Written By Mabelle
Jan. 21, 2024, 11:45 a.m.(8/6/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Claude
I know of his meticulous work.
His appreciation to detail.
His talented fingers and his love of creating toys.
The Map of the Oathlands was a project I started as he began making the Oathlands Houses' toys. He helped me complete it with a few small houses he did not yet reach back then. I've placed it at the Dire Bee Lounge to honor his memory.
Rest in Peace.
Written By Fatima
Jan. 21, 2024, 11:23 a.m.(8/6/1021 AR)
(Sent before sailing away to Eurus)
I am the granddaughter of Highlord Donrai Thrax. I will always be a Thrax. It is written in my blood and in my bones.
I despise Highlord Victus Thrax, the Usurper. At one time, I sought to have him killed over a broken promise. However, I found there were more important things to do with my time, and I let that dream of vengeance die. I've never forgiven him, and never will. Yet, I still wish him success in his fool's errand. The world depends on it.
I've made my peace with everything that I am.
Written By Claude
Jan. 21, 2024, 1:43 a.m.(8/5/1021 AR)
If you are reading this, I have died.
I went to defend Bastion. I hope I was brave. I hope it was not in vain. I hope... I hope that I mattered.
If am I lucky enough to pass through to the Shining Lands I hope I will see my wife and children again. I hope there I will remember their faces.
I bequeath the contents of my bank account to the Liberators of Skald.
To my dear friend Master Cufre Harrow I bequeath my shop, Out of the Woods. Master Harrow, I'm sorry I didn't make it back.
To anyone else, I pray the Compact still stands. That we are victorious. I pray that you wake up tomorrow with all your loved ones beside you.
Claude of Deepwood
Written By Mattheu
Jan. 20, 2024, 9:39 p.m.(8/5/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Athaur
Then I too was backhanded. I love you Ima.
To Sanctum then.
Written By Mattheu
Jan. 20, 2024, 8:24 p.m.(8/5/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Ann
In the midst of chaos within Riva, our urgent task was to assist our people in reaching the flotilla. However, a somber interruption occurred as we solemnly conducted a death ritual for a fallen scout named Haldrien. The weight of loss hung in the air as his family clutched his bells, and an enigmatic knife was discovered among his possessions.
Ann and I joined forces during this poignant moment. Together, we invoked a ball of light that danced in hues mirroring the colors of the wind, casting winding shadows around us. It was through this mystical display that I felt a profound connection, and it is now this ethereal bond that resides within my heart.
Our destination is Sanctum, where we embark on a journey to defend that which we hold dearest. Despite the urgency of our mission, my left arm still throbs with the aftermath of recent events. I've been assured that it will heal in time. Fresh ink adorns my skin, depicting a winding river dragon entwined with a water spirit, engaged in a dance of love. Their serpentine bodies climb over my arm, their heads entwined protectively over my heart.
As the boats sail towards Sanctum, I find solace in the symbolism etched on my skin and the collective purpose that binds us. The journey ahead may be fraught with challenges but the echoes of Athaur's words to finally leave the land behind and Ann's reminder continue to resonate, fueling the fire within. We move forward, not just as defenders of land, but as guardians of life and love.
Written By Thesarin
Jan. 20, 2024, 6:02 p.m.(8/5/1021 AR)
I go out to another battle; so's been much of my life, for I chose to spend it wading through a river of red. This to save the lands of the Grey Forests, of my people, or at least see them safe away if such might be done. I ain't wrote on them and neither will I like on this. If I fall today, then keep my Blacks closed to the end of time;y thoughts are my own. If there's anything of me worth carrying on, it's my people, my family, and my children. I hope I'll see them soon.
But if this to be is the last word spoke or writ by or of Marquis-Consort Thesarin Riven, War Chief to the Twainfort, son of Vahari, last chief of the Greenwood tribe, let it be this:
That the Rangers of the East held their cause to the last.
That he the faith given him by the riverlanders making welcome to a stranger, them from every corner from the Forests to the Isles who he promised protection, and those of the Greenwoods who walked out from the woods with him to the unknown, was never broken.
Or failing that:
Come the second Breaking of the World, he never Abandoned his people.
Written By Aelgar
Jan. 20, 2024, 2:20 p.m.(8/4/1021 AR)
Written By Amari
Jan. 20, 2024, 1 p.m.(8/4/1021 AR)
Finally, to everyone I've spiked over the years: I'm sorry, even if you at least half deserved it.
Written By Pasquale
Jan. 20, 2024, 12:30 p.m.(8/4/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Lisebet
Written By Gwenna
Jan. 20, 2024, 8:18 a.m.(8/4/1021 AR)
We made our stand at Farhaven. We did not yield.
Written By Duarte
Jan. 20, 2024, 4:01 a.m.(8/4/1021 AR)
Halfway down the stairs. The dream always began halfway down the stairs - a transition between up and down. Halfway down and I'm stuck. All of us are stuck: Tessa, Olivia, Violet, and me. It's so close I feel we are dreaming the same dream together. Am I really interacting with them? Or is it just fevered imagination?
Somewhere, a song wafts on a light breeze. It presents itself in an eerie fashion like a funereal march. It makes us shiver, but also yearn. It makes us want to give up. All we have to do is reach the bottom of this descent and the hunger will stop. We will be at peace.
The Halfway House called to us. It called to us in our dreams. Even in waking moments, Tessa would talk about it with a glaze in her eyes. And I felt it too. It could all be so simple. To return. To embrace corruption. To dine on the feast that waits for us in the garden.
The compulsion was powerful. An undeniable tug upon my wits urged me to return.
It had been a year - a year, at least. This new dream was just a dream - or so I thought. One of the many I had and was having. But it was persistent. Very persistent. Encouraging, even.
One day I awoke to itching. My shoulders and arms - they itched. I sat up and when I went to scratch...oh, I can't bring myself to write it.
I must write it.
Tearing through my skin, sprouting forth like wildflowers find a way in the gravel road, were black, corrupted vines. They had broken through my flesh and were embedded in my arms and shoulders. They were alive, growing, and threatened to wrap me entire. If only I could describe how the world swirled around me in a sense of motionless panic...if for no other reason than so it wouldn't come across as blase. I must've stayed in bed three days, terror-stricken, before I was able to muster enough sense to get out of bed. I found I could hide them in my clothes, somewhat, but for how long?
It was these corrupted tendrils twining around my flesh that drove me to my first long bout of solitude - for no other reason than I had become a sort of a shard, or - I imagine - the beginnings of one. But they were merely a cosmetic nuisance - frightening as they were. The real terror? It was knowing that this corruption would spread. That it would encase my body in full and once done, would compel me to march back to the Halfway House and give myself to the Corrupted Mother.
Time was running out.
Written By Fortunato
Jan. 19, 2024, 10:48 p.m.(8/3/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Lianne
Written By Lucita
Jan. 19, 2024, 9:18 p.m.(8/3/1021 AR)
Written By Titus
Jan. 19, 2024, 6:27 p.m.(8/3/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Khanne
Be everything you can be, do all you can. While you're heading to the battle, remember those you grew up with. Remember those you've lost along the way. Remember that those who are behind you are there needing your protection. Those who are alongside you fight against a thing that would burn the whole world just to rule over the ashes. And those in front of you? They are your enemy, meet them with unyielding honour.
To the Last, my love.
Written By Ainsley
Jan. 19, 2024, 3:45 p.m.(8/3/1021 AR)
I amend:
Before I die I’ll make sure to cut Azazel into tiny chunks since he doesn’t have a head for me to take.
Written By Titus
Jan. 19, 2024, 3:36 p.m.(8/3/1021 AR)
To the Last.
Written By Fatima
Jan. 19, 2024, 3:07 p.m.(8/2/1021 AR)
The Dune Kindom of Jay'alaz, the city without song, is no more. Its royal family and nobles killed themselves in despair. The people starved under the siege of the Dune Emperor. Eventually they opened the gates and surrendered, but it was too late. Those who managed to escape, mostly children, tell the tale of the Warrior of the Dawn and the Adept of the Rose, and their rebellion. A fledgling hope, in a city without hope.
The so-called Dune Emperor is Alaric Grayson III. Some said he is a Herald. Some said he is just a tyrant, the Fist of the Prophet, a vengeful puppet dancing on Obsidian strings. We set sail for Eurus tomorrow. I suppose we will see.
Glass is made of frozen water, and ice is made from the sands of the dunes.
Written By Fortunato
Jan. 19, 2024, 11:13 a.m.(8/2/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Aleksei
Written By Rosalind
Jan. 19, 2024, 10 a.m.(8/2/1021 AR)
Written By Lisebet
Jan. 19, 2024, 8:45 a.m.(8/2/1021 AR)
I suppose that is because they have the freedom to choose.
And even still, in the midst of all this chaos, there is still room for moments of awe and wonder.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.