Written By Joscelin
Sept. 15, 2018, 2:40 p.m.(8/10/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Harper
It pleases me to spread joy, but it is a particular favorite when it's people I love. You are quite welcome.
Written By Joscelin
Sept. 14, 2018, 12:49 a.m.(8/7/1009 AR)
It's no secret I'm partial to Gemecittan quartz; when the wonderful Duchess Sylvie and Duke Valkieri brought the gem to my attention with its unique qualities and exclusive accessibility, I was hooked. Dazzled. Enchanted. There's nothing quite like it, quartz, yes, as common to the mines of the Gemecittan and yet found no where else, with it's many colors in every perfectly cut specimen.
There are gem-cutters in the city who curse the stuff; it seems the lapidaries born in the same land the jewel hails from are the best suited to handle it. It's not a matter of skill, I would guess; we have thousands of fine cutters right here in the city, but there's a trick to it, an insight into the nature of the material and all the best ways to bring out those many colors.
You see, while some stones like Alexandrite or it's purple-hued cousin, or gems like Ametrine with both the purple and yellow of amethysts and citrine, have -two- colors inherent in them, Gemecittan quartz can sport as many as -four-. I've heard rumors of a few specimens with five, one with six! But I've never had the honor of seeing them.
I do my best to do the stones of Gemecitta justice, mimicking architecture from the city-state, designs and patterns I've seen in jewelry that's imported from there, but sometimes I fear I fall woefully short. In truth, when I am stuck or between commissions, at a loss, or suffering from too many failures at the bench, I will pull out a few of my trays of Gemecittan quartz and pull out one, two, three gems, and set them into ready-made pieces. They always look beautiful and never fail to sell, and they always, -always-, share their joy on them that lay eyes on them. I know my work is a carrier for that joy, a vessel, and it pleases me that those of all walks of life can both afford and enjoy them too.
There are gem-cutters in the city who curse the stuff; it seems the lapidaries born in the same land the jewel hails from are the best suited to handle it. It's not a matter of skill, I would guess; we have thousands of fine cutters right here in the city, but there's a trick to it, an insight into the nature of the material and all the best ways to bring out those many colors.
You see, while some stones like Alexandrite or it's purple-hued cousin, or gems like Ametrine with both the purple and yellow of amethysts and citrine, have -two- colors inherent in them, Gemecittan quartz can sport as many as -four-. I've heard rumors of a few specimens with five, one with six! But I've never had the honor of seeing them.
I do my best to do the stones of Gemecitta justice, mimicking architecture from the city-state, designs and patterns I've seen in jewelry that's imported from there, but sometimes I fear I fall woefully short. In truth, when I am stuck or between commissions, at a loss, or suffering from too many failures at the bench, I will pull out a few of my trays of Gemecittan quartz and pull out one, two, three gems, and set them into ready-made pieces. They always look beautiful and never fail to sell, and they always, -always-, share their joy on them that lay eyes on them. I know my work is a carrier for that joy, a vessel, and it pleases me that those of all walks of life can both afford and enjoy them too.
Written By Joscelin
Sept. 13, 2018, 9:54 p.m.(8/6/1009 AR)
Things I've learned today: not many like orange leather. An acceptable lesson. A fetching color in sapphires, though, as well as those exquisite Gemecittan quartz gemstones I can never seem to get enough of.
Written By Joscelin
Sept. 12, 2018, 6:19 p.m.(8/2/1009 AR)
My sister Ianthe had the morals and build of an alley cat. Swear to the gods, the girl no sooner had tits than she was out the door looking for the lecherous adventures so delightful to the youthful. She's come home with bits of grass and hay and sand in her hair and her clothes, abrasions in funny places, grinning from ear to ear. She'd tell me all about it too, her exploits and devious lessons, the gossip she'd learned. She made me laugh, she fell head first into the pleasures of the flesh at a rate that burned off any weight she might have gained, she was whipcord over bone more often than not. Of course, she also ate cupcakes and pastries like a starving man. 'Fuel for later,' she'd say with a wink and a waggle, then laugh as I swore at her and threw things until she ran out the door.
Later, when she got older and the stories and tales from her lovers proved too much temptation, she'd disappear for more than a few days on caravans around the world. I'd get letters throughout her travels, odds and ends, gems and trinkets to put into my work, stories of things she'd seen, people she'd met. And sometimes, these letters would come from her own person, showing up at my door tired and dirty and that same grin, with more stories, ready to raid my pantry for sweets and pastries once more.
I loved those days. Even knowing she'd be gone in a few weeks, I still loved them, because it was Ianthe at her purest; the weary, content adventurer, sated, happy to be home and eager to tell me everything.
Now that I'm creating my own family, I miss her. I always miss her, but I miss her more these days, I wonder what she'd think of all this, of Oliver, the Guild, my swelling belly, my ideas and dreams for the future. I think she'd laugh with relief, happy that I could grow our family and give her a new member to spoil, another person to tell her stories too, a child to find odds and ends for, to share sweets with, to sing songs to, the same songs I sang her when she was such a wee fosterling, sneaking into my bed, or calling my name from across the house.
Hug your siblings, cherish them. I regret not knowing the last embrace -was- the last, but I hope she knew that she was loved, and that whenever she wanted to come back, she knew there was a home with me no matter what.
Later, when she got older and the stories and tales from her lovers proved too much temptation, she'd disappear for more than a few days on caravans around the world. I'd get letters throughout her travels, odds and ends, gems and trinkets to put into my work, stories of things she'd seen, people she'd met. And sometimes, these letters would come from her own person, showing up at my door tired and dirty and that same grin, with more stories, ready to raid my pantry for sweets and pastries once more.
I loved those days. Even knowing she'd be gone in a few weeks, I still loved them, because it was Ianthe at her purest; the weary, content adventurer, sated, happy to be home and eager to tell me everything.
Now that I'm creating my own family, I miss her. I always miss her, but I miss her more these days, I wonder what she'd think of all this, of Oliver, the Guild, my swelling belly, my ideas and dreams for the future. I think she'd laugh with relief, happy that I could grow our family and give her a new member to spoil, another person to tell her stories too, a child to find odds and ends for, to share sweets with, to sing songs to, the same songs I sang her when she was such a wee fosterling, sneaking into my bed, or calling my name from across the house.
Hug your siblings, cherish them. I regret not knowing the last embrace -was- the last, but I hope she knew that she was loved, and that whenever she wanted to come back, she knew there was a home with me no matter what.
Written By Joscelin
Sept. 10, 2018, 7:55 p.m.(7/26/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Godric
I'm reminded that I still need to see a fresh spleen.
Written By Joscelin
Sept. 8, 2018, 6:56 p.m.(7/22/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Gwenna
I enjoy custom orders in silver.
Written By Joscelin
Sept. 8, 2018, 1:18 p.m.(7/22/1009 AR)
My dog does the Grayson kennels proud. She's intelligent, protective, affectionate, and brave. Obedient. Most of the time.
This morning was not one of those times.
One of the mangy street cats got into my shop some how. Mongoose was having none of it.
All the precious, important things were on the counters, thank goodness, but the rugs are a mess and I may have to take one of my chairs out back for a mercy killing.
I had to close the shop for most of the day because of this. Hopefully tomorrow will be less destructive. Mongoose herself looks properly chastised. I have no intentions of punishing her. If one of those awful feral felines winds up in my shop again, I -want- her to chase the damn thing out.
Speaking of cats. I keep thinking I see Ianthe's old, fat Driftwood in my garden now and again. Mongoose knew Driftwood, fostered him here for a time, so I have no fears she'll run him off. Wouldn't that be something, though? I gave Driftwood to Zhayla and then-
Yes. Yes, that would be something.
This morning was not one of those times.
One of the mangy street cats got into my shop some how. Mongoose was having none of it.
All the precious, important things were on the counters, thank goodness, but the rugs are a mess and I may have to take one of my chairs out back for a mercy killing.
I had to close the shop for most of the day because of this. Hopefully tomorrow will be less destructive. Mongoose herself looks properly chastised. I have no intentions of punishing her. If one of those awful feral felines winds up in my shop again, I -want- her to chase the damn thing out.
Speaking of cats. I keep thinking I see Ianthe's old, fat Driftwood in my garden now and again. Mongoose knew Driftwood, fostered him here for a time, so I have no fears she'll run him off. Wouldn't that be something, though? I gave Driftwood to Zhayla and then-
Yes. Yes, that would be something.
Written By Joscelin
Sept. 7, 2018, 2:03 a.m.(7/19/1009 AR)
It surprises many to learn that many of the metals I work with have similar properties to clay, in that they can be pulled and molded and drawn into shape without losing material. The wire draw plates, the shot plates, the cold forging; even the dapping and chasing tools. It's slower, of course, but the principle is same. Sort of.
Silver is the Queen of metals. Soft in its purest form, it stays white the same as its bright, sunny counterpart. Too soft for most, though, it lacks durability. Adding copper to it is how we come up with 'sterling silver', just a touch, just enough, to give it that harder edge. But when you melt it down to cast, always replenish it with more pure silver; the copper burns away at those casting temperatures. Annealing it when it's work-hardened is a constant must, too much moving and shaping without that and the silver will crack, or even shatter! if you quench it too often.
Gold is the most forgiving, the most malleable. You can melt it, mold it, beat it, melt it again and it will never lost its mass. Draw it into wire, shape it flat, pound it into submission, it rebounds again and again, untarnished, clean, pure, resistant to flaw. And so soft, so very soft, and still it keeps its shine much longer than you'd expect. While it's rare, yes, it is the soft, sweet nature of this metal that draws me to work with it, it's radiant color brightening my spirits.
Jeweler's bronze can be similar in color, soft as well, but it succumbs to air like snowflakes on the tongue. Tarnishing easily, dulling to hard yellows or! into a lovely shade of green, both of these attributes can be used to the advantage of the jeweler. Rubbing the freshly polished surface with wax can help it stay warm-gold without dulling, but you can etch into the metal first and rub vinegar and salt into the lines, let it stand and you've bright green images left behind for the world to see.
Brass. I hate brass. In my youth I quenched a thick gauge of wire one too many times, the thing splintered and a sliver slid up underneath my fingernail. It was a thick bit of metal, easily withdrawn, but there's nothing quite as awful as that particular feeling. I still shudder to remember it. I don't like brass. I rather think of us as enemies in a truce. Please don't ask my to work with it.
Copper. Ah, copper. Soft and malleable as gold but tarnishing as quickly as bronze, it took can be used to etch lines that are turned green, rubbed with wax to reserve the natural pink color of the metal. In its pure form, it's added as an alloy to lower the purity in metals too soft to work with in their natural state. Copper can also be warmed slowly in an oven or a kiln at low temperatures, to give it a visceral, living shade of bright red. This patina can stay for ages, if handled with care. Blue stones look quite fetching, especially the light, opaque ones the color of a spring sky. Truly, though, I find it's use is best met when it comes to chasing relief designs. The metal is cradled well in pitch, preserving the minute details, polishing with ease.
I should make a few of those, maybe chase a few scenes into some wide copper or bronze cuffs. Time is where the real value comes in to crafting, time is the measure of it, the true 'karat' of an item. A wide bracelet with an intricately detailed scene of a Hunt, perhaps, hunters in the wake of a fleeing Stag ... Every arrow caught mid-flight in high detail, every expression agonized over, the pelt of the deer chased into perfect texture ... It takes time. A long time. But it's satisfying work.
Yes. Perhaps-
Silver is the Queen of metals. Soft in its purest form, it stays white the same as its bright, sunny counterpart. Too soft for most, though, it lacks durability. Adding copper to it is how we come up with 'sterling silver', just a touch, just enough, to give it that harder edge. But when you melt it down to cast, always replenish it with more pure silver; the copper burns away at those casting temperatures. Annealing it when it's work-hardened is a constant must, too much moving and shaping without that and the silver will crack, or even shatter! if you quench it too often.
Gold is the most forgiving, the most malleable. You can melt it, mold it, beat it, melt it again and it will never lost its mass. Draw it into wire, shape it flat, pound it into submission, it rebounds again and again, untarnished, clean, pure, resistant to flaw. And so soft, so very soft, and still it keeps its shine much longer than you'd expect. While it's rare, yes, it is the soft, sweet nature of this metal that draws me to work with it, it's radiant color brightening my spirits.
Jeweler's bronze can be similar in color, soft as well, but it succumbs to air like snowflakes on the tongue. Tarnishing easily, dulling to hard yellows or! into a lovely shade of green, both of these attributes can be used to the advantage of the jeweler. Rubbing the freshly polished surface with wax can help it stay warm-gold without dulling, but you can etch into the metal first and rub vinegar and salt into the lines, let it stand and you've bright green images left behind for the world to see.
Brass. I hate brass. In my youth I quenched a thick gauge of wire one too many times, the thing splintered and a sliver slid up underneath my fingernail. It was a thick bit of metal, easily withdrawn, but there's nothing quite as awful as that particular feeling. I still shudder to remember it. I don't like brass. I rather think of us as enemies in a truce. Please don't ask my to work with it.
Copper. Ah, copper. Soft and malleable as gold but tarnishing as quickly as bronze, it took can be used to etch lines that are turned green, rubbed with wax to reserve the natural pink color of the metal. In its pure form, it's added as an alloy to lower the purity in metals too soft to work with in their natural state. Copper can also be warmed slowly in an oven or a kiln at low temperatures, to give it a visceral, living shade of bright red. This patina can stay for ages, if handled with care. Blue stones look quite fetching, especially the light, opaque ones the color of a spring sky. Truly, though, I find it's use is best met when it comes to chasing relief designs. The metal is cradled well in pitch, preserving the minute details, polishing with ease.
I should make a few of those, maybe chase a few scenes into some wide copper or bronze cuffs. Time is where the real value comes in to crafting, time is the measure of it, the true 'karat' of an item. A wide bracelet with an intricately detailed scene of a Hunt, perhaps, hunters in the wake of a fleeing Stag ... Every arrow caught mid-flight in high detail, every expression agonized over, the pelt of the deer chased into perfect texture ... It takes time. A long time. But it's satisfying work.
Yes. Perhaps-
Written By Joscelin
Sept. 7, 2018, 1:45 a.m.(7/19/1009 AR)
I'm a plump lady. It's good for the cold months and entertaining (I'm told) in the warm ones. I'm soft all over. I rather like myself this way.
But now, I have a belly. It's noticeable in a way it wasn't. I'm starting to miscalculate when I turn and I'm up against a work table or a bench. I brushed a file almost onto my toes and knocked several hammers onto the floor. I didn't realize how often I let the handles hang over the edge until today. It's a bad habit, one I know I picked up from Master Wolbrand, I know he grumbled to himself about it
("Do as I say, not as I do, girl!")
...but it's never too late to change. I'm tucking my tools further into the bench and across my workspace. I've already started on the tongs on the anvil, that's just a skirts-on-fire incident just waiting to happen.
It is going to get awkward, however; as I see it, this baby is just going to get bigger which means I'll have to lean further and further to get at my work.
I bet if I removed the bottom work-drawer out of my bench, that might help ...
... hmm.
It's hard not to rub at it. The belly. Or imagine that it's going to get as enormous as I suspect it will. I don't have a small husband; this child is likely to be, as Yasmine would say, "a big fat healthy baby", but she says it cuter, her 'baby' sounds iike 'beh-beh'.
I hope I don't catch anything on fire.
But now, I have a belly. It's noticeable in a way it wasn't. I'm starting to miscalculate when I turn and I'm up against a work table or a bench. I brushed a file almost onto my toes and knocked several hammers onto the floor. I didn't realize how often I let the handles hang over the edge until today. It's a bad habit, one I know I picked up from Master Wolbrand, I know he grumbled to himself about it
("Do as I say, not as I do, girl!")
...but it's never too late to change. I'm tucking my tools further into the bench and across my workspace. I've already started on the tongs on the anvil, that's just a skirts-on-fire incident just waiting to happen.
It is going to get awkward, however; as I see it, this baby is just going to get bigger which means I'll have to lean further and further to get at my work.
I bet if I removed the bottom work-drawer out of my bench, that might help ...
... hmm.
It's hard not to rub at it. The belly. Or imagine that it's going to get as enormous as I suspect it will. I don't have a small husband; this child is likely to be, as Yasmine would say, "a big fat healthy baby", but she says it cuter, her 'baby' sounds iike 'beh-beh'.
I hope I don't catch anything on fire.
Written By Joscelin
Sept. 7, 2018, 1:38 a.m.(7/19/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Gianna
Inspiration strikes at the strangest of times.
Thank you for letting me help you properly set your prizes. It was an honor.
Thank you for letting me help you properly set your prizes. It was an honor.
Written By Joscelin
Aug. 31, 2018, 9:10 p.m.(7/2/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Oliver
My husband is a sculptor, at the heart of him. He wouldn't believe me if I told him that, but it's true. When he courted me, he gave me these little figurines, uncanny replicas of myself in the beginning, doing this or that thing that he found infuriating or intriguing, and eventually they included himself as well. Now and then, he makes another and he puts it somewhere I'll find it, or adds it to the collection I have on the birchwood shelf in our home.
This last one is especially adorable, and incredibly accurate. I also love how he makes my hips enormous and carefully curls my hair in the palm-sized creations. I don't think I deserve such a clever partner.
This last one is especially adorable, and incredibly accurate. I also love how he makes my hips enormous and carefully curls my hair in the palm-sized creations. I don't think I deserve such a clever partner.
Written By Joscelin
Aug. 28, 2018, 8:13 p.m.(6/24/1009 AR)
It has been known to happen.
A fellow jeweler came to my shop today, looking run down. Mistress Decanini told me a tale many of us in this business know. A sweet, unknowing spouse brings in an 'extravagant gift' from their beloved, to be checked and cleaned. Declares the gems to be rare, exquisite sapphires of the highest quality, but the jeweler knows better.
The -wise- jeweler says nothing, simply smiling and nodding, checking the item over, cleaning it, and handing it back to the customer.
The -unwise- apprentice, however, gets to it first before it gets to the customer.
However unwise, he's observant. He peers at the bracelet.
"THESE ARE GLASS, MISTRESS DECANINI. ONE STONE IS BROKEN. WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE ME DO WITH IT? WE DON'T MAKE GLASS GEMS HERE. WHO WOULD DO THAT ANYWAY, MISTRESS DECANINI? THIS MOUNTING IS SILVER BUT THERE ARE GLASS GEMS. THAT MAKES NO SENSE-"
Mistress Decanini recounts the tale. I wince.
"What happened?" I asked, passing the poor woman a mug of spiced wine.
"I sent the boy to the other jeweler down the way, my mother's second cousin's wife? She's far sterner than I, I clearly did not give that boy the right training." She sipped from her mug, looking like she was going to fall over. "But it wasn't his fault. You know how it goes. Happens to all of us at least once."
Remembering something similar happening in my youth, I nodded, patted her shoulder. "We'll find you another apprentice, Mistress Decanini. But, what of the customer?"
Mistress Decanini sighed. "Thank goodness the woman was there the whole time. She knew I couldn't have switched them out, but she still got very purple in the face, snatched back her bracelet (Josie there were thirty stones on that damn thing!) and left in a huff. I got an angry husband by later, insisting I must have switched them out. But no worries, his wife came 'round right on his heels and started beating him with her shoe right there in my shop. He yelped like a cowed dog the whole way home."
"Well. At least you only lost the one customer."
"How's that?"
"You know she trusts you to know your trade, she'll be back again." I paused. "Maybe for her second marriage."
A fellow jeweler came to my shop today, looking run down. Mistress Decanini told me a tale many of us in this business know. A sweet, unknowing spouse brings in an 'extravagant gift' from their beloved, to be checked and cleaned. Declares the gems to be rare, exquisite sapphires of the highest quality, but the jeweler knows better.
The -wise- jeweler says nothing, simply smiling and nodding, checking the item over, cleaning it, and handing it back to the customer.
The -unwise- apprentice, however, gets to it first before it gets to the customer.
However unwise, he's observant. He peers at the bracelet.
"THESE ARE GLASS, MISTRESS DECANINI. ONE STONE IS BROKEN. WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE ME DO WITH IT? WE DON'T MAKE GLASS GEMS HERE. WHO WOULD DO THAT ANYWAY, MISTRESS DECANINI? THIS MOUNTING IS SILVER BUT THERE ARE GLASS GEMS. THAT MAKES NO SENSE-"
Mistress Decanini recounts the tale. I wince.
"What happened?" I asked, passing the poor woman a mug of spiced wine.
"I sent the boy to the other jeweler down the way, my mother's second cousin's wife? She's far sterner than I, I clearly did not give that boy the right training." She sipped from her mug, looking like she was going to fall over. "But it wasn't his fault. You know how it goes. Happens to all of us at least once."
Remembering something similar happening in my youth, I nodded, patted her shoulder. "We'll find you another apprentice, Mistress Decanini. But, what of the customer?"
Mistress Decanini sighed. "Thank goodness the woman was there the whole time. She knew I couldn't have switched them out, but she still got very purple in the face, snatched back her bracelet (Josie there were thirty stones on that damn thing!) and left in a huff. I got an angry husband by later, insisting I must have switched them out. But no worries, his wife came 'round right on his heels and started beating him with her shoe right there in my shop. He yelped like a cowed dog the whole way home."
"Well. At least you only lost the one customer."
"How's that?"
"You know she trusts you to know your trade, she'll be back again." I paused. "Maybe for her second marriage."
Written By Joscelin
Aug. 28, 2018, 12:40 p.m.(6/23/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Khanne
You needn't guess, it's been mentioned in the Whites by my very-excited-husband.
Written By Joscelin
Aug. 28, 2018, 12:39 p.m.(6/23/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Thena
This is actually rather brilliant. I'll remember this.
Written By Joscelin
Aug. 28, 2018, 12:36 p.m.(6/23/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Aureth
Oh dear. Should I start telling the story about how I asked you to slap me once and it was just ... sadness? Weakness-flavored kitten-smack? Velvet-covered knuckle-brushing? I can do this voluntarily, because, you know, that's what friends do. We help.
No?
No?
Written By Joscelin
Aug. 27, 2018, 11:08 p.m.(6/22/1009 AR)
It is a rare pleasure to create for a friend as a means to congratulate.
It's like eating one of Lottie's pies ... but for the soul.
What is my obsession with food these days?
It's like eating one of Lottie's pies ... but for the soul.
What is my obsession with food these days?
Written By Joscelin
Aug. 26, 2018, 11:15 p.m.(6/20/1009 AR)
Note, scholar, that never once did I say -who- was making all those fussing noises. He just already knew.
Written By Joscelin
Aug. 26, 2018, 9:03 p.m.(6/20/1009 AR)
Burns, all a part of the business. I've had dozens this year, likely to have more, it just happens. What I'm not used to is all the fussing. SO MUCH FUSSING. Can you hear it, scholar? The fussing? It's like the sound Mongoose makes when she's chewing on a very large cow femur. Just 'omromrromromrnrnarnarnaromrrromromromrORMAMMAMARmammramramAARARRARRRGggggh' and it happens all day. Sheesh.
Written By Joscelin
Aug. 25, 2018, 4:19 p.m.(6/18/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Oliver
I was warned you'd be one of -those- husbands.
I'm pregnant, not invalid, and I'm not even showing yet. So far it's all nausea and craving foods with fruit fillings, and I put all those things that high up before you ever came along.
Ridiculous.
I'm pregnant, not invalid, and I'm not even showing yet. So far it's all nausea and craving foods with fruit fillings, and I put all those things that high up before you ever came along.
Ridiculous.
Written By Joscelin
Aug. 25, 2018, 12:18 a.m.(6/16/1009 AR)
I lamented to several Crafters that have children about how my focus has completely gone to shit. The assure me this is normal and that eventually I'll get used to the constant splitting of my focus. This is ridiculous. How does anyone get anything done?
I actually tore apart my shop the other day looking for my favorite hammer.
Do you know where I found it?
In. My. Hand.
Utterly ridiculous.
I actually tore apart my shop the other day looking for my favorite hammer.
Do you know where I found it?
In. My. Hand.
Utterly ridiculous.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.