Written By Natalia
Oct. 23, 2016, 12:44 a.m.(12/2/1004 AR)
Relationship Note on Darren
If I were to think of Redrain, I would think of Darren. He was a great host and a wonder to his home. Of course, he'll help me with my sword play. I cannot wait to meet this bear of his. It makes me feel that perhaps I should have something as well. What would fit me?
He is a fun man and I am sorry he was pulled away, but we have promises to meet up again.
He is a fun man and I am sorry he was pulled away, but we have promises to meet up again.
Written By Cicero
Oct. 23, 2016, 12:21 a.m.(12/1/1004 AR)
A welcome meeting
In a maze. There forever?
Bushes, too thorny.
In a maze. There forever?
Bushes, too thorny.
Written By Natalia
Oct. 23, 2016, 12:20 a.m.(12/1/1004 AR)
Relationship Note on Donella
I am claiming her a true friend. I know she is Thraxian and perhaps I should be wary, but I find myself enjoying her. There is a delight in such and even though we have not known each other long; I think we both like the personality of the other. We also share a lot of the same views on society and the our places in it.
Written By Natalia
Oct. 23, 2016, 12:16 a.m.(12/1/1004 AR)
Relationship Note on Freja
The woman is a scout, I'm not fully sure what goes into scouting in the North. She did tell me of the beauty of the snows and I do believe that I like this woman. She will be coming to the fashion meeting that her cousin cannot. The woman is a delight and I have found that she's always striving to be better. It is something that I can relate to.
Written By Kima
Oct. 23, 2016, midnight(12/1/1004 AR)
Relationship Note on Abbas
My mother was wont to push upon me poetry as a young girl. As any parent, she was desirous that I be not merely well-read, but well-rounded. While I confess that I did not take to it as well as she may have hoped (or even liked), I have actually retained much of it. This particular refrain came to mind after a conversation I had the other day with prince Abbas Thrax:
Yes, the prow of the sailing ship bites the foaming sea
Filled with steel-gray vigor is every man’s soul
When the gusts blow foam-white waves overhead
The men are not afraid, dread has no meaning for them
When the Reaver’s eye swallows the blood-red dawn
Then free is our spirit and free is our soul
Yes, the prow of the sailing ship bites the foaming sea
Filled with steel-gray vigor is every man’s soul
When the gusts blow foam-white waves overhead
The men are not afraid, dread has no meaning for them
When the Reaver’s eye swallows the blood-red dawn
Then free is our spirit and free is our soul
Written By Kima
Oct. 22, 2016, 10:35 p.m.(12/1/1004 AR)
While dining with a dear friend this evening, I came to the sudden, horrible realization that he has absolutely no concept of what makes something merely a melty cheese trap opposed to a melty meat and cheese trap. I stress that there is a vital and important difference, in that one is only cheese. It might possess several cheeses, but nothing else. Anything else transforms the melty cheese trap into what I, for brevity's sake, simply call a melt.
Written By Cassius
Oct. 22, 2016, 10:26 p.m.(12/1/1004 AR)
It has been a couple of days since my arrival from Stonedeep with the Knights of Solace. It was so good to see Nadia, and in the Stone Grove of the Redrain Ward I met Prince Darren Redrain and Princess Freja again. It has been long since I made their acquaintance. I also met a sister of mercy there. The southerns enjoy coming thusly and molesting the plants in the grove.
Later I met my youngest sister Lydia in the tavern. She is well and enjoying the southern life. I do not blame her, as northern hardships can make for a dull youth if you do not enjoy ranging and shoveling snow. She begs me to see Grandfather Augustus, and we shall set a date for tea soon, for there are great matters afoot and it has been too long since I've seen him.
Later I met my youngest sister Lydia in the tavern. She is well and enjoying the southern life. I do not blame her, as northern hardships can make for a dull youth if you do not enjoy ranging and shoveling snow. She begs me to see Grandfather Augustus, and we shall set a date for tea soon, for there are great matters afoot and it has been too long since I've seen him.
Written By Eos
Oct. 22, 2016, 9:11 p.m.(12/1/1004 AR)
The horns sounded about an hour before dawn to rouse the soldiers from their sleep. There is a certain pride to be found in watching the troops rising into rank, each man knowing their job and place in the organized chaos. The noise of an army in motion is a tremendous thing and has a unique beauty when all the many moving parts come together.
The soldiers were shuffled into new units, a mix of houses, last week, and with these new brothers-in-arms, under commanders hailing from houses that might be far from their own homes, they put themselves to the task of the final test of their merit and endurance. Twenty-four hours under assault.
The palisades went up quickly, before the sun even finished rising. The maneuvers began in the west with the phantom assault shifting to the east by mid-day with a few calls to answer unexpected surges at the weakest points I can determine in the city's defenses. The commanders handled their men well, and I must give no small regard to those squires and their horses who tirelessly ran the messages between us.
Looking down from the Seawatch Walls from a vantage among the archers, over the rows of mixed colors and sigils in lock step flowing from one formation into another like oil on water, listening the commanders of different houses speak with respect of another's soldiers, I found myself optimistic in the strength of the Compact.
By the scenario's end, well into the darkest hours of the next morning, the soldiers were still giving all that was asked of them. They are a pride to their respective houses. The defenses were dismantled, the men given their leave to rest, and now, here at the end of the week, all has returned to normal.
I had not realized in the bustle of the city how much I had missed the sound of marching mail until these past two weeks.
The soldiers were shuffled into new units, a mix of houses, last week, and with these new brothers-in-arms, under commanders hailing from houses that might be far from their own homes, they put themselves to the task of the final test of their merit and endurance. Twenty-four hours under assault.
The palisades went up quickly, before the sun even finished rising. The maneuvers began in the west with the phantom assault shifting to the east by mid-day with a few calls to answer unexpected surges at the weakest points I can determine in the city's defenses. The commanders handled their men well, and I must give no small regard to those squires and their horses who tirelessly ran the messages between us.
Looking down from the Seawatch Walls from a vantage among the archers, over the rows of mixed colors and sigils in lock step flowing from one formation into another like oil on water, listening the commanders of different houses speak with respect of another's soldiers, I found myself optimistic in the strength of the Compact.
By the scenario's end, well into the darkest hours of the next morning, the soldiers were still giving all that was asked of them. They are a pride to their respective houses. The defenses were dismantled, the men given their leave to rest, and now, here at the end of the week, all has returned to normal.
I had not realized in the bustle of the city how much I had missed the sound of marching mail until these past two weeks.
Written By Donella
Oct. 22, 2016, 8:41 p.m.(12/1/1004 AR)
May all thirteen take pity on me, I can't tell if I am paying penance for Why do people insist on making me drink? Even the wine is unadulterated with water in Arx; Do they have a death wish? Perhaps they are trying to pickle me in my own brine?
I stole a ferry. Actually, I forcibly borrowed it, along with Duchess Nightgold's assistance and rum after the to-do in the Redrain district. Sailors like rum. Sailors like silver even better, and that is why sailors are, in spite of their coarse reputation, the steadiest people in all the Compact. My people.
But they don't much care for it when you shove coins and drink in their arms, and push them off the pier. Ah well. Live and learn. I don't actually remember much of what I did, so I suspect I did little but sleep after that spicy stuff from the hip-flask, and the dried fruit.
Maybe more fruit next time, and less spicy stuff.
I stole a ferry. Actually, I forcibly borrowed it, along with Duchess Nightgold's assistance and rum after the to-do in the Redrain district. Sailors like rum. Sailors like silver even better, and that is why sailors are, in spite of their coarse reputation, the steadiest people in all the Compact. My people.
But they don't much care for it when you shove coins and drink in their arms, and push them off the pier. Ah well. Live and learn. I don't actually remember much of what I did, so I suspect I did little but sleep after that spicy stuff from the hip-flask, and the dried fruit.
Maybe more fruit next time, and less spicy stuff.
Written By Natalia
Oct. 22, 2016, 2:53 p.m.(11/28/1004 AR)
While I met with the most lovely and glorious Freja and then attended a meeting of an interesting outcome. It is not which I write about.
The invite coming was glorious and I enjoyed it so. I love late night parties and such. The problem then happens that I remember the boat. I remember tucking my skirts up and then there is a blur.
I am not fully sure how I got home or why I kept asking if the rum was gone. Nor am I sure why my hair is just so ... big. Perhaps having curls is not good if one is not going to restrain them. There is also the fact that I smell a bit like salt. I am sure that Dagon would approve of this. Oh Gods. I really hope I didn't send any messengers last night. I don't seem to have but that would be most horrid. Somewhere, Darren is probably thinking he suddenly approves. I know that Redrain man knows when there is a party and people are overly intoxi--- (Cat paw prints).
Then of course, Jarek shows up late at night. At first, I'll admit. I thought maybe I sent him a drunken message offering to do non-ladylike things. Luckily that was not the case... but that... that... I have no word for it. He came to my house only to insult me. I said I would message him later, but there had better be expensive tokens to go with his words of apology.
Gods... can one's head burst open from the inside out?
The invite coming was glorious and I enjoyed it so. I love late night parties and such. The problem then happens that I remember the boat. I remember tucking my skirts up and then there is a blur.
I am not fully sure how I got home or why I kept asking if the rum was gone. Nor am I sure why my hair is just so ... big. Perhaps having curls is not good if one is not going to restrain them. There is also the fact that I smell a bit like salt. I am sure that Dagon would approve of this. Oh Gods. I really hope I didn't send any messengers last night. I don't seem to have but that would be most horrid. Somewhere, Darren is probably thinking he suddenly approves. I know that Redrain man knows when there is a party and people are overly intoxi--- (Cat paw prints).
Then of course, Jarek shows up late at night. At first, I'll admit. I thought maybe I sent him a drunken message offering to do non-ladylike things. Luckily that was not the case... but that... that... I have no word for it. He came to my house only to insult me. I said I would message him later, but there had better be expensive tokens to go with his words of apology.
Gods... can one's head burst open from the inside out?
Written By Joscelin
Oct. 22, 2016, 2:44 p.m.(11/28/1004 AR)
I don't know why these things happen to me. It's a little like some geas or a curse but mostly it's a blessing.
I mean. I think I have some lady's pants? but they aren't mine. And Ianthe doesn't wear this color.
I ... I think I need to send a message to someone.
I mean. I think I have some lady's pants? but they aren't mine. And Ianthe doesn't wear this color.
I ... I think I need to send a message to someone.
Written By Acacia
Oct. 22, 2016, 2:17 p.m.(11/28/1004 AR)
Relationship Note on Jarek
I seem to run into Prince Jarek Velenosa an awful lot and each time at a different locale. I admit that I thought he might be stuffy or uptight when I first got word of him, but he's remarkably grounded and easy to speak to. Get him talking about philosophically airing things and he'll fly with a new kind of wind. What this means for me? Well, aside from being someone who seems to emit a welcomed aura of mild mischief - the extent of the usefulness we might have to each other is still on the table.
Written By Acacia
Oct. 22, 2016, 2:08 p.m.(11/28/1004 AR)
Relationship Note on Watt
Sometimes we find would-be associates in the places we least expect them. Watt Ulbran drips charm in a manner that would make others fan themselves. There's always been a bit of tension between the Ulbrans and the Cullers, by this or that, and the man continues to tread a little closer to things that I enjoy than I'd typically like. But he's witty, imaginative and easy to talk to. And those secreted glares? Well, I'll take those glares all day. They don't cut quite as brutally as knives in the back.
Written By Gabriel
Oct. 22, 2016, 12:10 p.m.(11/28/1004 AR)
Relationship Note on Iona
My Redrain wife was not a match that I sought, but it has been an excellent one, both politically and personally.
Fierce enough to be a lion herself, she tempers her ferocity with an understanding of how to work with people, rather than just work through them. Even decades later, there are still things I can learn from her.
The politics are a benefit, but the best part of the match has been finding an equal partner, in public and in private alike.
Fierce enough to be a lion herself, she tempers her ferocity with an understanding of how to work with people, rather than just work through them. Even decades later, there are still things I can learn from her.
The politics are a benefit, but the best part of the match has been finding an equal partner, in public and in private alike.
Written By Gabriel
Oct. 22, 2016, 12:01 p.m.(11/28/1004 AR)
Relationship Note on Dawn
Of all my children -- foster, god, and birth -- Dawn has had the hardest road to tread. That she has born it so well is a tribute to her father, her unknown mother, and Dawn herself. A lesser woman would have folded under the grief of loss, or would have sat back, figuring that the twisty politics of the great houses was not her duty. The way she has brought stability to House Grayson and to those of the Compact who will listen to her is not just impressive but inspiring.
Would that others of her generation would step up and do their part as readily and as ably as she does.
Would that others of her generation would step up and do their part as readily and as ably as she does.
Written By Gabriel
Oct. 22, 2016, 10:44 a.m.(11/28/1004 AR)
Relationship Note on Edain
A young man, forged by some of the best knights of the day, tempered in tragedy, and thrust into a position he could not have been ready for... and he still manages to carry it off with vigor, intelligence, and heart.
He is a tribute to his family, and an asset to the Compact.
He is a tribute to his family, and an asset to the Compact.
Written By Ianthe
Oct. 22, 2016, 10:15 a.m.(11/28/1004 AR)
I’m not entirely sure how I made it back to my room last night.
As I recall, the evening started with drinking and conversation with Prince Jarek Velenosa, Lord Salazar Argento, and Blacktongue, the Velenosa Harlequin. The disussion about luck was fascinating. Then Josie joined us and, as expected, the night took a turn.
I remember leaving the Inn. I remember the beach. Past that, my memory starts to disintegrate. I remember a group of very pretty women and a boat. And whiskey. Lots and lots of whiskey. I smell like I took a bath in it and then went for a swim in the ocean.
I woke up today with that damnable cat licking my face. My head is killing me. I think amputation may be the only option.
As I recall, the evening started with drinking and conversation with Prince Jarek Velenosa, Lord Salazar Argento, and Blacktongue, the Velenosa Harlequin. The disussion about luck was fascinating. Then Josie joined us and, as expected, the night took a turn.
I remember leaving the Inn. I remember the beach. Past that, my memory starts to disintegrate. I remember a group of very pretty women and a boat. And whiskey. Lots and lots of whiskey. I smell like I took a bath in it and then went for a swim in the ocean.
I woke up today with that damnable cat licking my face. My head is killing me. I think amputation may be the only option.
Written By Samantha
Oct. 21, 2016, 12:22 p.m.(11/25/1004 AR)
Relationship Note on Michael
I'm not one to deny Michael's faults. He is arrogant and needs to be a lot more humble about his place in the world; he needs to understand that even if your position is granted by birth, you're obligated to do well in order to earn respect. It's going to be a hard lesson when he finally realizes it. Regardless, I have effectively been his elder sister ever since I was fostered by the Bislands. I always made sure he was included in our childhood games. If he can move past his sense of entitlement he will become the great man he hopes to be, and I will do everything I can to help him achieve that goal.
Written By Joscelin
Oct. 21, 2016, 3:37 a.m.(11/24/1004 AR)
Strange dream to wake me. Dreaming of my father on the battlefield, though if I recall, it was more like a swelling ditch. He and my aunt Ezora were caught by areas shot from high up, pinned in a ravine by barbed, poison-tipped arrows. It was a well planned ambush; it had to be, in that my father and his sister were quite keen.
He stood there, in my dream, on a hill alongside a river. The hill seemed to breathe, and in it, though I couldn't see, was a city made of granite. The city was full of people, bustling, busy, oblivious people. My father stood atop this hill-city, a ragged banner at his side, flapping noisily above him.
The arrow that killed him was in the cap as his arm, opting for a cuirass without chainmail. He insisted it slowed him down, and that Ezora was capable. The truth is, she was capable; but even she couldn't lift a shield to stop an arrow from above.
The Thornburns craft beautiful armor, in that it's pristine in its workmanship. Little in need of repair, it could handle blade, mallet, or axe with ease. It was my father's pride, maybe, that cost him his life. Or bad luck. Who can know for sure? Not me. But I know for certain that the armor and its creators were never at fault. I still recommend the Thornburns armor above all others.
I digress.
In this dream, my aunt Ezora is just behind him, smiling like I remember her, cocky, a smirk to the left that I never inherited. I remember she wasn't overly fond of my mother; found my mother's traditions too unusual. Though aunt Ezora was an eccentric herself, her stocky figure something I -did- get from her. Low to the ground, she could squat in the mud for hours, her tower shield as solid as rock. Mounted to her back, she had to hike it up a good foot to walk comfortable, lest her heels kick the damn thing. She too had our family curls, though her eyes were green to my father's gold.
My dream held this image, my father and aunt on this hill, holding fast like they were expecting something. My father's expression was calm. My aunt's was that sly smirk.
And then the ground began to crumble beneath my feet.
While I screamed, they remained calm, plummetting into the darkness below, a hole where the city had been.
'Relax!' my father called. 'You aren't falling.'
'I'm not?' I screamed.
'No, Josie. The world is falling away.' He smiled. '-You- are not moving. Everything else is, but you and me and Ezi, and-'
'Me.'
I turned to this new voice, this name I thought I knew, and I saw-
...well. Forget who I saw. It's not important.
What's important is-
-good gracious, is that the time? No, don't write that. I s-
(a splotch of ink mars the page)
He stood there, in my dream, on a hill alongside a river. The hill seemed to breathe, and in it, though I couldn't see, was a city made of granite. The city was full of people, bustling, busy, oblivious people. My father stood atop this hill-city, a ragged banner at his side, flapping noisily above him.
The arrow that killed him was in the cap as his arm, opting for a cuirass without chainmail. He insisted it slowed him down, and that Ezora was capable. The truth is, she was capable; but even she couldn't lift a shield to stop an arrow from above.
The Thornburns craft beautiful armor, in that it's pristine in its workmanship. Little in need of repair, it could handle blade, mallet, or axe with ease. It was my father's pride, maybe, that cost him his life. Or bad luck. Who can know for sure? Not me. But I know for certain that the armor and its creators were never at fault. I still recommend the Thornburns armor above all others.
I digress.
In this dream, my aunt Ezora is just behind him, smiling like I remember her, cocky, a smirk to the left that I never inherited. I remember she wasn't overly fond of my mother; found my mother's traditions too unusual. Though aunt Ezora was an eccentric herself, her stocky figure something I -did- get from her. Low to the ground, she could squat in the mud for hours, her tower shield as solid as rock. Mounted to her back, she had to hike it up a good foot to walk comfortable, lest her heels kick the damn thing. She too had our family curls, though her eyes were green to my father's gold.
My dream held this image, my father and aunt on this hill, holding fast like they were expecting something. My father's expression was calm. My aunt's was that sly smirk.
And then the ground began to crumble beneath my feet.
While I screamed, they remained calm, plummetting into the darkness below, a hole where the city had been.
'Relax!' my father called. 'You aren't falling.'
'I'm not?' I screamed.
'No, Josie. The world is falling away.' He smiled. '-You- are not moving. Everything else is, but you and me and Ezi, and-'
'Me.'
I turned to this new voice, this name I thought I knew, and I saw-
...well. Forget who I saw. It's not important.
What's important is-
-good gracious, is that the time? No, don't write that. I s-
(a splotch of ink mars the page)
Written By Myrinda
Oct. 21, 2016, 12:28 a.m.(11/24/1004 AR)
Ok, you scamps. You mischievous little rascals. Which of my incorrigible children did this? Hmm? I want a name!
Have I really gotten so old that you're worried about me being on my own? That I need this stupid little ball of fur to take care of?
He can stay, but I swear the moment he ruins even a scrap of silk, I am kicking him out.
*a trail of kitten paws have marred this page*
Have I really gotten so old that you're worried about me being on my own? That I need this stupid little ball of fur to take care of?
He can stay, but I swear the moment he ruins even a scrap of silk, I am kicking him out.
*a trail of kitten paws have marred this page*
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