Written By Ophelia
Oct. 4, 2018, 2:18 p.m.(9/20/1009 AR)
Ambition might also be what prompts a person to put pants and a shirt on every morning! Someone should tell my brother!
Written By Ouida
Oct. 4, 2018, 1:41 p.m.(9/20/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Orvyn
You know, my sweet brother, it occurs to me all these years later that I'm not sure that I have yet forgiven you for that time when you told me that the best place to relieve oneself was over the aft rails of the ship (so that no one would see you) rather than the head rail. On the first sail of father's new warship, with all of our family and a delegation of Farshaws as well, if I recall correctly. I think I shall blame this traumatic incident for my dislike of fine gowns, unless I'm helping to get someone else out of one.
Written By Oswyn
Oct. 4, 2018, 1:30 p.m.(9/20/1009 AR)
Three things I missed while I was away:
1. My own bed.
2. Good coffee.
3. Goodwoman Candace's breakfast rolls.
1. My own bed.
2. Good coffee.
3. Goodwoman Candace's breakfast rolls.
Written By Gianna
Oct. 4, 2018, 1:25 p.m.(9/20/1009 AR)
Ambition drives a person to strive for something more, something greater. Fame. Fortune. Pretty and shiny things. An entire organization dedicated to music and performance. Those sorts of things.
Ambition can serve you well in Arx.
Ambition can serve you well in Arx.
Written By Jyri
Oct. 4, 2018, 1:15 p.m.(9/20/1009 AR)
Everyone's on edge out at the Lodge. Broke up an argument between an archer and an infantry soldier earlier. Others are just quietly waiting. Some are too cheerful and boastful. A few - me included - incessantly check their gear and sharpen their weapons, the moment they have a break.
I feel right at home.
I feel right at home.
Written By Domonico
Oct. 4, 2018, 1:12 p.m.(9/20/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Miranda
Arguably one of the most brutal bouts ever.
Written By Miranda
Oct. 4, 2018, 12:24 p.m.(9/20/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Domonico
Pertaining to bouts in the sands...
If no one witnesses it, but us, does it really happen?
... I'll say "yes".
Magnificent bout, sweet Cousin!
If no one witnesses it, but us, does it really happen?
... I'll say "yes".
Magnificent bout, sweet Cousin!
Written By Perronne
Oct. 4, 2018, 11:58 a.m.(9/20/1009 AR)
I'm told there is someone asking for white journal entries about what ambition means?
Ambition is great! I guess, within bounds of sanity? Okay, so sometimes it isn't great. But as to what it IS...
To me, I guess it is having the confidence in yourself to know that you can accomplish more than you already have, joined with the willingness to make the sacrifices and take the risks to pursue closing that gap between what what you have accomplished and what you CAN accomplish.
It's great when your confidence is grounded in reality, and when your willingness is tempered by morality and honor! When it's not, well, do you want usurpers and madmen? Because that's how you get usurpers and madmen!
Ambition is great! I guess, within bounds of sanity? Okay, so sometimes it isn't great. But as to what it IS...
To me, I guess it is having the confidence in yourself to know that you can accomplish more than you already have, joined with the willingness to make the sacrifices and take the risks to pursue closing that gap between what what you have accomplished and what you CAN accomplish.
It's great when your confidence is grounded in reality, and when your willingness is tempered by morality and honor! When it's not, well, do you want usurpers and madmen? Because that's how you get usurpers and madmen!
Written By Jasher
Oct. 4, 2018, 11:32 a.m.(9/20/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Domonico
Not "if".
When.
When.
Written By Niklas
Oct. 4, 2018, 11:07 a.m.(9/20/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Roxana
You should have come out to the second season of our summer plays for children.
The Reflection's Wish was one of the plays we put on.
Not that I'd ever suggest talking to your mirror, mirror on the wall.
The Reflection's Wish was one of the plays we put on.
Not that I'd ever suggest talking to your mirror, mirror on the wall.
Written By Berenice
Oct. 4, 2018, 11:05 a.m.(9/20/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Karadoc
Oh, you know, darling.
Written By Niklas
Oct. 4, 2018, 10:57 a.m.(9/20/1009 AR)
Wrote a very long journal entry.
Accidentally spilled ink all over it.
Talk about a black journal! Haha!
But no, I'm actually very angry.
Someone should invent some sort of a method where the back of a journal page is also covered in ink, so when you pressed down your quill the pressure sees to it that the reverse side of your page makes some sort of a second copy. A backup, in case of tragic spillage.
Accidentally spilled ink all over it.
Talk about a black journal! Haha!
But no, I'm actually very angry.
Someone should invent some sort of a method where the back of a journal page is also covered in ink, so when you pressed down your quill the pressure sees to it that the reverse side of your page makes some sort of a second copy. A backup, in case of tragic spillage.
Written By Karadoc
Oct. 4, 2018, 10:47 a.m.(9/20/1009 AR)
What does ambition mean to you?
Written By Roxana
Oct. 4, 2018, 10:37 a.m.(9/20/1009 AR)
Mirror Mirror on the Wall....
I forget how that story goes. Why didn't mother ever read us stories?
I forget how that story goes. Why didn't mother ever read us stories?
Written By Quenia
Oct. 4, 2018, 6:19 a.m.(9/19/1009 AR)
In the coming days I will be turning my attention to the Wine Extravaganza that House Igniseri will be hosting. During this event we will be broadly distributing our black cherry and black currant wine - of which we've only passed out two bottles so far. We'll also be introducing 1-2 other wines into society.
This is a lovely project that's sure to keep my attention for the next little while. I am quite looking forward to hosting this event. It's been some time since we've had anything for the public at our home. I'm hoping that the Lodge crisis will be resolved by then so everyone will have a chance to enjoy it.
This is a lovely project that's sure to keep my attention for the next little while. I am quite looking forward to hosting this event. It's been some time since we've had anything for the public at our home. I'm hoping that the Lodge crisis will be resolved by then so everyone will have a chance to enjoy it.
Written By Juniper
Oct. 4, 2018, 5:22 a.m.(9/19/1009 AR)
I told someone the other day that I'd share one of the stories we'd tell at home. Here it is!
Why The Sea is Salt (Or: Never Trust Seadogs (look, we don't have many sailors in the North where I'm from)).
There once was a young man who would take a little pot of stew and a little loaf of bread to the old crone who lived in the cave above the village. Everyone else stayed far away from her for it was said she could curse with a look and draw blood with a word. But the young man was a good lad and he hated to see anyone go hungry, so he'd hunt the rabbits and hunt the squirrels, and pull up wild onions and garlic, to make her a stew, and from his own plate he'd take the loaf his mother had made him, and he'd carry it up to the cave so she could eat, for he thought it very sad an old woman would be left alone in the long dark winters with no stew or company.
One day when he brought her supper, he found her ailing on her little cot. He cried over her for theirs was not a wealthy village and he'd seen many people ailing before, some who died, and he could see the signs in her face of Death soon to come.
"Don't snivel," said the old woman. "I've had many years and none of them wasted, and I go to a far better place than this. Go fetch me the box in my chest."
The young man wiped away his tears and went to fetch the box from the chest. Inside was a little mill, gleaming with bright wood and polished brass, finer than any he'd ever seen before.
She told him, "I carried that away from the city when I came to these mountains. If you think of something you wish to have, be it flour or sugar or spice or coffee, and say, "Grind, grind, little mill," it will do its work and produce all you hope for. When you have enough, you say, "Stop, stop, little mill," and it will cease its grinding. Take it for the kindness you've shown me."
Then she turned her face to the wall and died.
When he saw her buried, he took the little mill, and he took his little bundle of belongings, and he set out into the world for her talk of cities had turned his head. He walked when he could walk, and rode when he could ride, and finally in due time he came to the place where land ended and water began. There he found a seaport and while asking around for a job, found a berth on a ship as an unseasoned hand. It was all very exciting to him, even the first storm which rose up. But it was very hard work and because he had come from the mountains, the seamen who had lived a life on water were very harsh with him. He took the worst watches, and the worst rations, when they gave him rations at all. On his hungriest nights, he drew out the little mill and whispered the words to it, and then he would eat, and that is how he kept himself while the ship scudded over the ocean.
One night, a sailor with his ear to the door heard the young man whispering to the little mill and when he pressed his eye to a hole in the wood, he saw the young man charming out a little salt to use upon his hardtack biscuit. The sailor went to the first mate and the first mate went to the captain and the captain went to the young man and demanded he give over the little mill. The young man refused that demand and the one which followed, attempting to bribe the little mill away with a generous gift of silver.
So the captain ordered the sailors to seize the young man and toss him overboard, and while they tended to that, he scooped up the little mill. The first sailor relayed to the captain that he must say, "Grind, grind, little mill," to make it work its magic and when the captain repeated these words, thinking of salt to sell and replenish their own stores, it began to grind. Very soon they had enough salt but the sailor, who had run so quickly to the first mate, had not heard the words which stopped the little mill from working its magic. Nothing they shouted at it had any effect and soon, the whole ship was filled with salt and then tipped over.
All of those wicked sailors were cast into the ocean where they drowned, just as they had done to the young man, and the ship and little mill went down too. But as the stopping words had never been said, the little mill continued to grind and grind and grind. It rests still on the bottom of the sea, and because it is there, the ocean has been and will always be salty.
(Postscript: Every time my father would tell this story, I would ask why the young man thought the crone was hungry if she had a little mill that could produce flour and sugar and spices and coffee, and if she really was capable of cursing with a look because the young man had died after all, and all for the want of going into the world. Every time, he would shush me and tell me it was time for bed. I think maybe I didn't take the lessons from this one that he might hope I would take.)
Why The Sea is Salt (Or: Never Trust Seadogs (look, we don't have many sailors in the North where I'm from)).
There once was a young man who would take a little pot of stew and a little loaf of bread to the old crone who lived in the cave above the village. Everyone else stayed far away from her for it was said she could curse with a look and draw blood with a word. But the young man was a good lad and he hated to see anyone go hungry, so he'd hunt the rabbits and hunt the squirrels, and pull up wild onions and garlic, to make her a stew, and from his own plate he'd take the loaf his mother had made him, and he'd carry it up to the cave so she could eat, for he thought it very sad an old woman would be left alone in the long dark winters with no stew or company.
One day when he brought her supper, he found her ailing on her little cot. He cried over her for theirs was not a wealthy village and he'd seen many people ailing before, some who died, and he could see the signs in her face of Death soon to come.
"Don't snivel," said the old woman. "I've had many years and none of them wasted, and I go to a far better place than this. Go fetch me the box in my chest."
The young man wiped away his tears and went to fetch the box from the chest. Inside was a little mill, gleaming with bright wood and polished brass, finer than any he'd ever seen before.
She told him, "I carried that away from the city when I came to these mountains. If you think of something you wish to have, be it flour or sugar or spice or coffee, and say, "Grind, grind, little mill," it will do its work and produce all you hope for. When you have enough, you say, "Stop, stop, little mill," and it will cease its grinding. Take it for the kindness you've shown me."
Then she turned her face to the wall and died.
When he saw her buried, he took the little mill, and he took his little bundle of belongings, and he set out into the world for her talk of cities had turned his head. He walked when he could walk, and rode when he could ride, and finally in due time he came to the place where land ended and water began. There he found a seaport and while asking around for a job, found a berth on a ship as an unseasoned hand. It was all very exciting to him, even the first storm which rose up. But it was very hard work and because he had come from the mountains, the seamen who had lived a life on water were very harsh with him. He took the worst watches, and the worst rations, when they gave him rations at all. On his hungriest nights, he drew out the little mill and whispered the words to it, and then he would eat, and that is how he kept himself while the ship scudded over the ocean.
One night, a sailor with his ear to the door heard the young man whispering to the little mill and when he pressed his eye to a hole in the wood, he saw the young man charming out a little salt to use upon his hardtack biscuit. The sailor went to the first mate and the first mate went to the captain and the captain went to the young man and demanded he give over the little mill. The young man refused that demand and the one which followed, attempting to bribe the little mill away with a generous gift of silver.
So the captain ordered the sailors to seize the young man and toss him overboard, and while they tended to that, he scooped up the little mill. The first sailor relayed to the captain that he must say, "Grind, grind, little mill," to make it work its magic and when the captain repeated these words, thinking of salt to sell and replenish their own stores, it began to grind. Very soon they had enough salt but the sailor, who had run so quickly to the first mate, had not heard the words which stopped the little mill from working its magic. Nothing they shouted at it had any effect and soon, the whole ship was filled with salt and then tipped over.
All of those wicked sailors were cast into the ocean where they drowned, just as they had done to the young man, and the ship and little mill went down too. But as the stopping words had never been said, the little mill continued to grind and grind and grind. It rests still on the bottom of the sea, and because it is there, the ocean has been and will always be salty.
(Postscript: Every time my father would tell this story, I would ask why the young man thought the crone was hungry if she had a little mill that could produce flour and sugar and spices and coffee, and if she really was capable of cursing with a look because the young man had died after all, and all for the want of going into the world. Every time, he would shush me and tell me it was time for bed. I think maybe I didn't take the lessons from this one that he might hope I would take.)
Written By Violet
Oct. 4, 2018, 3:02 a.m.(9/19/1009 AR)
I find myself entering the later months of pregnancy with some trepidation and worry. As things with the Lodge continue getting around is becoming a slightly more daunting task. And of course the added danger and worry. Precautions are being taken and I am being careful. Still I must face and accept that fear that staying near the fields of battle will not only hurt me, but my child. Yet these fields are my livelyhood. So I spend most of my days in towers or tents. Lots of hurry up and wait between scouts checking in. I'm not sure what I would want more given the option...for this to continue or for the wait to end and action begin.
Also, fun fact, babies like to jump on something that is NOT comfortable down below. I don't know what it is, but this baby better stop it or I'm eating pickled peppers and garlic again.
Also, fun fact, babies like to jump on something that is NOT comfortable down below. I don't know what it is, but this baby better stop it or I'm eating pickled peppers and garlic again.
Written By Domonico
Oct. 4, 2018, 2:25 a.m.(9/19/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Jasher
The Thraxian Prince has possibly become my first true friend outside of my family that I have made since I arrived in Arx. I respect his reservation and the fact that he is willing to attempt different activities. Despite the fact that he has yet to best me in spar nor the Queen of Games, he has been improving each time. There'll be no shame in the day that he beats me... If he does.
Written By Shard
Oct. 4, 2018, 1:22 a.m.(9/19/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Victus
Spend the season in or near the Everwinter with no permanent shelter and only the food you can find and catch (and don't become food yourself). I don't exactly miss Winter itself, but I'll admit it's not an experience you ignore or forget.
Arx winters are pretty. Far northern winters are pretty and will /end you/ if you fuck up, or just get unlucky.
Arx winters are pretty. Far northern winters are pretty and will /end you/ if you fuck up, or just get unlucky.
Written By Alarissa
Oct. 4, 2018, 12:58 a.m.(9/19/1009 AR)
Clearly, I need someone to haul Victus up north and dump him on his head while wearing just his trousers. I wonder if Donella wants a visit....
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.