Written By Martino
Jan. 28, 2024, 9:41 a.m.(8/20/1021 AR)
More pulled up from the archives in Southport, which one-day will be returned to. A siege should be avoided wherever possible, before one can even start, time is needed to prepare and construct the engines of war. The overwhelming numbers lost on approaching such a superior position for the defender make the value of it little sense, it feeds a lack of moral and a questioning of tactics from those rank-and-file.
Know what decision you are going to make, and enact it. Those who enlist know, and have been trained, to understand your tactics. So let them flourish, let them do you proud. Should you advance, do it. Should you retreat. Do it. Know when to fight and how many to deploy for this goal, set it out and make it clear. Do not let doubt nor fear overwhelm your decisions for this is a weakness that a competent enemy will exploit.
Know what decision you are going to make, and enact it. Those who enlist know, and have been trained, to understand your tactics. So let them flourish, let them do you proud. Should you advance, do it. Should you retreat. Do it. Know when to fight and how many to deploy for this goal, set it out and make it clear. Do not let doubt nor fear overwhelm your decisions for this is a weakness that a competent enemy will exploit.
Written By Duarte
Jan. 28, 2024, 5:05 a.m.(8/20/1021 AR)
Journal
I have no recollection of how my ire and rage was suppressed in that moment, nor of the journey home. All I know is I was somehow subdued (I mean, it's not /hard/) and that they quickly reclaimed the lost journal, abandoned the shardhaven, and we came home.
What we recovered were some of the lost pages of Scholar Wilhelm's journal on blight. And it was uncertain hope, but it at least gave us a path.
The text discussed the manner in which Corruption could find its way to the heart of others without them knowing. The effects of it before it might outwardly present itself, as it had on our bodies and in the affliction of our minds. BUT! There was a remedy - a glimpse of one - possible, and attainable. Of course, from a scholar, it was rooted in Faith. Thirteen days and thirteen nights, thirteen gifts of value, one to each of the Gods. Thirteen offerings of action, cleansing what has been sullied, and thirteen cleansings in ritual baths before each of the Gods in turn.
And so, as my studies with Rinel had long since been complete, and I found much time in my absence from public life to study on my own bat, I went forth and as the archers say 'gave it a shot'.
I spent thirteen days and thirteen nights in each of the shrines, offering gifts at each vigil, and reflecting upon how Corruption took root in my heart. I made offerings of action and did the ritual baths. And at the culmination of this, I partook in a Cleansing Ritual that was fad at the time - taught to me and Petal by Lady Olivia - a ritual done to cleanse the primum of the poison Azazel by way of Shreve had spread.
Mine was performed in the Shrine of the Sentinel, on the thirteenth hour of the thirteenth day. It was my final offering of action - this cleansing of the primum - but the motivation was a cleansing of myself.
To Limerance, I burnt a stack of letters I had saved from Lianne, and prayed that my steadfastness to her was perceived by the Gods, if not recognized by her herself. To Vellichor, I burned a dossier I had compiled on Legate Bianca for reasons unimportant now and needn't be written - but I longed for her friendship and was regretful. To Gild, I burned an old beloved hat that I used to wear as a commoner messenger boy. I prayed she would see my charity and how I have used my newfound station for charitable ends. To Tehom, I burned a slice of the very vines that were embedded in my flesh. It wasn't a sacrifice, but a reflection of one. To Aion, I burned a slip of paper upon which I wrote "the future". Mirari was there with me when I did it.
With each sacrifice, I began to feel stronger. I began to breathe easier. For the first time in years now, I began to feel better. I felt regret for my smug, callous ways. My courting of scandal. Stronger, better, cleaner - I stood taller.
As the ritual came to a close but the flames continued to burn hot, the shrine suddenly darkened. I heard a voice. And the voice was spake unto me. And the voice was loud, and magnificent and resounding. And it said, "You stand balanced on a knife's point. Cleansed of Blight by the Gods you hardly believe in. Oathed to those who serve the Darkness."
The room disappeared and I was floating in blackness, wobbling upon that very point. Before me were two paths: one strewn with rocks and hard going, difficulties and enemies I may not survive, but in the air there was a rainbow - bright, beautiful and perfect. The other path was one of ease. I could feel the allure of wealth and glory in that path, with enemies and obstacles still, but also much adulation.
And the voice spoke again, "Choice is the greatest gift given to humanity. You must choose."
In a snap, I was back in the shrine. The fires had died out. But something was different. I felt along my arms and pulled at my shirt. The vines! They had gone! The flesh of my torso was pock-marked with the scars of their penetrating growth, but the growth itself was gone!
But somehow, I still felt them wrapping around my heart like impending doom. A constant reminder that I must choose.
I have no recollection of how my ire and rage was suppressed in that moment, nor of the journey home. All I know is I was somehow subdued (I mean, it's not /hard/) and that they quickly reclaimed the lost journal, abandoned the shardhaven, and we came home.
What we recovered were some of the lost pages of Scholar Wilhelm's journal on blight. And it was uncertain hope, but it at least gave us a path.
The text discussed the manner in which Corruption could find its way to the heart of others without them knowing. The effects of it before it might outwardly present itself, as it had on our bodies and in the affliction of our minds. BUT! There was a remedy - a glimpse of one - possible, and attainable. Of course, from a scholar, it was rooted in Faith. Thirteen days and thirteen nights, thirteen gifts of value, one to each of the Gods. Thirteen offerings of action, cleansing what has been sullied, and thirteen cleansings in ritual baths before each of the Gods in turn.
And so, as my studies with Rinel had long since been complete, and I found much time in my absence from public life to study on my own bat, I went forth and as the archers say 'gave it a shot'.
I spent thirteen days and thirteen nights in each of the shrines, offering gifts at each vigil, and reflecting upon how Corruption took root in my heart. I made offerings of action and did the ritual baths. And at the culmination of this, I partook in a Cleansing Ritual that was fad at the time - taught to me and Petal by Lady Olivia - a ritual done to cleanse the primum of the poison Azazel by way of Shreve had spread.
Mine was performed in the Shrine of the Sentinel, on the thirteenth hour of the thirteenth day. It was my final offering of action - this cleansing of the primum - but the motivation was a cleansing of myself.
To Limerance, I burnt a stack of letters I had saved from Lianne, and prayed that my steadfastness to her was perceived by the Gods, if not recognized by her herself. To Vellichor, I burned a dossier I had compiled on Legate Bianca for reasons unimportant now and needn't be written - but I longed for her friendship and was regretful. To Gild, I burned an old beloved hat that I used to wear as a commoner messenger boy. I prayed she would see my charity and how I have used my newfound station for charitable ends. To Tehom, I burned a slice of the very vines that were embedded in my flesh. It wasn't a sacrifice, but a reflection of one. To Aion, I burned a slip of paper upon which I wrote "the future". Mirari was there with me when I did it.
With each sacrifice, I began to feel stronger. I began to breathe easier. For the first time in years now, I began to feel better. I felt regret for my smug, callous ways. My courting of scandal. Stronger, better, cleaner - I stood taller.
As the ritual came to a close but the flames continued to burn hot, the shrine suddenly darkened. I heard a voice. And the voice was spake unto me. And the voice was loud, and magnificent and resounding. And it said, "You stand balanced on a knife's point. Cleansed of Blight by the Gods you hardly believe in. Oathed to those who serve the Darkness."
The room disappeared and I was floating in blackness, wobbling upon that very point. Before me were two paths: one strewn with rocks and hard going, difficulties and enemies I may not survive, but in the air there was a rainbow - bright, beautiful and perfect. The other path was one of ease. I could feel the allure of wealth and glory in that path, with enemies and obstacles still, but also much adulation.
And the voice spoke again, "Choice is the greatest gift given to humanity. You must choose."
In a snap, I was back in the shrine. The fires had died out. But something was different. I felt along my arms and pulled at my shirt. The vines! They had gone! The flesh of my torso was pock-marked with the scars of their penetrating growth, but the growth itself was gone!
But somehow, I still felt them wrapping around my heart like impending doom. A constant reminder that I must choose.
Written By Raven
Jan. 28, 2024, 1:56 a.m.(8/19/1021 AR)
It is maddening to be on the front lines and watch those I am meant to protect get wounded or fall and I keep coming away unscathed. It feels as if somehow I am not trying hard enough. I know it's blind luck but it's still hard to swallow.
Written By Eithne
Jan. 28, 2024, 1:08 a.m.(8/19/1021 AR)
The last thirteen years have been a blur. They have been some of the happiest times of my life with my family and my friends. I have traveled. I have honed my craft, I have become a legend in that craft. I fell in love, I had a child, I became a wife. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever expect to be so fulfilled in life. In the blink of an eye, it can all be gone. I am not okay with this.
Over the last couple of months, I have dedicated myself morning and night to my work. There have been many people who have needed armor or their current armor refined. They need a fighting chance and I have to help them. I was called to this mission, driven by unseen forces. My apprentices Martin and Gertie worried about me. I wouldn't leave the forge. I had a vision for something special and I was going to finish it. Years ago, when I first started seeing wild and vibrant colors in the fires of the forge, I thought I was going mad. Most of the work I created cast bold hues; white, red, orange, green, blue... sometimes purple. Rarely did the flames turn black, but when they did, I learned it was because the person I was creating armor for, was not someone with good intentions.
Then came my dreams from Ashe - the shield I was supposed to build. I tried. It was to offer protection. Perhaps it was metaphorical then. Now it all makes sense as I feel the heat within my own hands while I forge and form new armor. My eyes have been opened, my hands perform miracles. I am ready.
Over the last couple of months, I have dedicated myself morning and night to my work. There have been many people who have needed armor or their current armor refined. They need a fighting chance and I have to help them. I was called to this mission, driven by unseen forces. My apprentices Martin and Gertie worried about me. I wouldn't leave the forge. I had a vision for something special and I was going to finish it. Years ago, when I first started seeing wild and vibrant colors in the fires of the forge, I thought I was going mad. Most of the work I created cast bold hues; white, red, orange, green, blue... sometimes purple. Rarely did the flames turn black, but when they did, I learned it was because the person I was creating armor for, was not someone with good intentions.
Then came my dreams from Ashe - the shield I was supposed to build. I tried. It was to offer protection. Perhaps it was metaphorical then. Now it all makes sense as I feel the heat within my own hands while I forge and form new armor. My eyes have been opened, my hands perform miracles. I am ready.
Written By Tikva
Jan. 27, 2024, 10:11 p.m.(8/19/1021 AR)
I don't know what to write.
We fight to secure a future for us all, to prevent the destruction of everything. I've lost a husband to war before. Not a war like this. I don't feel the grief yet, not truly. I know it is coming.
I must strive to keep our children from being orphans. But this is not the kind of fight I can sit out. Nightingale and I will sing each encore til the finish.
Prince Asharion Grayson. Princess Lara Grayson. You are the greatest gift that Ainsley gave to me and to this world. In his memory, you will live, you will thrive, and you will grow strong.
I love you.
We fight to secure a future for us all, to prevent the destruction of everything. I've lost a husband to war before. Not a war like this. I don't feel the grief yet, not truly. I know it is coming.
I must strive to keep our children from being orphans. But this is not the kind of fight I can sit out. Nightingale and I will sing each encore til the finish.
Prince Asharion Grayson. Princess Lara Grayson. You are the greatest gift that Ainsley gave to me and to this world. In his memory, you will live, you will thrive, and you will grow strong.
I love you.
Written By Valencia
Jan. 27, 2024, 7:40 p.m.(8/19/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Kastelon
I miss you so much, Kastelon. So much that it has taken me some time to be able to arrange my thoughts and put quill to parchment. I know that I have my duties to perform and that I should carry on as you told me to do, but the world is so much darker and empty without you.
Arx may or may not fall, but regardless I still wanted to honour your life and you sacrifice whether or not we win or loss all. To have some place special in this mortal world where you will be remembered.
Fortunately, Maggnus and Lizette have much cooler heads than I, and now, in the wildest part of the gardens, we have created a sacred place for you. It's full of tall old trees with sturdy branches and wild flowers. It reminds me of the meadows and groves in the lush, beautiful forests we once rode in. It's a place wild that creatures might like to live. Perhaps even large calm bear with one eye missing.
A small, clear stream meanders through and there are large, lush green pastures. It is quiet and peaceful here. I think you would have liked it.
By the stream there is now large stone carving there of great big beautiful bear, a hound, and a man with the words: "Be as the bear. Where you go, we shall follow" carefully etched into its surface and a plaque that reads: "In loving memory of Kastelon of Keaton, Lord, Voice, dear friend, protector, bear and one of the best of us."
I swear that in the late in the lazy golden afternoons and in the early morn when the sun just wakes and the sky is pink, I can hear your voice saying this in the rustle of the trees and meadow.
Once all this is done we shall put terraces and platforms in the trees like we did so long ago in the other part of the gardens. I will go there to remember you and get as close to the heavens as I can. Perhaps I might see sign of you in the skies at night or just before morning, looking down upon us with your calm hazel eye. Like a bright star or a calm cool moon in happier and more peaceful times.
I miss you so much. More than I dare say. I will never forget you, my dearest friend. I will do as you asked. I promise. I will try. And, I will pray to the Gods above and below that you will return from the wheel again one day soon so that we may meet again.
You will always be in my heart. Thank you for everything.
~~~~~~~~~~~<~<~{@
Arx may or may not fall, but regardless I still wanted to honour your life and you sacrifice whether or not we win or loss all. To have some place special in this mortal world where you will be remembered.
Fortunately, Maggnus and Lizette have much cooler heads than I, and now, in the wildest part of the gardens, we have created a sacred place for you. It's full of tall old trees with sturdy branches and wild flowers. It reminds me of the meadows and groves in the lush, beautiful forests we once rode in. It's a place wild that creatures might like to live. Perhaps even large calm bear with one eye missing.
A small, clear stream meanders through and there are large, lush green pastures. It is quiet and peaceful here. I think you would have liked it.
By the stream there is now large stone carving there of great big beautiful bear, a hound, and a man with the words: "Be as the bear. Where you go, we shall follow" carefully etched into its surface and a plaque that reads: "In loving memory of Kastelon of Keaton, Lord, Voice, dear friend, protector, bear and one of the best of us."
I swear that in the late in the lazy golden afternoons and in the early morn when the sun just wakes and the sky is pink, I can hear your voice saying this in the rustle of the trees and meadow.
Once all this is done we shall put terraces and platforms in the trees like we did so long ago in the other part of the gardens. I will go there to remember you and get as close to the heavens as I can. Perhaps I might see sign of you in the skies at night or just before morning, looking down upon us with your calm hazel eye. Like a bright star or a calm cool moon in happier and more peaceful times.
I miss you so much. More than I dare say. I will never forget you, my dearest friend. I will do as you asked. I promise. I will try. And, I will pray to the Gods above and below that you will return from the wheel again one day soon so that we may meet again.
You will always be in my heart. Thank you for everything.
~~~~~~~~~~~<~<~{@
Written By Kastelon
Jan. 27, 2024, 3:47 p.m.(8/19/1021 AR)
Sanctum must stand. It is a simple thing to declare such, harder still to follow through. And yet I go to Sanctum, because it need stand - simple or no.
I have no illusion of any safety in this. I have been to war, and I have returned from war. And I will return from this, in one manner or another.
In the event that something comes to pass, letters have been left to privately handle my final affairs. But as I ought, I leave a thought (yes, I know, it rhymes):
A bear understands little more than that life is short, that there are needs and wants. And that survival is more than seeking out solely one's needs.
Be as the bear.
Where you go, we shall follow.
Kastelon Keaton
I have no illusion of any safety in this. I have been to war, and I have returned from war. And I will return from this, in one manner or another.
In the event that something comes to pass, letters have been left to privately handle my final affairs. But as I ought, I leave a thought (yes, I know, it rhymes):
A bear understands little more than that life is short, that there are needs and wants. And that survival is more than seeking out solely one's needs.
Be as the bear.
Where you go, we shall follow.
Kastelon Keaton
Written By Apollo
Jan. 27, 2024, 1:12 p.m.(8/18/1021 AR)
I have armored thousands in my time as a tanner. At my elevation I gave up my shop and mercantile ambitions in favor of the care of Nilanza and its people. I never did stop tanning and armoring, nor passing what I'd learnt to the tanners of Nilanza, the Crafters Guild here in Arx, and anywhere I found a tanner willing and wanting to learn. I simply don't do it for coin anymore. It was the first of my arts, and may always be my best.
There are those who stepped into my shop and had their armor out and never thought about it too much ever again, I'm sure. Not all armor appears to the eye as art, might not seem to have any story to it at all.
But every piece of armor I have ever made has a story. Is a story. It's a tale about the person wearing it doing difficult things. Things they're afraid of. Knowing that where they will wear it they may well find blades or teeth set on their devouring. A story about willingly stepping into danger.
A story about trust. Placed in me, and my work, and my will - not my hope, but my will - that they return from danger whole. That they bear into their battles and dangers some small peace, that their life will not be cheaply spent.
Some I have armored over the years have returned to me to tell me: I think this armor saved my life. I think I would have died. Death comes as she will, the stories of our lives end. I don't seek to deny Death her due. Only to see lives given a chance, stretched to their fullness, the potential of those souls in my care realized as much as they can.
Others I've armored stepped into their danger have met their first strike and died. Not for lack of skill or attention or my will that they survive but for luck, for being outmatched. I have grieved so bitterly, some of them, when I've known. Questioned my skill and the hours invested. Might I have done just a little more?
The answer is: I have done what I have done, the past written. And yet I make notes in the margins. Revisit old armor and give it new care. Put my best on them that have never worn it before, and them that have. My work continues, and will until the day is decided. Could I armor all of Arvum, the Dream itself, I would. I will do what I can.
If you wear my armor into battle - anything I've made into danger - know this. I would that you see your next day. That is what you wear, nothing inert at all. Wear it, use it, burn it, as you need. That is what it's for. Should it be spent, destroyed, protecting more than just yourself, I will celebrate, and armor you anew for the asking after the dust has settled.
Now, to the defense of Arx, and the Dream.
There are those who stepped into my shop and had their armor out and never thought about it too much ever again, I'm sure. Not all armor appears to the eye as art, might not seem to have any story to it at all.
But every piece of armor I have ever made has a story. Is a story. It's a tale about the person wearing it doing difficult things. Things they're afraid of. Knowing that where they will wear it they may well find blades or teeth set on their devouring. A story about willingly stepping into danger.
A story about trust. Placed in me, and my work, and my will - not my hope, but my will - that they return from danger whole. That they bear into their battles and dangers some small peace, that their life will not be cheaply spent.
Some I have armored over the years have returned to me to tell me: I think this armor saved my life. I think I would have died. Death comes as she will, the stories of our lives end. I don't seek to deny Death her due. Only to see lives given a chance, stretched to their fullness, the potential of those souls in my care realized as much as they can.
Others I've armored stepped into their danger have met their first strike and died. Not for lack of skill or attention or my will that they survive but for luck, for being outmatched. I have grieved so bitterly, some of them, when I've known. Questioned my skill and the hours invested. Might I have done just a little more?
The answer is: I have done what I have done, the past written. And yet I make notes in the margins. Revisit old armor and give it new care. Put my best on them that have never worn it before, and them that have. My work continues, and will until the day is decided. Could I armor all of Arvum, the Dream itself, I would. I will do what I can.
If you wear my armor into battle - anything I've made into danger - know this. I would that you see your next day. That is what you wear, nothing inert at all. Wear it, use it, burn it, as you need. That is what it's for. Should it be spent, destroyed, protecting more than just yourself, I will celebrate, and armor you anew for the asking after the dust has settled.
Now, to the defense of Arx, and the Dream.
Written By Archeron
Jan. 27, 2024, 12:23 p.m.(8/18/1021 AR)
I hope I shall see Arx again, I will miss it. It was never home, but I had at least come to think of it as a pleasant resting place. In truth, I cannot walk around Tyde Tower without seeing Margot there in the corner - watching us all. I cannot unsee the spots where her blood was left after the attack by Dagon Thrax. Margot thought her marriage would bring the two houses together, end generations of feuding. Perhaps it did. But the cost was to lose her, and perhaps some of our hope.
Tydes have died for decades. Almost wiped out by Donrai Thrax, our lands taken by those houses who supported him and stand so nobly now. I do not blame them, that is the way of nobility. And it hardly matters at all now that it all comes crashing down - all that death, for what? Elton was not killed by the Duke of Tyde, he was loved. And loved a Tyde in turn. For this I suspect Donrai killed him. And saw his chance. Because the Northlands would enter on our side, honour old alliances, Donrai descended on Tyde Hall - paying Grimhall and Helianthus off with land and treasure. To keep that war going, he removed Alaric III from the way. The rest is well known, Tydes died. Some in battles, some in reaving. We committed our own horrors on our enemies and reaved in return. In the end, Donrai had Victus end all the line but for Margot and those few of us who escaped.
That is not the Thrax that is now. Not the Victus. I know in his hands Thrax will stand for what is good.
In the years since those losses, Tyde finally regained its name and place, and we gathered those we could. Our numbers began to restore...before the civil war of Thrax tore our heart from us. Many more dead. All that progress left. There are so few left, so many of them are children. Margot's. My own.
People, you see. That is the lesson of Tyde. Yes, revenge is pleasurable. Justice is noble. But. In the end? People matter. The family of Tyde, the people of Tyde Hall, the people of our isle. And I cannot leave them to face this all, which is why I'm going back to Tyde Hall to save them. Well, will have gone by the time this journal is placed on the shelves. I suspect my sister and some others may remain - they feel their duty is to Arx. And I respect that, and hold nothing against them and ask no-one else to hold our actions against them - though in truth, we still recovered from our civil war and I suspect are little missed from Arx's defense.
It is my hope we will see all our friends again on the other side, and will trade tales and stories of what was. To see Arx rebuilt, to see Tyde Hall recover. It is my hope that we all survive. But if not, well. At least it was a story, and hopefully someone lives to tell it.
Tydes have died for decades. Almost wiped out by Donrai Thrax, our lands taken by those houses who supported him and stand so nobly now. I do not blame them, that is the way of nobility. And it hardly matters at all now that it all comes crashing down - all that death, for what? Elton was not killed by the Duke of Tyde, he was loved. And loved a Tyde in turn. For this I suspect Donrai killed him. And saw his chance. Because the Northlands would enter on our side, honour old alliances, Donrai descended on Tyde Hall - paying Grimhall and Helianthus off with land and treasure. To keep that war going, he removed Alaric III from the way. The rest is well known, Tydes died. Some in battles, some in reaving. We committed our own horrors on our enemies and reaved in return. In the end, Donrai had Victus end all the line but for Margot and those few of us who escaped.
That is not the Thrax that is now. Not the Victus. I know in his hands Thrax will stand for what is good.
In the years since those losses, Tyde finally regained its name and place, and we gathered those we could. Our numbers began to restore...before the civil war of Thrax tore our heart from us. Many more dead. All that progress left. There are so few left, so many of them are children. Margot's. My own.
People, you see. That is the lesson of Tyde. Yes, revenge is pleasurable. Justice is noble. But. In the end? People matter. The family of Tyde, the people of Tyde Hall, the people of our isle. And I cannot leave them to face this all, which is why I'm going back to Tyde Hall to save them. Well, will have gone by the time this journal is placed on the shelves. I suspect my sister and some others may remain - they feel their duty is to Arx. And I respect that, and hold nothing against them and ask no-one else to hold our actions against them - though in truth, we still recovered from our civil war and I suspect are little missed from Arx's defense.
It is my hope we will see all our friends again on the other side, and will trade tales and stories of what was. To see Arx rebuilt, to see Tyde Hall recover. It is my hope that we all survive. But if not, well. At least it was a story, and hopefully someone lives to tell it.
Written By Preston
Jan. 27, 2024, 12:06 p.m.(8/18/1021 AR)
That which must be done shall be done - all that needs to be written has been.
We fight for the Gods, to protect the innocent people of Arvum. We pray for our honour to hold, even as the shouts of our foe reverberate in our chests. And we humbly ask Death to take us if the force of arms is not sufficient, and carry our souls home to the shining lands.
We are the Faith Militant, and for this moment we were born. We are the Faith Militant, and for the Gods we may die.
We fight for the Gods, to protect the innocent people of Arvum. We pray for our honour to hold, even as the shouts of our foe reverberate in our chests. And we humbly ask Death to take us if the force of arms is not sufficient, and carry our souls home to the shining lands.
We are the Faith Militant, and for this moment we were born. We are the Faith Militant, and for the Gods we may die.
Written By Amari
Jan. 27, 2024, 11:46 a.m.(8/18/1021 AR)
Artshall held.
I think perhaps some people might have wondered at the wisdom behind even attempting to hold it rather than concentrating the defence entirely in Sanctum. Everyone versed in their history knows that Artshall has been taken, retaken, razed and rebuilt on more than one occasion.
Thankfully, it wasn't a decision born of pride but confidence in the most recent Lady Mabelle led effort to rebuild Artshall stronger than ever. It was a noble undertaking as well. Those who had already been swept from their homes in the south and west of the Oathlands needed time to flee. House Laurent saw what was required, and achieved it admirably with their loyal vassals.
When there's a moment of peace, we might have the time to celebrate that victory fully, and record it all in detail. What I recall most clearly is this:
There was Lady Mabelle's sacrifice, of course - and the dire bees in a vast swarm.
Duke Cristoph and his friend Tavalu who brought fire from the sky, and made the invaders face a wall of flames on every approach.
Lady Jael Laurent who raged furiously against the demonic tide, an unstoppable force.
Lady Lucie Laurent who commanded a spirited and effective defence that stopped a serious breach in the wall.
Legate Cassandra, blessed of Gloria; who stood that day a proud daughter of Laurent.
Dame Xandrine Morgan and Dame Ahren Granger who fought together at the gate, refusing to give even an inch to ogres and ettins and worse.
Marquessa Demura Lyonesse who never yielded, but battled stubbornly on despite being bloodied by a hail of arrows in the initial onslaught.
Prince Artur Redrain who was seen leading charge after charge through the shards, spear in hand.
Lord Richard Wyvernheart who persevered, tending to the wounded even while he himself was very badly hurt.
(and I helped a little bit too, but would have likely fallen if not for Jael and Cassandra's timely interventions. With the Legate, I might still have that demon imp clinging to my back.)
We shouldn't forget how bravely our armies fought that day, for without them and their unyielding resolve, the victory would have been a rout. To every one who rallied to the banner of their liege, from the knights who led by shining example, to the sergeants who held the lines together, down to the valiant men and women who brought nothing but courage and a spear to defend our land and lives to the last: thank you.
I think perhaps some people might have wondered at the wisdom behind even attempting to hold it rather than concentrating the defence entirely in Sanctum. Everyone versed in their history knows that Artshall has been taken, retaken, razed and rebuilt on more than one occasion.
Thankfully, it wasn't a decision born of pride but confidence in the most recent Lady Mabelle led effort to rebuild Artshall stronger than ever. It was a noble undertaking as well. Those who had already been swept from their homes in the south and west of the Oathlands needed time to flee. House Laurent saw what was required, and achieved it admirably with their loyal vassals.
When there's a moment of peace, we might have the time to celebrate that victory fully, and record it all in detail. What I recall most clearly is this:
There was Lady Mabelle's sacrifice, of course - and the dire bees in a vast swarm.
Duke Cristoph and his friend Tavalu who brought fire from the sky, and made the invaders face a wall of flames on every approach.
Lady Jael Laurent who raged furiously against the demonic tide, an unstoppable force.
Lady Lucie Laurent who commanded a spirited and effective defence that stopped a serious breach in the wall.
Legate Cassandra, blessed of Gloria; who stood that day a proud daughter of Laurent.
Dame Xandrine Morgan and Dame Ahren Granger who fought together at the gate, refusing to give even an inch to ogres and ettins and worse.
Marquessa Demura Lyonesse who never yielded, but battled stubbornly on despite being bloodied by a hail of arrows in the initial onslaught.
Prince Artur Redrain who was seen leading charge after charge through the shards, spear in hand.
Lord Richard Wyvernheart who persevered, tending to the wounded even while he himself was very badly hurt.
(and I helped a little bit too, but would have likely fallen if not for Jael and Cassandra's timely interventions. With the Legate, I might still have that demon imp clinging to my back.)
We shouldn't forget how bravely our armies fought that day, for without them and their unyielding resolve, the victory would have been a rout. To every one who rallied to the banner of their liege, from the knights who led by shining example, to the sergeants who held the lines together, down to the valiant men and women who brought nothing but courage and a spear to defend our land and lives to the last: thank you.
Written By Maharet
Jan. 27, 2024, 11:04 a.m.(8/18/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Giorgio
I woke up and part of my world no longer shines like the sun over pristine beaches of azure waters, my laugh no longer has the same ease and depth so deep my stomach could hurt for days, my eyes do not shine with laughter and love but with tears I cannot stop shedding.
Not now, at least, but when this is all over? I shall visit the golden remains of my childhood friend. My joy. My family. The one man so selfless, so giving, so strong. And Gods weren't you the smartest of us all? Now you have to go and be the symbol of hope for those of us that will survive this horror. I should be laughing on the sands and teasing you for being my Hero, throwing coconut shells at you as your pour over profits and scheme for greatness, not for yourself but for everyone around you. Now I will make sure you are my Legend. Their legend. I will demand songs and dance and history written in your memory.
You will /never/ be forgotten, not even if we ourselves are no more. Future generations will remember the name Giorgio Pontelaeus. His selflessness, his wit, his talents, and above all, his sacrifice. I shall love you until the sands of time become sparkles of dust over the turquoise waters of Setarco and beyond. My friend who always made me feel like family, loved and seen. Cared for and cherished. The truest Hero of my life.
Not now, at least, but when this is all over? I shall visit the golden remains of my childhood friend. My joy. My family. The one man so selfless, so giving, so strong. And Gods weren't you the smartest of us all? Now you have to go and be the symbol of hope for those of us that will survive this horror. I should be laughing on the sands and teasing you for being my Hero, throwing coconut shells at you as your pour over profits and scheme for greatness, not for yourself but for everyone around you. Now I will make sure you are my Legend. Their legend. I will demand songs and dance and history written in your memory.
You will /never/ be forgotten, not even if we ourselves are no more. Future generations will remember the name Giorgio Pontelaeus. His selflessness, his wit, his talents, and above all, his sacrifice. I shall love you until the sands of time become sparkles of dust over the turquoise waters of Setarco and beyond. My friend who always made me feel like family, loved and seen. Cared for and cherished. The truest Hero of my life.
Written By Denica
Jan. 27, 2024, 1:36 a.m.(8/17/1021 AR)
Tonight, I will challenge everything I thought I was and all that I am.
I will follow my heart to places unknown. Do the things I did not think possible.
I will face my first and last fear and test the very core of my being.
Tonight, I mix the colours together and paint a different story for Denica Thrax.
I will follow my heart to places unknown. Do the things I did not think possible.
I will face my first and last fear and test the very core of my being.
Tonight, I mix the colours together and paint a different story for Denica Thrax.
Written By Denica
Jan. 27, 2024, 12:28 a.m.(8/17/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Victus
I will not hold back. All in.
Written By Raven
Jan. 26, 2024, 10:18 p.m.(8/17/1021 AR)
It's nice to know the unfortunate circumstances of my crossing hasn't interfered with my ability to help those who ask me for help. More luck a fucking relief. I know it's childish I worry over such quibbles when we're in the second reckoning but those I care about will always be the center of my reality.
Written By Acacia
Jan. 26, 2024, 8:07 p.m.(8/17/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Kastelon
I swore. A lot. I might have broken a table and a good bottle or two. I cursed your name. A lot. Again and again. First in pain and then in loss.
Wasn’t supposed to go down like that. My brother in arms. My crewmate. My friend.
You were always the first to rise to defend and the last to leave the battle. You always wanted to hold the line until everyone was safe. I thought I might have to drag you out you were so determined to save lives. How the hell I would have managed wrestling a man of your size I have no idea.
You were, as you often said, a bear of a man. A proper one. A great one. Big, tough and strong as they come with a heart to match. Calm in your work and ferocious in a fight. Easy in own your skin. That subtle glint in your eye when you were amused or teasing the shite out of someone. Never knew if you were being straight or ribbing sometimes. I think that amused you.
You lost your eye and you didn’t let it stop you. I think in some ways caused you to see the world better.
One of the most honorable and damned loyal men I have ever met. You never ever wavered from your sense of duty and devotion to your people and family. Gave more than you ever got. Drove me crazy. Even got you killed. I still admire it. But you deserved better.
Generous, yes. With time, silver and kindness. Taught our wee ones in the Lowers and Torian’s orphanage how to track and hunt, use a bow, dress a kill and live off the land. Made time for them when you didn’t have to. You would have probably made a great father some day.
I can’t bring myself to tell them that the bear man is gone. They keep asking when they'll go out next. Where's Lord Kastelon? Kills me a little where I might have had a little heart left. They’re tough as hardtack, but this is gonna break their little hearts.
But you taught them well, and, when they are older and have their wee ones of their own, they’ll share your skills and tell them of the silky bear who bothered to make time for them.
Held your drink and friends well. Your smiles rare. Your advice sound. Your company always good even when the weight of the world lay on your shoulders. You never picked a fight nor picked on anyone. Always looking out for others. You treated everyone respect and earned it in the process.
You were unshakeable. And now you are not here.
I should have been there and had your back. Something I will regret till the day I die.
I should have kidnapped you and made you a Culler, but I know you. It wouldn’t take.
You could have sailed away, but you didn’t. You never would. You were your own man and your own solid sense of what was fair and right infused into ever fiber of your being. Resolute.
Know that you are honored. Know that you are always a member of my crew. Know that you will be remembered for as long as I live. For as long as each life you touched and made better endures. For as long these words live here. And, know that I will protect others if I can, as you would have done of you were still here.
Rest well, brother bear. Rest well, my friend. Feel better soon. This is not the end.
Wasn’t supposed to go down like that. My brother in arms. My crewmate. My friend.
You were always the first to rise to defend and the last to leave the battle. You always wanted to hold the line until everyone was safe. I thought I might have to drag you out you were so determined to save lives. How the hell I would have managed wrestling a man of your size I have no idea.
You were, as you often said, a bear of a man. A proper one. A great one. Big, tough and strong as they come with a heart to match. Calm in your work and ferocious in a fight. Easy in own your skin. That subtle glint in your eye when you were amused or teasing the shite out of someone. Never knew if you were being straight or ribbing sometimes. I think that amused you.
You lost your eye and you didn’t let it stop you. I think in some ways caused you to see the world better.
One of the most honorable and damned loyal men I have ever met. You never ever wavered from your sense of duty and devotion to your people and family. Gave more than you ever got. Drove me crazy. Even got you killed. I still admire it. But you deserved better.
Generous, yes. With time, silver and kindness. Taught our wee ones in the Lowers and Torian’s orphanage how to track and hunt, use a bow, dress a kill and live off the land. Made time for them when you didn’t have to. You would have probably made a great father some day.
I can’t bring myself to tell them that the bear man is gone. They keep asking when they'll go out next. Where's Lord Kastelon? Kills me a little where I might have had a little heart left. They’re tough as hardtack, but this is gonna break their little hearts.
But you taught them well, and, when they are older and have their wee ones of their own, they’ll share your skills and tell them of the silky bear who bothered to make time for them.
Held your drink and friends well. Your smiles rare. Your advice sound. Your company always good even when the weight of the world lay on your shoulders. You never picked a fight nor picked on anyone. Always looking out for others. You treated everyone respect and earned it in the process.
You were unshakeable. And now you are not here.
I should have been there and had your back. Something I will regret till the day I die.
I should have kidnapped you and made you a Culler, but I know you. It wouldn’t take.
You could have sailed away, but you didn’t. You never would. You were your own man and your own solid sense of what was fair and right infused into ever fiber of your being. Resolute.
Know that you are honored. Know that you are always a member of my crew. Know that you will be remembered for as long as I live. For as long as each life you touched and made better endures. For as long these words live here. And, know that I will protect others if I can, as you would have done of you were still here.
Rest well, brother bear. Rest well, my friend. Feel better soon. This is not the end.
Written By Victus
Jan. 26, 2024, 3:28 p.m.(8/17/1021 AR)
There's no reason to hold back when there's no guarantee that tomorrow will come. Everything that's been done, every bit of history ever recorded; none of it matters if we don't get this right.
We go all in.
We go all in.
Written By Kenjay
Jan. 26, 2024, 1:24 p.m.(8/16/1021 AR)
I have seen many places, but Nefer'khat was like none of them. We found a great and beautiful city, set in a land where even the night sky is a thing of beauty and legend. And yet, some parts of the culture brought memories back to me that I had never expected to face again. Still. Bear has chosen me, and I have chosen Bear, and my scars are all healed - including that one. There is a joy within me, a wholeness of spirit that I had thought destroyed forever by Skal'dajan whips and Skal'dajan writs.
I have been given a sacred trust, and I will do everything that I may in order to keep it. But first, one of the islands on our way out had bushes and bees. I rather fancy bread with honey and berries, not to mention a week's sleep.
I have been given a sacred trust, and I will do everything that I may in order to keep it. But first, one of the islands on our way out had bushes and bees. I rather fancy bread with honey and berries, not to mention a week's sleep.
Written By Duarte
Jan. 26, 2024, 5:58 a.m.(8/16/1021 AR)
Journal
It was several days' ride to the place mentioned on the map. Luis Igniseri attended myself, Rinel, Lady Olivia Ashford, and Violet. Olivia, Violet and myself, of course, covered our blighted flesh for the journey. We had grown quite used to it. And we had grown used to the rations of broth and tea concoctions for sustenance, as well.
North of Greenhaven was a ruined temple. A young shardhaven, by my estimation, but familiar to me from my vision in the Shrine of Vellichor nearly three years prior. We were nearly two years since our affliction took root - literally - in the pits of stomachs. A sense of dread suffused the land around the temple. The growth of nature about started to darken. Odors of forest shifted to the stench of a marsh. There was something hateful and parasitic about the trees and vines. It all looked lush, and yet fetid. I wanted to go back, but Rinel goaded me forward.
The door into the temple was rotted and decayed and held in place by the same blighted vines that seemed to line the forest floor itself.
Again, our instincts told us to pray. And so pray we did. And like last time, the mention of Petrichor sparked something within the land itself that shot anger into our hearts.
My companions, I must admit, were more steadfast than I. The searing hatred I could not stand and I sought to make Rinel stop. But she was relentless in her devotions, as were Luis, Olivia and Violet. Eventually, the prayer ceased and the grip of resentment lessened in my breast. But Rinel was stubborn in her insistence that I lurch forward - she rapped me with her cane. Several times. To impel me deeper into this ruined and blighted locale.
The voices came and they were deceitful and strong. They turned my ire against my party. There, in a once lovely antechamber that was now stranged by that same lush-yet-putrid overgrowth - Violet and Rinel once again began their canticles. And it broke me.
Sullen and full of hate, we moved to an abandoned storeroom where mold, mushrooms and rot grew in the walls. It smelt of decayed flesh of the half-eaten animal carcasses strewn across the floor. From there we came to a room of animal pens, clearly in some recent use as droppings were underfoot. A large raccoon appears and seemed to share a strange kinship with myself and Olivia - so, of course, I ordered Luis to kill it. It was an ill-fated ask as he split the rodent shard in half sending its innards in a collision course for my face. It took weeks to get the taste out of my mouth.
But soon enough, in an antechamber of warrens, Rinel was literally getting the taste out of her mouth. She had been our anchor - inexplicably resonating with Faith - up to the point she started retching and puking up blood in that very room. At once and immediately the hatred poured back into my heart and my mind, and Violet's as well. Somehow, it was stayed. It was stayed by devotions uttered to Petrichor. Words the shardhaven did not want to hear. It shook immensely - like Halfway House had done - and collapsed a wall to reveal a library. And then, I felt the touch again - as I had once before, years before. The presence of Vellichor. It pushed me to the wall where a faint outline indicated a stowage space. Pressing this, we unearthed several pages long hidden away by Azazel. Many of them rotted and crumbled to dust, but many remain in tact.
And nearly as suddenly as I was stricken by insight, I was plagued by hatred. Extreme and leeching, it festered in my very soul. The knowledge I sought became like a ward, and I was the demon. I backed away frightened and vengeful. "NO! Leave it alone!" I demanded of Violet. I drew my sword.
I - me, Duarte Amadeo - drew my sword against Violet Farwatch. And then a taunted Olivia withs its blade. "Leave it be," I ordered in as fierce a way I could become. I even waggled it at Luis. And then, I touched it to Rinel's bad leg and threatened to amputate it on the spot - promising to finish the job the highway men that took her beloved Wynna had begun.
It was several days' ride to the place mentioned on the map. Luis Igniseri attended myself, Rinel, Lady Olivia Ashford, and Violet. Olivia, Violet and myself, of course, covered our blighted flesh for the journey. We had grown quite used to it. And we had grown used to the rations of broth and tea concoctions for sustenance, as well.
North of Greenhaven was a ruined temple. A young shardhaven, by my estimation, but familiar to me from my vision in the Shrine of Vellichor nearly three years prior. We were nearly two years since our affliction took root - literally - in the pits of stomachs. A sense of dread suffused the land around the temple. The growth of nature about started to darken. Odors of forest shifted to the stench of a marsh. There was something hateful and parasitic about the trees and vines. It all looked lush, and yet fetid. I wanted to go back, but Rinel goaded me forward.
The door into the temple was rotted and decayed and held in place by the same blighted vines that seemed to line the forest floor itself.
Again, our instincts told us to pray. And so pray we did. And like last time, the mention of Petrichor sparked something within the land itself that shot anger into our hearts.
My companions, I must admit, were more steadfast than I. The searing hatred I could not stand and I sought to make Rinel stop. But she was relentless in her devotions, as were Luis, Olivia and Violet. Eventually, the prayer ceased and the grip of resentment lessened in my breast. But Rinel was stubborn in her insistence that I lurch forward - she rapped me with her cane. Several times. To impel me deeper into this ruined and blighted locale.
The voices came and they were deceitful and strong. They turned my ire against my party. There, in a once lovely antechamber that was now stranged by that same lush-yet-putrid overgrowth - Violet and Rinel once again began their canticles. And it broke me.
Sullen and full of hate, we moved to an abandoned storeroom where mold, mushrooms and rot grew in the walls. It smelt of decayed flesh of the half-eaten animal carcasses strewn across the floor. From there we came to a room of animal pens, clearly in some recent use as droppings were underfoot. A large raccoon appears and seemed to share a strange kinship with myself and Olivia - so, of course, I ordered Luis to kill it. It was an ill-fated ask as he split the rodent shard in half sending its innards in a collision course for my face. It took weeks to get the taste out of my mouth.
But soon enough, in an antechamber of warrens, Rinel was literally getting the taste out of her mouth. She had been our anchor - inexplicably resonating with Faith - up to the point she started retching and puking up blood in that very room. At once and immediately the hatred poured back into my heart and my mind, and Violet's as well. Somehow, it was stayed. It was stayed by devotions uttered to Petrichor. Words the shardhaven did not want to hear. It shook immensely - like Halfway House had done - and collapsed a wall to reveal a library. And then, I felt the touch again - as I had once before, years before. The presence of Vellichor. It pushed me to the wall where a faint outline indicated a stowage space. Pressing this, we unearthed several pages long hidden away by Azazel. Many of them rotted and crumbled to dust, but many remain in tact.
And nearly as suddenly as I was stricken by insight, I was plagued by hatred. Extreme and leeching, it festered in my very soul. The knowledge I sought became like a ward, and I was the demon. I backed away frightened and vengeful. "NO! Leave it alone!" I demanded of Violet. I drew my sword.
I - me, Duarte Amadeo - drew my sword against Violet Farwatch. And then a taunted Olivia withs its blade. "Leave it be," I ordered in as fierce a way I could become. I even waggled it at Luis. And then, I touched it to Rinel's bad leg and threatened to amputate it on the spot - promising to finish the job the highway men that took her beloved Wynna had begun.
Written By Duarte
Jan. 26, 2024, 5:21 a.m.(8/16/1021 AR)
Journal
As she told it - she awoke with a start to loud and sudden thumping. It was the beating of her heart pounding like it might leap from her chest. But what it was doing was urging her from bed, out her front door, and into midnight streets bathed in silver.
Rinel strolled from her Upper Boroughs abode, through the outrage, and toward the City Center in her sleeping gown and hat. She put on slippers as an afterthought before her heart pushed her through the door into the night, impelled toward the Great Library of Vellichor. And though she strolled this path hundreds of times, the taste of fear lingered on her tongue. For her path wasn't merely to the library, but down the stairwell. Was he still asleep? Was that a toothy grin she saw in the darkness? These doubts and more assailed her mind while her body only knew to do one thing - yield to the insistence of her heart's pounding.
The silence of the hallway was oppressive. She daren't speak. She barely dared breathe. Walking with a purpose that eluded her, she found herself impelled to a table piled high with books in various states of disarray. One, in particular, beckoned her.
She awoke, in bed, as if none of it happened. Yet, she clung to her bosom the very journal she took from the table in her dream. A Scholar Wilhelm's Journal. In it were his laments of an assignment to Sanctum, and then North past Greenhaven. He was to go witness a cleansing - and he was none to pleased. Pages of ravings against the Archlector tasking him to do such a thing. There was a time we would only receive such snippets, and so the context cannot be placed entirely. But the nature of Wilhelm's doubt hinged on a fear of turning into that which we fight - and that fear resonates with me today.
I found Rinel the next afternoon sitting amongst clutter in her cottage house. The journal, of course she shared. But the peculiar thing was a map.
As she told it - she awoke with a start to loud and sudden thumping. It was the beating of her heart pounding like it might leap from her chest. But what it was doing was urging her from bed, out her front door, and into midnight streets bathed in silver.
Rinel strolled from her Upper Boroughs abode, through the outrage, and toward the City Center in her sleeping gown and hat. She put on slippers as an afterthought before her heart pushed her through the door into the night, impelled toward the Great Library of Vellichor. And though she strolled this path hundreds of times, the taste of fear lingered on her tongue. For her path wasn't merely to the library, but down the stairwell. Was he still asleep? Was that a toothy grin she saw in the darkness? These doubts and more assailed her mind while her body only knew to do one thing - yield to the insistence of her heart's pounding.
The silence of the hallway was oppressive. She daren't speak. She barely dared breathe. Walking with a purpose that eluded her, she found herself impelled to a table piled high with books in various states of disarray. One, in particular, beckoned her.
She awoke, in bed, as if none of it happened. Yet, she clung to her bosom the very journal she took from the table in her dream. A Scholar Wilhelm's Journal. In it were his laments of an assignment to Sanctum, and then North past Greenhaven. He was to go witness a cleansing - and he was none to pleased. Pages of ravings against the Archlector tasking him to do such a thing. There was a time we would only receive such snippets, and so the context cannot be placed entirely. But the nature of Wilhelm's doubt hinged on a fear of turning into that which we fight - and that fear resonates with me today.
I found Rinel the next afternoon sitting amongst clutter in her cottage house. The journal, of course she shared. But the peculiar thing was a map.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.