ass.
Written By Joscelin
Nov. 21, 2018, 1:42 p.m.(1/13/1010 AR)
Compliments were paid to me last night at Trader, that I was radiant like the moon. My -radius- is like the moon. I am very round and glorious, I guess, but mostly that other thing.
Before falling asleep, I've taken to chamomile tea to calm my nerves. My sleep isn't what it should be, it's hard to find enough peace to close my eyes. Often I wonder if I'd sleep at all if it weren't for the baby or Magpie's amazing tea. This part of the Murder is so quiet too. It should be easier.
Last night I had a dream. I wasn't completely asleep, I was half awake, but I was talking to the creature growing inside me. It prattled with joy, bubbling with thought, telling me about how happy it was it picked me to be its mother, that it was blessed to be mine, that Death made it but I would make its life and how -wonderful- was that...?
Manic. It sounded manic. A child with a kitten it could not stop talking to. I realize now, writing this, I should be more horrified. It was just a dream, but I still remember feeling amused in my half-awake doze, running my hand over my belly and 'talking' back. Trying to tell them I hoped they were alright with things being unfamiliar, that their new life not being what they chose, exactly. That there were pieces missing, and that I was alone.
Unfazed, that joy. Still carrying on. Chatter chatter chatter.
I've had stranger dreams but I can't think of any. So many odd ones since I conceived. Very vivid, threads of light and butterflies, and Death in the guise of a youth. They're worse when I read Aureth's writings, and by 'worse' I simply mean 'more intense'. I know it's my fault; I'm not obsessed with death, or Death, but I'm creating life and death has been a frequent visitor. I suspect it's the trait of pregnancy to feel more and more calm about large, philosophical ideas, accepting of the world in general.
I still want to throw things sometimes. Little things irritate me. I found myself crying at the change in -tone- someone had when speaking to me, immediately thinking the worst, but I'll have you know I waited until I was alone...! I only thought they were horribly mean for about a day, and then I was fine again. Someone brought me pie at the Trader but I'd asked for apple strudel and promptly sobbed into my hands. I think that was worse.
I'm still working thorough the interested applicants for Patron. I'm conflicted and interested in all of them, but there are strengths and weaknesses to consider. I think I'm also in the market for a protege myself, but I suspect that's far more selfish than I'd really considered. Where before I chose for social strengths and trade skill, I may need to consider something different. Or maybe just hire a bodyguard. That was supposed to be Oliver's job, but-
The hours pass. The sun rises and sets and the moon- ...well. I imitate the moon, awake all night, round and 'radiant'. I guess. I'm looking ahead to the years that stretch out before me and I feel painfully lonely. And yet? I'm also certain that despite that I'll be completely alright.
Look at me? No so morose, for once.
Before falling asleep, I've taken to chamomile tea to calm my nerves. My sleep isn't what it should be, it's hard to find enough peace to close my eyes. Often I wonder if I'd sleep at all if it weren't for the baby or Magpie's amazing tea. This part of the Murder is so quiet too. It should be easier.
Last night I had a dream. I wasn't completely asleep, I was half awake, but I was talking to the creature growing inside me. It prattled with joy, bubbling with thought, telling me about how happy it was it picked me to be its mother, that it was blessed to be mine, that Death made it but I would make its life and how -wonderful- was that...?
Manic. It sounded manic. A child with a kitten it could not stop talking to. I realize now, writing this, I should be more horrified. It was just a dream, but I still remember feeling amused in my half-awake doze, running my hand over my belly and 'talking' back. Trying to tell them I hoped they were alright with things being unfamiliar, that their new life not being what they chose, exactly. That there were pieces missing, and that I was alone.
Unfazed, that joy. Still carrying on. Chatter chatter chatter.
I've had stranger dreams but I can't think of any. So many odd ones since I conceived. Very vivid, threads of light and butterflies, and Death in the guise of a youth. They're worse when I read Aureth's writings, and by 'worse' I simply mean 'more intense'. I know it's my fault; I'm not obsessed with death, or Death, but I'm creating life and death has been a frequent visitor. I suspect it's the trait of pregnancy to feel more and more calm about large, philosophical ideas, accepting of the world in general.
I still want to throw things sometimes. Little things irritate me. I found myself crying at the change in -tone- someone had when speaking to me, immediately thinking the worst, but I'll have you know I waited until I was alone...! I only thought they were horribly mean for about a day, and then I was fine again. Someone brought me pie at the Trader but I'd asked for apple strudel and promptly sobbed into my hands. I think that was worse.
I'm still working thorough the interested applicants for Patron. I'm conflicted and interested in all of them, but there are strengths and weaknesses to consider. I think I'm also in the market for a protege myself, but I suspect that's far more selfish than I'd really considered. Where before I chose for social strengths and trade skill, I may need to consider something different. Or maybe just hire a bodyguard. That was supposed to be Oliver's job, but-
The hours pass. The sun rises and sets and the moon- ...well. I imitate the moon, awake all night, round and 'radiant'. I guess. I'm looking ahead to the years that stretch out before me and I feel painfully lonely. And yet? I'm also certain that despite that I'll be completely alright.
Look at me? No so morose, for once.
Written By Joscelin
Nov. 19, 2018, 12:32 a.m.(1/8/1010 AR)
Many mothers old and young have offered much advice, and I'll admit in the beginning I didn't believe half of what they told me. Some things I expected, the cravings, the moods. Grieving makes some things worse, I'd imagine; several Mercies have come by to check on me now and then, Guildmaster Reigna's work, I suspect. They, too, warned me of my emotions.
Well-meaning questions weigh heavy on me. Inadvertent comments cut like cruel accusations. Repeated statements rub tender emotions raw.
I'll be glad to have this child. I don't think I'll carry another, I know this and I should savor these moments but, mostly? Mostly I want the hurricane of sensitivity to end. I'm better than this. I am.
I am.
Well-meaning questions weigh heavy on me. Inadvertent comments cut like cruel accusations. Repeated statements rub tender emotions raw.
I'll be glad to have this child. I don't think I'll carry another, I know this and I should savor these moments but, mostly? Mostly I want the hurricane of sensitivity to end. I'm better than this. I am.
I am.
Written By Joscelin
Nov. 18, 2018, 6:17 p.m.(1/8/1010 AR)
To the surprise of no one, I wear a lot of jewelry. What many might not realize, however, is that everything I wear means something to me. A person. A moment. An idea. A relationship. In the beginning, Ianthe used to laugh at me about it. I would forgo gold and iridescite for woven silk cords, carved ivory, intricately braided hair clasped in silver. She didn't understand at first, and of course she wouldn't; the gaps between my training and her adventures left much to catch up on. And when she understood, she gave me a braid of her own hair. I used to keep it in my apron. I wear it as a bracelet now, with carved aquamarine beads.
Silas gave me Oliver's ring the night he died. I wear it on my thumb. Our courtship jewelry rarely leaves my skin. It may be that someday I'll take them off, set them on display. Or maybe I'll keep them until our child is old enough to wear them themselves, a living testament to the love that made them.
Jewelry isn't just about ornamentation, sometimes it's truly about love, about family, wearing their symbols on our person to keep them with us wherever we go, or to tell the world that this belongs to more than just me. A wearable memory. A piece of their heart.
One day I will write in my Whites and feel less morose, less somber, but these weeks have been full of words, conversations about the imperfection of people. A silly conversation to begin with; no one is perfect. Flawed beings, perfect in our imperfections. I wonder if it isn't respect that we're truly looking for. You don't meet a person and discuss the contents of their chamber pot, you don't meet a grieving widow and detail the worst parts of their spouses' lives, or telling a mother who's lost their child the worst parts of their daughter's character. It is in most of us to provide comfort to those that sorrow, to them that grieve for loved ones lost, to speak of the good days, to glow over the shining moments, to remind those that have lost that there was a life worth loving, and we are blessed to share in it.
I miss my Oliver. I miss his stupid temper and his dumb drinking, I miss his jealous nature, his insecurities, his courage despite his fears. I hope that Death keeps him safe, and blesses him with a life of adventure because I know that's what Oliver would abhor the most: a boring life lived slow and sheltered. I hope his soul finds joy. I'll remember who he was while I had them, and tell our child about their beautiful, stupid, brilliant, strange father, and keep him with me that way too.
Silas gave me Oliver's ring the night he died. I wear it on my thumb. Our courtship jewelry rarely leaves my skin. It may be that someday I'll take them off, set them on display. Or maybe I'll keep them until our child is old enough to wear them themselves, a living testament to the love that made them.
Jewelry isn't just about ornamentation, sometimes it's truly about love, about family, wearing their symbols on our person to keep them with us wherever we go, or to tell the world that this belongs to more than just me. A wearable memory. A piece of their heart.
One day I will write in my Whites and feel less morose, less somber, but these weeks have been full of words, conversations about the imperfection of people. A silly conversation to begin with; no one is perfect. Flawed beings, perfect in our imperfections. I wonder if it isn't respect that we're truly looking for. You don't meet a person and discuss the contents of their chamber pot, you don't meet a grieving widow and detail the worst parts of their spouses' lives, or telling a mother who's lost their child the worst parts of their daughter's character. It is in most of us to provide comfort to those that sorrow, to them that grieve for loved ones lost, to speak of the good days, to glow over the shining moments, to remind those that have lost that there was a life worth loving, and we are blessed to share in it.
I miss my Oliver. I miss his stupid temper and his dumb drinking, I miss his jealous nature, his insecurities, his courage despite his fears. I hope that Death keeps him safe, and blesses him with a life of adventure because I know that's what Oliver would abhor the most: a boring life lived slow and sheltered. I hope his soul finds joy. I'll remember who he was while I had them, and tell our child about their beautiful, stupid, brilliant, strange father, and keep him with me that way too.
Written By Joscelin
Nov. 16, 2018, 7:32 p.m.(1/4/1010 AR)
Relationship Note on Adora
I do appreciate the practical artisans.
Written By Joscelin
Nov. 14, 2018, 11:28 p.m.(12/28/1009 AR)
I muse over finding a patron to a few folks in a tavern and now there's a stack of letters on my borrowed desk. I may have underestimated a few things. But the rumors are true. I'm in the market, so to speak. I've made no decisions yet and will not for days to come.
I need to reply to these. And I will. But-
I need to reply to these. And I will. But-
Written By Joscelin
Nov. 14, 2018, 11:24 p.m.(12/28/1009 AR)
News trickles in and my family is named among the rumors of tragedy and triumph. What happened? Are you all alright? More names to add to the list of loss, more prayers to plead, to sing praises, to beg, 'keep my loved ones safe, and if they cannot come home to me, let them be taken without pain to Death's embrace'. It's ridiculous to beg for mercy and yet I do it. And I write letters as more news comes in. What has happened?
My nerves are frayed. I can't take much of this.
My nerves are frayed. I can't take much of this.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.