Written By Lianne
March 8, 2018, 11:23 a.m.(4/27/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Khanne
Ours has not been a constant friendship. Instead, our lives have crisscrossed irregularly, weaving a weird and wonderful tapestry of laughter at having made such similar mistakes, mutual affection for a cuddly murderbeast neither of us see anymore, comfort in knowing we are not alone in witnessing certain horrors, relief in the rare moments we've shared our burdens, resolve born from offered advice, determination to not let time unravel what we share and joy whenever our paths actually cross by happenstance or intention.
What is constant is how we have cared for each other, how we have shared our hurts and our hopes and our happiness.
I am so very happy for you, my friend.
And I am considering your words and your example.
What is constant is how we have cared for each other, how we have shared our hurts and our hopes and our happiness.
I am so very happy for you, my friend.
And I am considering your words and your example.
Written By Lianne
March 8, 2018, 11:07 a.m.(4/27/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Percephon
I remember when you swore off love and determinedly pursued a more pragmatic view of interpersonal relationships.
I remember the bittersweet gestures you permitted to slip through all the same.
I remember when, not too long ago, the tone of your white journals shifted from studious consideration to understated optimism.
I hope, years from now, to remember watching your happiness grow without limit.
To be met with such magnificent news upon packing away my winter beard and climbing down from my mountain does my heart good. It might even be enough to encourage me out of my tower more often, if the world promises such loveliness.
I remember the bittersweet gestures you permitted to slip through all the same.
I remember when, not too long ago, the tone of your white journals shifted from studious consideration to understated optimism.
I hope, years from now, to remember watching your happiness grow without limit.
To be met with such magnificent news upon packing away my winter beard and climbing down from my mountain does my heart good. It might even be enough to encourage me out of my tower more often, if the world promises such loveliness.
Written By Lianne
March 6, 2018, 11:38 p.m.(4/24/1008 AR)
Renovations have begun on the building I purchased not far from the Academy. It hardly looks like anything yet, like it could become any number of things from here. I wonder how long it will take to look like what it's meant to be.
Written By Lianne
Feb. 26, 2018, 5:23 p.m.(4/7/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Vayne
Archlector Vayne,
I would venture that many of us would do as we are already doing. I expect there are innumerable others who, like me, pursue their goals, their passions, their dreams as ardently as they do for fear of losing what they love or never seeing their dreams achieved. Certainly, there is hope in those aspirations, but I know there are a great many of my pursuits which are driven by a deep and terrible fear and the resolve to face it.
The more troubling answer is that, without this fear, I would take my time. I would dally. I would explore every little curiosity that caught my fancy. And, pleasant as that may sound, I would not take seriously the threats which we face.
Fear may, at times, hold us back; watching the Compact as a whole and knowing my own trembling heart, I believe it motivates us more often, to hold fast to that which we love and to do all that we can with however long the Mother of Beginnings has given us to make this world and our short lives in it better.
I would venture that many of us would do as we are already doing. I expect there are innumerable others who, like me, pursue their goals, their passions, their dreams as ardently as they do for fear of losing what they love or never seeing their dreams achieved. Certainly, there is hope in those aspirations, but I know there are a great many of my pursuits which are driven by a deep and terrible fear and the resolve to face it.
The more troubling answer is that, without this fear, I would take my time. I would dally. I would explore every little curiosity that caught my fancy. And, pleasant as that may sound, I would not take seriously the threats which we face.
Fear may, at times, hold us back; watching the Compact as a whole and knowing my own trembling heart, I believe it motivates us more often, to hold fast to that which we love and to do all that we can with however long the Mother of Beginnings has given us to make this world and our short lives in it better.
Written By Lianne
Nov. 28, 2017, 2:46 p.m.(9/4/1007 AR)
It does not matter if the Gods love us or not. We do not require their affection. What we need is what they provide: the ideals to which we aspire, by which we shape our society and live our lives. That some have been blessed with more does not diminish what we've already been given, what has served us well thus far.
Faith requires no validation.
Faith requires no validation.
Written By Lianne
Nov. 1, 2017, 11:57 p.m.(7/5/1007 AR)
Relationship Note on Mae
There will always be secrets. There will always be information hidden. Even the Scholars of Vellichor recognize this by keeping our black journals, by maintaining special archives not accessible to the public.
There will always be lies as the truth is an objective thing, often cold and hard and challenging.
The veil will never be entirely lifted. We hold onto it too tightly.
There will always be lies as the truth is an objective thing, often cold and hard and challenging.
The veil will never be entirely lifted. We hold onto it too tightly.
Written By Lianne
Oct. 8, 2017, 4:47 p.m.(5/12/1007 AR)
The beauty of sorrow is its ability to simultaneously isolate and unite us. While no other might know quite the shape and nature of our own individual grief, we are yet drawn together in sadness, seeking comfort and familiarity, knowing that everyone has suffered loss and heartache and bitter disappointment. We each break in our own ways, but seeing the jagged edges in another draws out our compassion.
Though your despair is your own, you are not alone in its depths.
That is what I saw in the darkness: our commonality, our tenderness, our nature.
Though your despair is your own, you are not alone in its depths.
That is what I saw in the darkness: our commonality, our tenderness, our nature.
Written By Lianne
July 17, 2017, 12:13 a.m.(11/8/1006 AR)
Vetiver. Wood smoke. Wildflowers. Coffee. The sea around Setarco. Salt upon skin. A breeze through a window. A memory I cannot replicate.
Written By Lianne
June 20, 2017, 10:46 a.m.(9/8/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Niamh
When last we spoke, you told me that if I have the occasion to ask for anything, I should ask for everything. You told me that I should choose the one who will treat me best. You did nothing by half-measures.
As the mornings start growing colder, I will sit barefoot, sip my coffee, and think of you.
As the mornings start growing colder, I will sit barefoot, sip my coffee, and think of you.
Written By Lianne
June 17, 2017, 12:03 a.m.(9/1/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Belladonna
I could, if you would like, make you a fairly thorough list of all the great many things, intermittently dire, which have distracted us from details like birthdays and wine and lazy afternoons spent enjoying the gardens. It may be more productive if we simply work towards enjoying what's left of summer while we're all still mostly whole and mostly well.
Written By Lianne
June 15, 2017, 1:07 p.m.(8/26/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Duarte
Everyone dies. Everything eventually comes to its end.
You will be an exception to this rule until I give you leave to do otherwise.
You will be an exception to this rule until I give you leave to do otherwise.
Written By Lianne
June 15, 2017, 12:43 p.m.(8/26/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Juliana
We are, like all that blood we were swimming in, vital.
I am grateful to have had you and your siblings there, for the grousing, the stories, the joy.
However, I cannot guarantee such grace and gratitude should your older brother's next visit require yet more blood being scrubbed from floor and furniture. Invite him over for drinks, dinner, something normal families do. Just a little reprieve from all the stitching, then we can go back to bloodshed and woe.
I am grateful to have had you and your siblings there, for the grousing, the stories, the joy.
However, I cannot guarantee such grace and gratitude should your older brother's next visit require yet more blood being scrubbed from floor and furniture. Invite him over for drinks, dinner, something normal families do. Just a little reprieve from all the stitching, then we can go back to bloodshed and woe.
Written By Lianne
April 29, 2017, 1:45 a.m.(5/12/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Percephon
I would like my book back if you up and die.
Do try not to up and die.
Do try not to up and die.
Written By Lianne
April 27, 2017, 12:12 p.m.(5/8/1006 AR)
This time last year, I was aboard a ship bound for Arx from Setarco. It was not my first visit to the capital, but it was meant to be--and has been--my longest stay to date. My first few weeks were filled with excitement and possibility as I explored, made friends and adjusted to my new responsibilities. By June, homesickness had set in. Summer never gets warm enough here. The ocean air smells different. There's never enough music. There's never enough sun.
I miss the stars and the swallows. I miss the songs and the stories. I miss the winding roads and the clifftop vistas. I miss the particular rhythm of Setarcan life, the lull when the sun is highest, the peak as it sets. I miss the people, my people, so sharp and bright and vital.
But I no longer ache. I no longer pine for the Silken City that I so love. I no longer spend my nights staring up at artificial stars to feel a little closer to home. I do not need to. I have found home here. I have found purpose and joy and a strange and satisfying cadence which keeps me grounded.
Trapped as we are, I should want to escape, to flee the besieged city for the safety of my beloved island, but I am home, and I am happy, and I mean to stay.
I miss the stars and the swallows. I miss the songs and the stories. I miss the winding roads and the clifftop vistas. I miss the particular rhythm of Setarcan life, the lull when the sun is highest, the peak as it sets. I miss the people, my people, so sharp and bright and vital.
But I no longer ache. I no longer pine for the Silken City that I so love. I no longer spend my nights staring up at artificial stars to feel a little closer to home. I do not need to. I have found home here. I have found purpose and joy and a strange and satisfying cadence which keeps me grounded.
Trapped as we are, I should want to escape, to flee the besieged city for the safety of my beloved island, but I am home, and I am happy, and I mean to stay.
Written By Lianne
April 13, 2017, 3:43 p.m.(4/8/1006 AR)
I had wondered, upon hearing that there are cultists of the Silence, people who serve that which would see all life snuffed out, what might drive a person to serve such a thing, to further the end of all existence. Some of you, so diligently documenting your thoughts on current affairs and calling for justice, have answered the question I hadn't yet voiced, so ready to dismiss all humanity over who or how many fall on which side of a moral debate.
Surely, such sentiments are hyperbole, stated to make some point, to plead with for us to be better, to be worthy, but consider what you are saying: at a time when our enemy takes and takes and makes us suffer with every intention of ending all of our debates and deeds, whether heroic or horrific, you demonstrate sympathy for this enemy. You give those cultists their justification. You set a line that says there is some point at which we are not worth saving, that our Gods should turn from us and let everything they've created be devoured.
Debate morality all you'd like, but please be careful with your wording. There is no justification for joining our enemy. There is no validity to their goal. There is no line any one person, no matter their station, can cross, no moral ambiguity with which we might tangle that can render our utter and complete annihilation a right and worthy end.
We live. We will continue to live. We will offer no understanding to those who would have it otherwise.
Surely, such sentiments are hyperbole, stated to make some point, to plead with for us to be better, to be worthy, but consider what you are saying: at a time when our enemy takes and takes and makes us suffer with every intention of ending all of our debates and deeds, whether heroic or horrific, you demonstrate sympathy for this enemy. You give those cultists their justification. You set a line that says there is some point at which we are not worth saving, that our Gods should turn from us and let everything they've created be devoured.
Debate morality all you'd like, but please be careful with your wording. There is no justification for joining our enemy. There is no validity to their goal. There is no line any one person, no matter their station, can cross, no moral ambiguity with which we might tangle that can render our utter and complete annihilation a right and worthy end.
We live. We will continue to live. We will offer no understanding to those who would have it otherwise.
Written By Lianne
April 12, 2017, 10:51 a.m.(4/5/1006 AR)
We all feel shame. We all have parts of ourselves which we hide.
We do not only feel shame for our grave misdeeds and mistakes, for the sins which might be readily identified as such. We also feel shame for small things no one else notices, no one else even remembers. We feel shame for who we once were, what we once thought, what we once wanted. We keep moving forward and hope no one asks after our abandoned aspirations and momentarily misplaced enthusiasm. We hope we never need to justify our missteps and misunderstandings. We hope we never have cause to explain those motivations which seem so foreign to us now.
We hope others see us as we wish to be seen, our secrets and shames tucked neatly away, our best face put forward. So we look to mirrors that we might see what others see and shape how we are perceived. A good mirror shows us who we are--marked with all that evidence of who we had been, all the things we've done and left undone--and offers no judgment, not even when we turn our heads just so that we might see ourselves as we wish to be.
May we all be so blessed as to have such mirrors in our lives, to keep close those who accept us as we were, who value us as we are and who let us dream of who we have yet to become. May we all have someone who helps us see ourselves. May we all find time to reflect on who we mean to be.
We do not only feel shame for our grave misdeeds and mistakes, for the sins which might be readily identified as such. We also feel shame for small things no one else notices, no one else even remembers. We feel shame for who we once were, what we once thought, what we once wanted. We keep moving forward and hope no one asks after our abandoned aspirations and momentarily misplaced enthusiasm. We hope we never need to justify our missteps and misunderstandings. We hope we never have cause to explain those motivations which seem so foreign to us now.
We hope others see us as we wish to be seen, our secrets and shames tucked neatly away, our best face put forward. So we look to mirrors that we might see what others see and shape how we are perceived. A good mirror shows us who we are--marked with all that evidence of who we had been, all the things we've done and left undone--and offers no judgment, not even when we turn our heads just so that we might see ourselves as we wish to be.
May we all be so blessed as to have such mirrors in our lives, to keep close those who accept us as we were, who value us as we are and who let us dream of who we have yet to become. May we all have someone who helps us see ourselves. May we all find time to reflect on who we mean to be.
Written By Lianne
April 5, 2017, 11:45 a.m.(3/20/1006 AR)
A strange dissatisfaction is starting to settle in now that I've gotten what I wanted. Pursuit provides purpose. Now, I must sate myself with my prize or pick a new path. Best to be patient when the possibilities are so vast.
Written By Lianne
Feb. 19, 2017, 1:42 a.m.(12/13/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Duarte
A reflection on those asked after ashes:
Tax mno mddavoj qa vannt awon co, mr g vannt awon tax, awon hav jmne mbj jaxn tax mno qhoro nokobq jmtr. Ja baq daro taxn rzmne, jmndgbp. Ja baq daro taxn lgqo.
G mc kabigjobq qhmq tax vgdd noqxnb, qhmq vo vgdd igbj bov dgcgqr qa zxrh, qhmq qho vandj vgdd lnome an loqqon gqrodi ian axn znajjgbp.
Vo vgdd zonrgrq. G vgdd hmwo gq ba aqhon vmt.
I do not expect this to be easy.
Tax mno mddavoj qa vannt awon co, mr g vannt awon tax, awon hav jmne mbj jaxn tax mno qhoro nokobq jmtr. Ja baq daro taxn rzmne, jmndgbp. Ja baq daro taxn lgqo.
G mc kabigjobq qhmq tax vgdd noqxnb, qhmq vo vgdd igbj bov dgcgqr qa zxrh, qhmq qho vandj vgdd lnome an loqqon gqrodi ian axn znajjgbp.
Vo vgdd zonrgrq. G vgdd hmwo gq ba aqhon vmt.
I do not expect this to be easy.
Written By Lianne
Feb. 12, 2017, 9:24 p.m.(11/28/1005 AR)
Once, there was a village beyond the reach of the Grey River, in the lower stretch of the Red Mountains. It was held by Clan Blood Oak and tolerated by the nearby landholders. In a grove not far from the village stood an elven shrine made of oak which had been tended to by both the shav'arvani and Compact alike.
About a year and a half ago, the shrine was destroyed, and the villagers who watched over it were torn limb from limb, decimated by forces far stronger than they. Upon the ruined shrine, a bone altar was built, standing about three feet high and slightly wider, requiring dozens of bodies for its construction. If the altar served a purpose beyond sending an unsettling message, I was never able to discern it. We dismantled it, spoke prayers to the spirits, and burned the bones in an offering of rum.
The shrine was irreparable. It was not ours to either understand or repair, and it had gone a year and a half without anyone else taking action. It was already forgotten.
And now, it is gone. The shrine, the grove, the village. All of it has been removed from Arvum as if it never existed. A few of us remember. We were there. We witnessed the wreckage. We cleaned up the mess. I write this now so that you might remember, too, so that this thing may not be stolen from us in its entirety.
About a year and a half ago, the shrine was destroyed, and the villagers who watched over it were torn limb from limb, decimated by forces far stronger than they. Upon the ruined shrine, a bone altar was built, standing about three feet high and slightly wider, requiring dozens of bodies for its construction. If the altar served a purpose beyond sending an unsettling message, I was never able to discern it. We dismantled it, spoke prayers to the spirits, and burned the bones in an offering of rum.
The shrine was irreparable. It was not ours to either understand or repair, and it had gone a year and a half without anyone else taking action. It was already forgotten.
And now, it is gone. The shrine, the grove, the village. All of it has been removed from Arvum as if it never existed. A few of us remember. We were there. We witnessed the wreckage. We cleaned up the mess. I write this now so that you might remember, too, so that this thing may not be stolen from us in its entirety.
Written By Lianne
Feb. 3, 2017, 12:14 p.m.(11/3/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Jackson
The very definition of even keeled.
I find myself yet wondering how must we look from the other side of the mirror.
I find myself yet wondering how must we look from the other side of the mirror.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.