Written By Raven
Jan. 23, 2021, 11:23 a.m.(10/20/1014 AR)
I have had the excellent fortune of meeting more of the house Kennex. It seems I have never met a Kennex I didn't like. Lord Ian's quiet competence was a nice discovery on a recent voyage and his kin, Lady Jan-do not call her lady to her face, of course-has become a fast new friend and would unseat Savio from his self-appointed position as my 'best friend'.
Written By Ida
Jan. 23, 2021, 7:34 a.m.(10/20/1014 AR)
I have two sketches and one idea, though can't seem to manage to get any of the three projects any farther than that. Maybe with summer fading, along with the heat, autumn will bring that spark of inspiration that I need. Maybe I should just put everything down and stop staring at them like something will materialize and take a walk around the city - give my thoughts a distraction and break.
Written By Medeia
Jan. 23, 2021, 3:22 a.m.(10/19/1014 AR)
Relationship Note on Ripley
I have laid eyes upon the necklace Master Ripley designed and painstakingly crafted for the auction at the Coral Ball. It is simply divine. It glitters like all the stars in the sky thanks to the dazzling effect of deeplight coral. And it can go with nearly any outfit! Beautiful links of black and white - with one rare pink-hued piece front-and-center. And pearls! The man is a genius. I never would have imagined this necklace even if I'd spent five years thinking on it.
Whoever wins the auction is going to be incredibly lucky. I'm even a bit jealous!
Whoever wins the auction is going to be incredibly lucky. I'm even a bit jealous!
Written By Baz
Jan. 23, 2021, 1:17 a.m.(10/19/1014 AR)
The Scared Black Dog (Who Bit His Own Tail Off)
The scared black dog played at courage, roaming around in places that were familiar to him. He barked noble phrases in his mind like, “I’m doing it to protect you,” and, “this is for the greater good,” hiding the truth from his own tail which wagged happily behind him, unaware of the Fear.
But you can’t hide from Fear forever.
The scared black dog played at courage, roaming around in places that were familiar to him. He barked noble phrases in his mind like, “I’m doing it to protect you,” and, “this is for the greater good,” hiding the truth from his own tail which wagged happily behind him, unaware of the Fear.
But you can’t hide from Fear forever.
Written By Sydney
Jan. 22, 2021, 7:52 p.m.(10/19/1014 AR)
I can scarcely contain my excitement - it is seldom enough that I am afforded a true test of abilities, and to have one presented for me that's so strikingly unique is enough to raise gooseflesh on my arms. Looking back over the past few months, I've not anticipated very much of late, and this shall be a welcome change of pace.
It's enough to make me want to procure a map of the city and fill it with points of interest, for I know if I don't plan ahead, my disadvantage will be marked.
Oh, I've worked plenty as a fighter, but seldom as a hunter or soldier, and never as a tactician. It should be fascinating to see how I fare. I hope to learn a great deal, indeed.
It's enough to make me want to procure a map of the city and fill it with points of interest, for I know if I don't plan ahead, my disadvantage will be marked.
Oh, I've worked plenty as a fighter, but seldom as a hunter or soldier, and never as a tactician. It should be fascinating to see how I fare. I hope to learn a great deal, indeed.
Written By Sorrel
Jan. 22, 2021, 7:02 p.m.(10/19/1014 AR)
Sometimes, someone has to point out to me that I hold on to things too long. I fret about the past. I worry that I have said the wrong thing to the wrong person and they're just going to hate me forever. I obsess a little about each and every misstep. Could I have been more charming? Could I have been more wise? Was that joke really as funny as I thought it would be when I blurted it out?
And I think about these things for so much longer than they're actually relevant. So many of them are not actually relevant for long. They're just things that happened, and the other people involved have forgotten because it didn't matter that much to them. Or, even if they haven't forgotten, they certainly aren't letting it take up space in their heads.
There are things I wish I could have done differently, for certain. It's completely impossible to be perfect all the time. Sometimes I'm going to fail. But I have hope, and in hope, I shall continue to try to move forward. There's nothing else I can do.
And I think about these things for so much longer than they're actually relevant. So many of them are not actually relevant for long. They're just things that happened, and the other people involved have forgotten because it didn't matter that much to them. Or, even if they haven't forgotten, they certainly aren't letting it take up space in their heads.
There are things I wish I could have done differently, for certain. It's completely impossible to be perfect all the time. Sometimes I'm going to fail. But I have hope, and in hope, I shall continue to try to move forward. There's nothing else I can do.
Written By Mirari
Jan. 22, 2021, 4:08 p.m.(10/18/1014 AR)
Relationship Note on Lore
I feel like catching me and saving me from ending up with broken ribs and other injuries fast tracks Lore Artiglio to best friend status.
Written By Natasha
Jan. 22, 2021, 3:46 p.m.(10/18/1014 AR)
Compared to my past excursions back to the Mourning Isles since my arrival to Arx, my last visit was more action-packed than most.
I left before witnessing the next slew of crucifixions, however. While it is normally anathema for me to depart before a sentence is carried to its full and final conclusion, I am afraid that there was no time to linger.
May the Sentinel's justice continue to prevail.
Justice before the sea.
I left before witnessing the next slew of crucifixions, however. While it is normally anathema for me to depart before a sentence is carried to its full and final conclusion, I am afraid that there was no time to linger.
May the Sentinel's justice continue to prevail.
Justice before the sea.
Written By Georgine
Jan. 22, 2021, 3:26 p.m.(10/18/1014 AR)
Was it rubicund or cupridium? Too many thoughts to write just one, but there's the attempt. The last days of Collection preparation are always so dizzyingly busy.
Written By Medeia
Jan. 22, 2021, 8:32 a.m.(10/18/1014 AR)
The unknown is uncomfortable.
Even a terrible thing like war can become comfortable when it is all someone has known. If surviving has been the primary focus of someone's years, living can be uncomfortable.
To one who has subsisted on scraps, a proper meal can seem lavish. Abundance becomes obscene to those who have only known lean times.
Tradition is comfortable. And, Lagoma forgive me, change is not. Because even change for the better is an unknown for many. And how do we know if a change is for the better? It takes time and faith that some may not have, or feel they have. And some change for the better is harder before it gets easier.
A person needs to feel they are of value, set to some purpose. So they spend their years training - hopefully in areas both of interest and use, but one does not always have the luxury of pursuing interest. If change comes that takes away their perceived usefulness, that demands they now train in new areas, some may be resentful of being made to feel they no longer have value, or of having to take the role of a novice after being expert.
When we employ diplomacy, we need send diplomats who understand this and the person or people being negotiated with. You cannot offer peace to the warmonger - they do not know peace. They do not have a talent for it. Peace is a change that is difficult to see is for the better because peace requires hard work and time invested in learning how to live in peace.
And when a decision is made based on survival? The benefit must eventually increase. Surviving needs to become living. Tolerance needs to become acceptance. Change is not just for the ones we negotiate with. It is for all of us.
Even a terrible thing like war can become comfortable when it is all someone has known. If surviving has been the primary focus of someone's years, living can be uncomfortable.
To one who has subsisted on scraps, a proper meal can seem lavish. Abundance becomes obscene to those who have only known lean times.
Tradition is comfortable. And, Lagoma forgive me, change is not. Because even change for the better is an unknown for many. And how do we know if a change is for the better? It takes time and faith that some may not have, or feel they have. And some change for the better is harder before it gets easier.
A person needs to feel they are of value, set to some purpose. So they spend their years training - hopefully in areas both of interest and use, but one does not always have the luxury of pursuing interest. If change comes that takes away their perceived usefulness, that demands they now train in new areas, some may be resentful of being made to feel they no longer have value, or of having to take the role of a novice after being expert.
When we employ diplomacy, we need send diplomats who understand this and the person or people being negotiated with. You cannot offer peace to the warmonger - they do not know peace. They do not have a talent for it. Peace is a change that is difficult to see is for the better because peace requires hard work and time invested in learning how to live in peace.
And when a decision is made based on survival? The benefit must eventually increase. Surviving needs to become living. Tolerance needs to become acceptance. Change is not just for the ones we negotiate with. It is for all of us.
Written By Dio
Jan. 22, 2021, 12:17 a.m.(10/17/1014 AR)
Relationship Note on Savio
Before we set sail for Tremorus, Seraph Stilio of Pieros and Archscholar Sina offered benedictions on Journal Day. The Seraph is not bookish. He is brash and large, with a braided beard. He is beloved by his people, and his speech was eloquent in its simplicity. Shortly before he spoke the gathered crowd asked for a song. The seraph declined, and Whisper Selene offered one in his stead. In that setting, before all of our great trials, the beautiful voice of Selene united us, and fixed our imagination on all we might accomplish.
The next evening, I was preparing to extort the truth from a traitorous dog at the Hatted Rabbit Tavern in the Grand Bazaar. I was shocked to look up and see Princess Adrienne Pravus in company. For those familiar with the Princess, whose energy and virtues inspire deep respect, it is probably not hard to imagine how I felt about bringing a treacherous cur to beg for his life in her presence, and force him to make immediate amends for the slights he'd done me and the sailors of Ischia, or suffer an ignominious, agonizing and gruesome death.
The mood was transformed in an instant by the Bard Savio Pontelaeus, whose wit and song sparked joy wherever it was heard. He is a virtuoso in the arts of improvisation, and his songs seem effortless, yet are pleasing and exciting to hear. But I was wrong to think that I should be in debt to Savio solely for his talent in music, for not long after his performance in the Hatted Rabbit, I was engaged in a fight to the death. Savio's rapier stuck away a blade that otherwise would have opened my throat. His physical reflexes vie with his wit in sharpness. Little recompense it may be to the talented musician and duelist, as the vast horde of those who wish me dead now howl for his blood, but he has earned my gratitude and respect.
The next evening, I was preparing to extort the truth from a traitorous dog at the Hatted Rabbit Tavern in the Grand Bazaar. I was shocked to look up and see Princess Adrienne Pravus in company. For those familiar with the Princess, whose energy and virtues inspire deep respect, it is probably not hard to imagine how I felt about bringing a treacherous cur to beg for his life in her presence, and force him to make immediate amends for the slights he'd done me and the sailors of Ischia, or suffer an ignominious, agonizing and gruesome death.
The mood was transformed in an instant by the Bard Savio Pontelaeus, whose wit and song sparked joy wherever it was heard. He is a virtuoso in the arts of improvisation, and his songs seem effortless, yet are pleasing and exciting to hear. But I was wrong to think that I should be in debt to Savio solely for his talent in music, for not long after his performance in the Hatted Rabbit, I was engaged in a fight to the death. Savio's rapier stuck away a blade that otherwise would have opened my throat. His physical reflexes vie with his wit in sharpness. Little recompense it may be to the talented musician and duelist, as the vast horde of those who wish me dead now howl for his blood, but he has earned my gratitude and respect.
Written By Piccola
Jan. 21, 2021, 10:36 p.m.(10/17/1014 AR)
Surviving is a strange thing, wise general.
We valorize and even deify survival. We talk of it as if it were the only point to existence. That it is the only thing that matters, the acme of one's skill at life.
How quaint.
We valorize and even deify survival. We talk of it as if it were the only point to existence. That it is the only thing that matters, the acme of one's skill at life.
How quaint.
Written By Clarisse
Jan. 21, 2021, 10:21 p.m.(10/17/1014 AR)
Relationship Note on Zakhar
Emporium of Curiousity
Zakhar's designs are beautiful, definitely a talented crafter, who I look forward to purchasing new pieces from over time. So far I have been able to have a chained bookcase and wardrobe built by him. And I could not be happier with his skill.
Zakhar's designs are beautiful, definitely a talented crafter, who I look forward to purchasing new pieces from over time. So far I have been able to have a chained bookcase and wardrobe built by him. And I could not be happier with his skill.
Written By Eirene
Jan. 21, 2021, 2:17 p.m.(10/16/1014 AR)
Setting sail and spending time away from my little family is hard. I've gotten fucking soft in my 'old age' and motherhood. Used to be I'd drop off and go on a mission without blinking an eye or worrying who might miss me or be waiting for me to come back. Can't do that anymore. Too many souls would miss me if I didn't return, and I feel a nagging guilt at that. It's part of why I never wanted to marry or have kids when I was younger; I'm glad I changed my mind though.
Written By Selene
Jan. 21, 2021, 1:44 p.m.(10/16/1014 AR)
It's curious to me to see where my work ends up. Who wears it, who makes such beautiful things sublime by their creative spark.
Written By Lucita
Jan. 21, 2021, 12:49 p.m.(10/16/1014 AR)
Dreams of crystal caverns, of serene blue grottos with glowing fish... I dreamed of Saikland.
Written By Thea
Jan. 21, 2021, 8:40 a.m.(10/16/1014 AR)
Relationship Note on Malcolm
My patron. My friend....
After a spar of blades, yes blades. You heard me right. Im onto you. Not even a little fooled anymore. Im not sure if I would believed if I said. But it was both honor and a surprise. And it further solidifies my choice in coming to you as my patron. I have much to learn..
After a spar of blades, yes blades. You heard me right. Im onto you. Not even a little fooled anymore. Im not sure if I would believed if I said. But it was both honor and a surprise. And it further solidifies my choice in coming to you as my patron. I have much to learn..
Written By Aconite
Jan. 21, 2021, 8:40 a.m.(10/16/1014 AR)
A question asked of me the other day has had me thinking...
I was not quite twelve when I met Uudi, the woman who taught me how to fashion my hair in my favorite style. I was at the market seeking something pretty, some small bauble to buy with my earnings when I stumbled upon some rare traders from Eurus who were there to sell their goods.
Beside myself, I hurried to them and without thinking began to speak to them in their native tongue. After a moment of surprise it was the old woman, Uudi, who began to talk back with me.
I was curious. I wanted to know so much.. too much.. a condition I still suffer from. Uudi only laughed and while I know she never told me much of Eurus but she told me much about her family.
Uudi was ancient, so far as I could tell back then, missing a few teeth with short white hair cropped close to her head and so many wrinkles I would never have been able to tell how she felt. That is if it weren't for the bright jade eyes that always sparkled with laughter and a small sweet voice that made me feel welcomed.
When I asked about her hair she told me she had grown too old and her hair too thin for the magnificent styles she favored. I was, of course, bubbling with curiosity and so I asked her what they were but rather than tell me. She offered to show me...
For hours that seemed far too short, I sat with Uudi, while hands with skin as worn and scarred as leather and knotted knuckles that must have hurt while so worked through my hair.
Patiently with comb and fingers, she wove my hair into many coils while telling me of her daughters and their children. The stories never told me much of their life only of the people. And hummed songs to me in wordless homage to where she called home. I never thought to question her, nor if the stories were real or made simply to make me smile. I could not stop.
This happened many times, every few days for the few weeks a year she was in Tor, for the few years she came. I would come seeking a new comb or one of her brilliantly patterned pouches or skirts. I would close my eyes and listen to Uudi talk and pretend just for a few moments that she was my Grandmother too. That the people she spoke of were my family as she smoothed and twisted each coil, so enrapt that barely noted any tug or snarl.
The last year Uudi and I spent time together is when she taught me to fashion the styles for myself with careful patient warmth and laughter to soothe my frustrations when my early attempts failed. Patiently she taught me each technique until I could do each almost as good as she did..
The next year I could not find her. I wondered often what happened to her but try as I might I could not feel sorrow that she was no longer there. Only gratitude for what time I had had and what she had taught me.
I wonder sometimes if that is part o why I like the markets so or if that is why I have always seen a merchants wares as a part of who they are. That I am wearing a part of them and being a vessel for expression in this world. Just like I wonder if this is my favorite hairstyle because it is so terribly practical or because it's an expression of everything one ancient Eurusi trader gave me in so very few but precious moments.
I was not quite twelve when I met Uudi, the woman who taught me how to fashion my hair in my favorite style. I was at the market seeking something pretty, some small bauble to buy with my earnings when I stumbled upon some rare traders from Eurus who were there to sell their goods.
Beside myself, I hurried to them and without thinking began to speak to them in their native tongue. After a moment of surprise it was the old woman, Uudi, who began to talk back with me.
I was curious. I wanted to know so much.. too much.. a condition I still suffer from. Uudi only laughed and while I know she never told me much of Eurus but she told me much about her family.
Uudi was ancient, so far as I could tell back then, missing a few teeth with short white hair cropped close to her head and so many wrinkles I would never have been able to tell how she felt. That is if it weren't for the bright jade eyes that always sparkled with laughter and a small sweet voice that made me feel welcomed.
When I asked about her hair she told me she had grown too old and her hair too thin for the magnificent styles she favored. I was, of course, bubbling with curiosity and so I asked her what they were but rather than tell me. She offered to show me...
For hours that seemed far too short, I sat with Uudi, while hands with skin as worn and scarred as leather and knotted knuckles that must have hurt while so worked through my hair.
Patiently with comb and fingers, she wove my hair into many coils while telling me of her daughters and their children. The stories never told me much of their life only of the people. And hummed songs to me in wordless homage to where she called home. I never thought to question her, nor if the stories were real or made simply to make me smile. I could not stop.
This happened many times, every few days for the few weeks a year she was in Tor, for the few years she came. I would come seeking a new comb or one of her brilliantly patterned pouches or skirts. I would close my eyes and listen to Uudi talk and pretend just for a few moments that she was my Grandmother too. That the people she spoke of were my family as she smoothed and twisted each coil, so enrapt that barely noted any tug or snarl.
The last year Uudi and I spent time together is when she taught me to fashion the styles for myself with careful patient warmth and laughter to soothe my frustrations when my early attempts failed. Patiently she taught me each technique until I could do each almost as good as she did..
The next year I could not find her. I wondered often what happened to her but try as I might I could not feel sorrow that she was no longer there. Only gratitude for what time I had had and what she had taught me.
I wonder sometimes if that is part o why I like the markets so or if that is why I have always seen a merchants wares as a part of who they are. That I am wearing a part of them and being a vessel for expression in this world. Just like I wonder if this is my favorite hairstyle because it is so terribly practical or because it's an expression of everything one ancient Eurusi trader gave me in so very few but precious moments.
Written By Ramona
Jan. 20, 2021, 5:27 p.m.(10/14/1014 AR)
We must look at where we are and who we are, now, in this moment. The 'what-if' is a dangerous distraction. We must replace it with what-can and what-will.
Written By Raziel
Jan. 20, 2021, 2:41 p.m.(10/14/1014 AR)
His Majesty, King Alaric III Grayson.
I remember a time when these words were spoken by more than the supporters of foreign invasion. I remember when he received my oath as King's Own. I remember when he released me from it.
But such is the way of service to the Crown. It is not the head that bears it that commands such loyalty. It is the station itself.
The names may change. The Compact remains.
I remember a time when these words were spoken by more than the supporters of foreign invasion. I remember when he received my oath as King's Own. I remember when he released me from it.
But such is the way of service to the Crown. It is not the head that bears it that commands such loyalty. It is the station itself.
The names may change. The Compact remains.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.