Written By Neve
Feb. 16, 2017, 1:15 p.m.(12/8/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Valencia
More and more I am trying to adopt the traditions of the city I now call home. Even if I am so unused to many of your customs. One person who always makes me feel comfortable in my skin and my ways is uhm Miss Lady.. no. M.. uhm. Lady Valencia. Whatever we are doing, she makes it feel like an adventure and makes it so beautiful too. I feel very lucky to have met such a friend in her.
Written By Arcelia
Feb. 16, 2017, 1:04 p.m.(12/8/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Ford
Arcelia's chill buddy.
Written By Arcelia
Feb. 16, 2017, 12:55 p.m.(12/8/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Kima
Arcelia's cousin.
Written By Eirene
Feb. 16, 2017, 12:43 p.m.(12/8/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Anze
So one of my closest friends is going to become my nephew. I suppose even when there's a shitstorm around us, life and love burns on. Sappy dappy crap but the two of them compliment one another well. Brains and brawn; not that either of them lacks one, but they'll be formidable as fuck together and I love them both fiercely.
He can call me auntie if he wants. I deserve that shit. Call it penance.
He can call me auntie if he wants. I deserve that shit. Call it penance.
Written By Neve
Feb. 16, 2017, 12:30 p.m.(12/8/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Calathane
I'm not good at all these words or gathering all my thoughts to spread out on a piece of paper for all to see and read. Arx is a funny kind of place, a city full of people with so many faces when all I'm used to seeing is just one face on a person. Sometimes I think it's enough to get lost in.
Sometimes I think I'll get lost in it all. Like a forest that I don't know and isn't my own. And then.. just when I think the spirits have faded from us altogether I felt their pull again, and I felt the way they parted all the noise and faces and voices and people until I saw just one.. Just one person with just one face.. and he was singing to the spirits and I think I knew he was mine and I think he knew I was his, before words ever came from us.
Sometimes I think I'll get lost in it all. Like a forest that I don't know and isn't my own. And then.. just when I think the spirits have faded from us altogether I felt their pull again, and I felt the way they parted all the noise and faces and voices and people until I saw just one.. Just one person with just one face.. and he was singing to the spirits and I think I knew he was mine and I think he knew I was his, before words ever came from us.
Written By Marius
Feb. 16, 2017, 10:58 a.m.(12/8/1005 AR)
I wrote before about the noise of Arx. I've decided to do something about it. I need help, though.
My family will build a grove. A wild thing, made of Greenwood trees and scrub and undergrowth. No manicured lawns or sculpted hedges or wonderful fountains. No, this will hearken a soul to the forest, to draw one into the wild quiet. Peace.
Not even the Greenmarchers can raise a forest by themselves. If you would like to put your own energy into this, please send a messenger. I have no end of ways you can bring a piece of the untamed Greenwood to Arx, for everyone to enjoy.
My family will build a grove. A wild thing, made of Greenwood trees and scrub and undergrowth. No manicured lawns or sculpted hedges or wonderful fountains. No, this will hearken a soul to the forest, to draw one into the wild quiet. Peace.
Not even the Greenmarchers can raise a forest by themselves. If you would like to put your own energy into this, please send a messenger. I have no end of ways you can bring a piece of the untamed Greenwood to Arx, for everyone to enjoy.
Written By Marius
Feb. 16, 2017, 10:55 a.m.(12/8/1005 AR)
When I was in my teens, old enough to understand when I was seeing soul-rending loss, but far too young to have experienced it, some warlike Abandoned killed a man's wife and others in a raid. I knew the man well enough, I suppose, but he completely changed after his wife's death. It was as though the pain of what he was enduring was drawn into him like a breath, and he held it. For a very long time. That pain became fuel for a fire whose embers were sparked at the loss of his wife.
That fire grew hotter and hotter. And when the man could not stand it any longer, he took up his axe and went into the forest alone.
My father sent a few of us the next day to try to find him, bring him home. We found him, and we found the little camp of the shavs who killed his wife - it's not hard to tell which group is which if you know what you're looking for. The camp was... to say butchered is to do an injustice to the sight. It was as though a great machine had mown through the camp and simply chewed everyone up. I retched. Grown men did too.
We found the man from the Greenwood, alive if barely. He was cuts and arrows and stab wounds; bleeding from a thousand injuries. And yet his blue eyes blazed with the fire that he still held, as a breath. When he saw us, he smiled faintly and then said, "Greenmarchers. Good." And he exhaled his last breath, and the fire went out with it.
We are facing a time in which we stare into a great chasm of promised grief; it touches the soul like a shadow.
But fire dispels shadows.
That fire grew hotter and hotter. And when the man could not stand it any longer, he took up his axe and went into the forest alone.
My father sent a few of us the next day to try to find him, bring him home. We found him, and we found the little camp of the shavs who killed his wife - it's not hard to tell which group is which if you know what you're looking for. The camp was... to say butchered is to do an injustice to the sight. It was as though a great machine had mown through the camp and simply chewed everyone up. I retched. Grown men did too.
We found the man from the Greenwood, alive if barely. He was cuts and arrows and stab wounds; bleeding from a thousand injuries. And yet his blue eyes blazed with the fire that he still held, as a breath. When he saw us, he smiled faintly and then said, "Greenmarchers. Good." And he exhaled his last breath, and the fire went out with it.
We are facing a time in which we stare into a great chasm of promised grief; it touches the soul like a shadow.
But fire dispels shadows.
Written By Isolde
Feb. 16, 2017, 10:37 a.m.(12/8/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Niccolo
My father.
Few men have endured as much. Few men have lost as much. No man has come through with the strength, grace, and stability like my father.
I can never be my father. But I am lucky to have him. We are lucky to have him.
I've never been the best daughter, not by far. He'd claim he was never the best father, but he'd be humbly lying to himself. Esera was always meant to lead. My destiny lay elsewhere, and when I donned the mask, it became clear to me. But my father has been unwavering in his devotion to me, my siblings, to the Lyceum, to Velenosa. I could not ask for anyone better.
No one will support my father more than me, believe in him more than me. I dare anyone to try, but I will be the best daughter I can be. I definitely have a head start.
May all the gods of the pantheon bless him, my father, Archduke Niccolo Velenosa.
Few men have endured as much. Few men have lost as much. No man has come through with the strength, grace, and stability like my father.
I can never be my father. But I am lucky to have him. We are lucky to have him.
I've never been the best daughter, not by far. He'd claim he was never the best father, but he'd be humbly lying to himself. Esera was always meant to lead. My destiny lay elsewhere, and when I donned the mask, it became clear to me. But my father has been unwavering in his devotion to me, my siblings, to the Lyceum, to Velenosa. I could not ask for anyone better.
No one will support my father more than me, believe in him more than me. I dare anyone to try, but I will be the best daughter I can be. I definitely have a head start.
May all the gods of the pantheon bless him, my father, Archduke Niccolo Velenosa.
Written By Caelis
Feb. 16, 2017, 4:25 a.m.(12/7/1005 AR)
Pull me down into your undertow.
I can feel your strength gnawing at my bones.
Crash over me, drag me low.
Whisper your needs to me in ebbing tones.
Promise your strength, fill my sails.
I'll be your anchor, my nightingale.
I can feel your strength gnawing at my bones.
Crash over me, drag me low.
Whisper your needs to me in ebbing tones.
Promise your strength, fill my sails.
I'll be your anchor, my nightingale.
Written By Aislin
Feb. 16, 2017, 2:59 a.m.(12/7/1005 AR)
I question whether "if you don't get some actual sleep, I'm going to charge you with treason" is something one can reasonably be threatened with. Though I know it came from a well-meaning place,
The thing is, every time I sleep, I'm afraid I'll see their faces. The ones I've lost in the past few months: my father, my dearest friends, my cousin.
And I /can't/ let myself grieve, or cry. Not yet. Because I know when I let myself actually feel the loss, it's going to take time to recover. Time I don't /have/. So I don't dare stop, I don't dare let the feelings catch up to me; I have to keep moving, to squash down the grief and embrace the anger, and use it to fuel me.
To keep finding what can be done to win this fight. /Nothing/ else matters, not until Brand has fallen.
Time enough for everything else afterwards.
The thing is, every time I sleep, I'm afraid I'll see their faces. The ones I've lost in the past few months: my father, my dearest friends, my cousin.
And I /can't/ let myself grieve, or cry. Not yet. Because I know when I let myself actually feel the loss, it's going to take time to recover. Time I don't /have/. So I don't dare stop, I don't dare let the feelings catch up to me; I have to keep moving, to squash down the grief and embrace the anger, and use it to fuel me.
To keep finding what can be done to win this fight. /Nothing/ else matters, not until Brand has fallen.
Time enough for everything else afterwards.
Written By Silas
Feb. 16, 2017, 1:42 a.m.(12/7/1005 AR)
Ever witness one of those ideas which -sounds- fair and intelligent on paper but when you look at the actual situation presented in front of you, you suddenly realize how it can go so terribly wrong?
I think I'm watching three such ideas unfold simultaneously!
I think I'm watching three such ideas unfold simultaneously!
Written By Tikva
Feb. 16, 2017, 1:30 a.m.(12/7/1005 AR)
I am surrounded by new, freshly bleeding wounds, and all I can think of is Rey. But the only bandages I have are words, my only poultice a smile, and my unguent a prayer. This is not my best metaphor.
You cannot heal a heart in an instant, I say. I touch mine and wonder how long it took to heal that wound. I know I'll always have the scar.
You'll find okay again, I say. It cannot be anything like the okay you had before, but sadness is what we need sometimes to grow and change. I know I took mine, and for awhile I was lost in it, but I grew, and changed, and became Tikva again.
Some things only time and quiet can heal, I say. Because distance can come no other way. Love is the greatest gift we have; remember that as you weep for it.
Be there, as they were for me. My brothers, my sister. My true solace, all I have left of Kelleth: my son. That's all you can do. Remember it is not about you. You want to do something, of course you do, we all want to do, to build, to fix, to _help_.
But that's about you. Love isn't about you. Love is selfless.
What's funny about this journal entry, of course, is that I felt driven to write it because I saw so much pain today, and now scribe out the advice I tried to give, because I too am driven to do, to build, to fix, to help.
But it is good advice, isn't it? I hope it is.
You cannot heal a heart in an instant, I say. I touch mine and wonder how long it took to heal that wound. I know I'll always have the scar.
You'll find okay again, I say. It cannot be anything like the okay you had before, but sadness is what we need sometimes to grow and change. I know I took mine, and for awhile I was lost in it, but I grew, and changed, and became Tikva again.
Some things only time and quiet can heal, I say. Because distance can come no other way. Love is the greatest gift we have; remember that as you weep for it.
Be there, as they were for me. My brothers, my sister. My true solace, all I have left of Kelleth: my son. That's all you can do. Remember it is not about you. You want to do something, of course you do, we all want to do, to build, to fix, to _help_.
But that's about you. Love isn't about you. Love is selfless.
What's funny about this journal entry, of course, is that I felt driven to write it because I saw so much pain today, and now scribe out the advice I tried to give, because I too am driven to do, to build, to fix, to help.
But it is good advice, isn't it? I hope it is.
Written By Signe
Feb. 15, 2017, 11:17 p.m.(12/7/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Nadia
To you who reads this, to those who sent their condolences regarding my cousin's passing,
I'd like to thank you. Thank you for reminding us that she lives on in the memories of others and not just ourselves, her family. Nadia died for a noble cause, and that is to protect the peace of this city. This, they have won in battle as she fought alongside many others who gathered arms.
But, as you all probably know, this will not be the last. I can only hope that we put aside our petty feuds and work together to keep this darkness from reaching our home. To them, there is no House This and House That. We're all the same.
Yet here I am, writing this in secret instead of having such words announced. Would anyone even listen, if I did?
Dear Nadia, it is too soon. Way too soon.
I'd like to thank you. Thank you for reminding us that she lives on in the memories of others and not just ourselves, her family. Nadia died for a noble cause, and that is to protect the peace of this city. This, they have won in battle as she fought alongside many others who gathered arms.
But, as you all probably know, this will not be the last. I can only hope that we put aside our petty feuds and work together to keep this darkness from reaching our home. To them, there is no House This and House That. We're all the same.
Yet here I am, writing this in secret instead of having such words announced. Would anyone even listen, if I did?
Dear Nadia, it is too soon. Way too soon.
Written By Sparte
Feb. 15, 2017, 10:48 p.m.(12/7/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Zhayla
Someone able to have fun, and crack a joke! She looks like she knows her stuff too. I hope someone will pay her to train me, or else I'll never afford it before the scavs get here.
Written By Lark
Feb. 15, 2017, 9:56 p.m.(12/6/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Vincere
One might not expect a great deal of overlap between the Ministry of Civil Development and the Ministry of Defense, but we found quite a bit to reference to one another in the beginning days. If you've ever tried to find volunteers willing to do charity with you, you might sympathize with some of our early frustrations -- and he was doing something actually interesting!
I did not do right by Marquis Vincere. ...even after he saved my cousin, his Regent, Princess Dawn from a throng of Iron Guard deserters. That is another shame, among the many others, that I will carry with me always. It is made worse that he did not begrudge me, rather remained a steadfast ally.
He was a brilliant strategist, so loyal to the Compact that he gave his life for it, and was deeply revered by all who came to know him including myself. Oh, and his Elven name was Nerd.
Pietro was terrified of me and with good reason, overprotective mother-griffin that I am.
I can regret that, too. He brought someone that I love a great deal of happiness.
Now that he has gone, it is as if he has taken it all with him ...even from me.
They both have.
Goodbye, Steel.
Goodbye, Fire.
I did not do right by Marquis Vincere. ...even after he saved my cousin, his Regent, Princess Dawn from a throng of Iron Guard deserters. That is another shame, among the many others, that I will carry with me always. It is made worse that he did not begrudge me, rather remained a steadfast ally.
He was a brilliant strategist, so loyal to the Compact that he gave his life for it, and was deeply revered by all who came to know him including myself. Oh, and his Elven name was Nerd.
Pietro was terrified of me and with good reason, overprotective mother-griffin that I am.
I can regret that, too. He brought someone that I love a great deal of happiness.
Now that he has gone, it is as if he has taken it all with him ...even from me.
They both have.
Goodbye, Steel.
Goodbye, Fire.
Written By Rowan
Feb. 15, 2017, 9:55 p.m.(12/6/1005 AR)
The Storm rolled across the lands. It followed the winds and traveled from sea to mountain. Sometimes it raged violently and sent man and beast alike running for shelter. Other times, it rolled lazily and rumbled contented thunder while its lightning lit up the clouds in shakes of rose gold and silver.
One summer day, Storm blew across a parched Lake. Lake was tranquil and still, so glassy that Storm could see itself reflected back. Life blossomed around Lake, even with its shores so diminished. The Storm lingered with the Lake. It reached for Lake with rains until Lake's waters all but overflowed. Lake reached for Storm with the evening mists and the morning dew.
Storm gentled to linger, ignoring the winds that traveled in favor of staying with Lake, partings its clouds by day to grant Lake the sun's light. Lake became more bold, its surface pulled to waves by the steady winds. When Storm grew weak, Lake gave to it, and when Lake started to dwindle, Storm gave it rain.
When a strong wind came and blew Storm far from Lake, Storm's sorrow flooded the valleys, and Storm's rage could be seen for miles strikes at the tall trees. In time Storm calmed again. It found its own strength again, but never again found anything like the tranquil Lake wherever it blew. Lake danced with the strong Wind, but the Wind could not feed the Lake, and Lake returned to wanting for rain when the traveling winds did not bring it.
One summer day, Storm blew across a parched Lake. Lake was tranquil and still, so glassy that Storm could see itself reflected back. Life blossomed around Lake, even with its shores so diminished. The Storm lingered with the Lake. It reached for Lake with rains until Lake's waters all but overflowed. Lake reached for Storm with the evening mists and the morning dew.
Storm gentled to linger, ignoring the winds that traveled in favor of staying with Lake, partings its clouds by day to grant Lake the sun's light. Lake became more bold, its surface pulled to waves by the steady winds. When Storm grew weak, Lake gave to it, and when Lake started to dwindle, Storm gave it rain.
When a strong wind came and blew Storm far from Lake, Storm's sorrow flooded the valleys, and Storm's rage could be seen for miles strikes at the tall trees. In time Storm calmed again. It found its own strength again, but never again found anything like the tranquil Lake wherever it blew. Lake danced with the strong Wind, but the Wind could not feed the Lake, and Lake returned to wanting for rain when the traveling winds did not bring it.
Written By Caelis
Feb. 15, 2017, 9:29 p.m.(12/6/1005 AR)
I visited the shrine to Mangata again. The usual calm and serenity I found solace in before was not present sadly on this visit. All the same, I shall continue to pay my respects to Mangata every day that I can, it is too lovely a place not to make a habit of visiting. While my meditation and prayer were cut short, I did resolve to practice my skill at arms more. I have many things to learn still.
May your hopes find safe harbors.
May your hopes find safe harbors.
Written By Cara
Feb. 15, 2017, 9:14 p.m.(12/6/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Vincere
This is not a journal of what has been. It is a journal of what will not be; if you are a scholar, turn away, for there is nothing here but dreams.
My love, this is for you. You are beyond reading it, I know, but I write it nevertheless.
It should have been our life.
I see the library you built for me, with the volumes ordered just so, and the way we never could quite agree on just how to sort them. By topic or by author? By age? Never the medicinals with the herbals, those belong with botany. Books stacked on the desk, waiting to be returned home, half interrupted and places marked where we were distracted with one another and left unfinished.
In the garden, Pietro's ridiculous gnomes have multiplied, and he and I hide them to distract and annoy you, because the frown you make when you are exasperated with us is adorable.
The fire dies low and we are too comfortable on your study's couch to rise and go to bed properly. I rest my head on your shoulder and whisper when I want you to turn the page of whatever it is we read together.
The children, running and tumbling through the halls, chased by their uncle -- until you poke your head from your study to give them a look and quiet them. At least until they are out of view.
Lazy mornings, broken by little whispers wondering, "Are they up yet? No, you wake them."
Silver hair and lines at the corners of your eyes, hands that ache in the cold, still strong enough to hold mine.
It should have been our life, my dearest.
Perhaps -- perhaps, we will meet again, and I pray for all the gods' grace that next time, we will have our time.
My love, this is for you. You are beyond reading it, I know, but I write it nevertheless.
It should have been our life.
I see the library you built for me, with the volumes ordered just so, and the way we never could quite agree on just how to sort them. By topic or by author? By age? Never the medicinals with the herbals, those belong with botany. Books stacked on the desk, waiting to be returned home, half interrupted and places marked where we were distracted with one another and left unfinished.
In the garden, Pietro's ridiculous gnomes have multiplied, and he and I hide them to distract and annoy you, because the frown you make when you are exasperated with us is adorable.
The fire dies low and we are too comfortable on your study's couch to rise and go to bed properly. I rest my head on your shoulder and whisper when I want you to turn the page of whatever it is we read together.
The children, running and tumbling through the halls, chased by their uncle -- until you poke your head from your study to give them a look and quiet them. At least until they are out of view.
Lazy mornings, broken by little whispers wondering, "Are they up yet? No, you wake them."
Silver hair and lines at the corners of your eyes, hands that ache in the cold, still strong enough to hold mine.
It should have been our life, my dearest.
Perhaps -- perhaps, we will meet again, and I pray for all the gods' grace that next time, we will have our time.
Written By Ainsley
Feb. 15, 2017, 9:11 p.m.(12/6/1005 AR)
I thought that I knew what it felt to feel love.
Then I met Pietro Igniseri, and I realized that everything I thought I knew about love was wrong. From someone I expected to hate no less. He came to me all smiles and energy when I was frustrated and angry. I cannot pinpoint the exact moment that I loved him. Perhaps it was when he knocked me onto my ass in the sands. Perhaps it was when he cared enough to follow after I stormed out like an angry youth. Maybe it was the first time he smiled. Maybe it was his ridiculous messages. Maybe--
Maybe one day I will look back and I will find the moment. I will be able to say: "Pietro Igniseri stole my heart in this moment". Maybe I will not.
My chest is hollow now, that love is gone. Pietro took it with him.
The numbness is beginning to wear off and in its place a rage is building. My love was taken from me and his body is not even in Arx for proper burial. I will see it returned. I will see him home.
Then, I will see the one responsible for taking him from me punished.
By the gods, I will not stop until Tolomar Brand is brought low.
Then I met Pietro Igniseri, and I realized that everything I thought I knew about love was wrong. From someone I expected to hate no less. He came to me all smiles and energy when I was frustrated and angry. I cannot pinpoint the exact moment that I loved him. Perhaps it was when he knocked me onto my ass in the sands. Perhaps it was when he cared enough to follow after I stormed out like an angry youth. Maybe it was the first time he smiled. Maybe it was his ridiculous messages. Maybe--
Maybe one day I will look back and I will find the moment. I will be able to say: "Pietro Igniseri stole my heart in this moment". Maybe I will not.
My chest is hollow now, that love is gone. Pietro took it with him.
The numbness is beginning to wear off and in its place a rage is building. My love was taken from me and his body is not even in Arx for proper burial. I will see it returned. I will see him home.
Then, I will see the one responsible for taking him from me punished.
By the gods, I will not stop until Tolomar Brand is brought low.
Written By Jasher
Feb. 15, 2017, 7:51 p.m.(12/6/1005 AR)
Leading up to and during the battle against the Bringers and shavs, I was patrolling the coast. On at least five occasions, I came across groups of Abandoned trying to join up with the larger group. I could identify most of them as having come from the Mourning Isles. Why? Just to fight against the Compact or has someone been recruiting them somehow? Were they promised something?
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.