Written By Kedehern
Jan. 15, 2020, 6:20 p.m.(7/25/1012 AR)
Relationship Note on Shae
The Duke calling me 'Uncle Kedehern' still feels odd to me, since I really view him more as a cousin, so I certainly understand your troubles with the sudden gaggle of nieces and nephews our marriage has bestowed you with.
I'm just glad Marquis Kael is your cousin, not a nephew. Having another Head of House calling me 'Uncle' might almost be too much. Though at least the Marquis is my junior, as opposed to Duke Cristoph, who's seven years my senior.
I'm just glad Marquis Kael is your cousin, not a nephew. Having another Head of House calling me 'Uncle' might almost be too much. Though at least the Marquis is my junior, as opposed to Duke Cristoph, who's seven years my senior.
Written By Abellus
Jan. 15, 2020, 5:10 p.m.(7/25/1012 AR)
I hear that some of the attackers at the Planting managed to flee. They had better run far and hide deep, because there will be no sanctuary for them if I ever find them.
This month. The damned heat, that creepy dream, assholes shooting my kin full of arrows -- I really want to just chop someone in half.
...Yes, Scholar. That's probably enough for today.
This month. The damned heat, that creepy dream, assholes shooting my kin full of arrows -- I really want to just chop someone in half.
...Yes, Scholar. That's probably enough for today.
Written By Talwyn
Jan. 15, 2020, 3:01 p.m.(7/25/1012 AR)
A fine day to see a quality cloth from the Oathlands make it to the city and to dress in. The colors that I can get to shine through the new velvet cloth will be beautiful, and without all the pattern.
Versatility and a fine cloth.
Versatility and a fine cloth.
Written By Selene
Jan. 15, 2020, 2:56 p.m.(7/25/1012 AR)
How the error of a moment
is but a grain
beginning the avalanche.
Can we cry foul
Lashing the sea
and halt the tide?
is but a grain
beginning the avalanche.
Can we cry foul
Lashing the sea
and halt the tide?
Written By Mabelle
Jan. 15, 2020, 2:36 p.m.(7/25/1012 AR)
Relationship Note on Petal
Congratulations, Mistress Petal.
Such beautiful name to a child who's mother loves flowers so dearly.
May she bloom and grow beautifully as all that goes under her mother's hands and bring you joy and peace.
Such beautiful name to a child who's mother loves flowers so dearly.
May she bloom and grow beautifully as all that goes under her mother's hands and bring you joy and peace.
Written By Aureth
Jan. 15, 2020, 2:04 p.m.(7/25/1012 AR)
Emilia Godsworn is fortunate in the mercy of the Templars and the Faith.
Extremely fortunate.
Extremely fortunate.
Written By Dianna
Jan. 15, 2020, 1:52 p.m.(7/25/1012 AR)
Though I attempt to steady myself, I find myself crying as I write this, today.
I have the luxury of writing it, myself, as a Godsworn priestess - which affords me to feel that I am truly writing in my own words, with my own hand, to spill upon this page the exact and precise ink which feels so much like my own blood and tears pouring out here, to any and all who may read it.
Some of my friends and family members - both in the Faith and of the land of my body's birth - know, already, that I have been in preparation for several weeks, readying myself mentally and physically for the exorcism of one Baron Ruthas of Glenbriar, known colloquially as 'The Butcher of Arx,' which Archscholar Sina and I will perform in but a short time hence.
To say that I fear is both dizzyingly inadequate and, simultaneously, incredulously incorrect, when the fact is this:
I do not want to leave you, my beloved friends, my cherished loves, my treasured family - both you who accept and who cannot accept my choices, both family of blood and flesh as well as family of my chosen life.
I do not wish to depart from you, yet - not when I love you so much; not when I have loved you so well, but not yet long enough for my heart's longing for you ALL.
Be you even of those who have wronged me terribly or be you of those who have been and continue to be the springs from whom I am nourished, heart and mind and bodily, who aide in that strength of my soul that is given to the gods: I love you.
Let it be known that I have written a Last Will and Testament within my Black Journals that is to be released, solely, upon my death - be it from this event or any other.
And let it be known forever that I hold no malice in my heart towards any who have wronged me, nor towards any who have wished to. Including Baron Ruthas of Glenbriar, regardless of the outcome.
Should I be returned to the Mother's embrace, be not hateful towards what remains of this member of the Peerage, for how could he but go mad, being severed from his own body? How could he not crave to find another - when he has so mistakenly disbanded from the true nature of his soul in the thought that his desire to be close to the gods, to be loved by them could not be fulfilled, were not being fulfilled ALREADY by his life?
Forgive him, should I be taken from you; and grieve only until it is done.
And, if you must return to finish what I and so many others have started, I beg you not to do so in anger and hatred for him, but in love, in sympathy, in compassion. He is mistaken in his envy - as I have seen others be; as I have known myself to be, even, at times.
We all have our dark reflections within ourselves; let this be proof of what can be when one lets the darkest within ourselves take over - and let it be proof, as well, that the gods CAN AND WILL accept us again, that we may be embraced again, if we but free ourselves to see what we are, to love what we are - both light and dark, without attempting to rule one or the other, but to know and master both - and to simply embrace the truth of all.
We are not perfect. May we never be. Because, even in my anger towards Baron Ruthas of Glenbriar, even in others' anger towards him, I have seen great acts of courage, of faith, of love. I have fought alongside family members beloved dearly by me - both those who return that love to me and those who, for whatever forgivable reasons, withhold it. And I have earned new friendships that I may never have known, had it not been for this wayward soul.
So, may I remind you all of this simple truth:
It is true that love will conquer all.
I have the luxury of writing it, myself, as a Godsworn priestess - which affords me to feel that I am truly writing in my own words, with my own hand, to spill upon this page the exact and precise ink which feels so much like my own blood and tears pouring out here, to any and all who may read it.
Some of my friends and family members - both in the Faith and of the land of my body's birth - know, already, that I have been in preparation for several weeks, readying myself mentally and physically for the exorcism of one Baron Ruthas of Glenbriar, known colloquially as 'The Butcher of Arx,' which Archscholar Sina and I will perform in but a short time hence.
To say that I fear is both dizzyingly inadequate and, simultaneously, incredulously incorrect, when the fact is this:
I do not want to leave you, my beloved friends, my cherished loves, my treasured family - both you who accept and who cannot accept my choices, both family of blood and flesh as well as family of my chosen life.
I do not wish to depart from you, yet - not when I love you so much; not when I have loved you so well, but not yet long enough for my heart's longing for you ALL.
Be you even of those who have wronged me terribly or be you of those who have been and continue to be the springs from whom I am nourished, heart and mind and bodily, who aide in that strength of my soul that is given to the gods: I love you.
Let it be known that I have written a Last Will and Testament within my Black Journals that is to be released, solely, upon my death - be it from this event or any other.
And let it be known forever that I hold no malice in my heart towards any who have wronged me, nor towards any who have wished to. Including Baron Ruthas of Glenbriar, regardless of the outcome.
Should I be returned to the Mother's embrace, be not hateful towards what remains of this member of the Peerage, for how could he but go mad, being severed from his own body? How could he not crave to find another - when he has so mistakenly disbanded from the true nature of his soul in the thought that his desire to be close to the gods, to be loved by them could not be fulfilled, were not being fulfilled ALREADY by his life?
Forgive him, should I be taken from you; and grieve only until it is done.
And, if you must return to finish what I and so many others have started, I beg you not to do so in anger and hatred for him, but in love, in sympathy, in compassion. He is mistaken in his envy - as I have seen others be; as I have known myself to be, even, at times.
We all have our dark reflections within ourselves; let this be proof of what can be when one lets the darkest within ourselves take over - and let it be proof, as well, that the gods CAN AND WILL accept us again, that we may be embraced again, if we but free ourselves to see what we are, to love what we are - both light and dark, without attempting to rule one or the other, but to know and master both - and to simply embrace the truth of all.
We are not perfect. May we never be. Because, even in my anger towards Baron Ruthas of Glenbriar, even in others' anger towards him, I have seen great acts of courage, of faith, of love. I have fought alongside family members beloved dearly by me - both those who return that love to me and those who, for whatever forgivable reasons, withhold it. And I have earned new friendships that I may never have known, had it not been for this wayward soul.
So, may I remind you all of this simple truth:
It is true that love will conquer all.
Written By Drake
Jan. 15, 2020, 1:24 p.m.(7/25/1012 AR)
A rousing evening at the tavern. I wouldn't have expected it might lead to some useful information about our quest at High Hill, but sometimes these things are serendipitous. What is also lucky is that it seems the Princess Reese would like to paint my portrait! Well, technically, she wants to include my brother in such a portrait but I wonder if I could ask her for a private studio session.
Written By Wrakjon
Jan. 15, 2020, 1:01 p.m.(7/25/1012 AR)
Somewhere in the upper boroughs: The drugs wear off after leading me astray, out of the comfortable gutter and into social elevation. A truly miserable state of affairs that runs contrary to the physics of self-abuse. Usually this sort of thing reliably puts me somewhere downwind, but something in the mix paddled me upstream without a boat.
I shout for chemical assistance and the first man I see slaps me directly in the face. That much, at least, is comfortably familiar, and helps me get my bearings. I am in a poor excuse for a bar, the floor is cleanly cold instead of comfortably insulated with blood and vomit. How do people LIVE like this?
The man who slapped me is Richard Wyrmguard. Holy shit! One of the Valardin! Now those are people who know how to handle this world, they take no guff from the mercantile cuckolds who tell honest citizens like me to stay out of their elitist stores because they don't want their precious ill-gotten goods touched by a salt-of-the-earth individual such as myself.
Richard gives me a drink and a sniff of something that unfortunately clears my head. I explain to him that I am a man of medicine. I try to make my way back to the Murder of Crows but my legs are evil betrayers. Richard gives me another drink and some soup while I'm on the floor, he knows the trials and travails of dealing with traitorous limbs, he is my sword and shield against the vicissitudes of earthly matters and a lack of proper medication.
There are others in the room but I pay them no mind. This is a meeting of men of science. I explain my theories. He is suitably impressed. He is now taking me in for a medical consultation. I'm sure he'll understand the needs of alternative homeonaturopsychopathic medicine, and how it sometimes involves medical cadavers and/or medically-induced cadavers.
I shout for chemical assistance and the first man I see slaps me directly in the face. That much, at least, is comfortably familiar, and helps me get my bearings. I am in a poor excuse for a bar, the floor is cleanly cold instead of comfortably insulated with blood and vomit. How do people LIVE like this?
The man who slapped me is Richard Wyrmguard. Holy shit! One of the Valardin! Now those are people who know how to handle this world, they take no guff from the mercantile cuckolds who tell honest citizens like me to stay out of their elitist stores because they don't want their precious ill-gotten goods touched by a salt-of-the-earth individual such as myself.
Richard gives me a drink and a sniff of something that unfortunately clears my head. I explain to him that I am a man of medicine. I try to make my way back to the Murder of Crows but my legs are evil betrayers. Richard gives me another drink and some soup while I'm on the floor, he knows the trials and travails of dealing with traitorous limbs, he is my sword and shield against the vicissitudes of earthly matters and a lack of proper medication.
There are others in the room but I pay them no mind. This is a meeting of men of science. I explain my theories. He is suitably impressed. He is now taking me in for a medical consultation. I'm sure he'll understand the needs of alternative homeonaturopsychopathic medicine, and how it sometimes involves medical cadavers and/or medically-induced cadavers.
Written By Amari
Jan. 15, 2020, 11:28 a.m.(7/25/1012 AR)
That was not what I expected from a planting at the Lodge. I had my technique from an old treatise I'd found in the Archives that described in great, and exacting detail the proper way to sow beets for a good harvest, and I was doing quite well I thought. Everything was precise in my row, until I noticed Marigold was blithely tramping on everything behind me, and then we were all attacked by shav.
They meant to enslave us, I heard, which seems very bold given how close we were to Arx. Although there were some very commendable attempts at diplomacy, things took a violent turn. I hope everyone recovers from their injuries.
They meant to enslave us, I heard, which seems very bold given how close we were to Arx. Although there were some very commendable attempts at diplomacy, things took a violent turn. I hope everyone recovers from their injuries.
Written By Strozza
Jan. 15, 2020, 10:58 a.m.(7/25/1012 AR)
My kitten walks on velvet feet
And makes no sound at all;
And in the doorway nightly sits
To watch the darkness fall
I think he loves the Lady, Night
And feels akin to her
Whose footsteps are as still as his,
Whose touch as soft as fur
(OOC: poem by Lois Weakley McKay)
And makes no sound at all;
And in the doorway nightly sits
To watch the darkness fall
I think he loves the Lady, Night
And feels akin to her
Whose footsteps are as still as his,
Whose touch as soft as fur
(OOC: poem by Lois Weakley McKay)
Written By Thomas
Jan. 15, 2020, 9:09 a.m.(7/24/1012 AR)
It was my extreme pleasure to return to Brassfall March and oversee the training of new recruits brought into our armies by our Marquessa's compassionate reforms and initiatives; when it is clear that a leader deeply cares for those who fight for her, the passion and zeal they return in her service speaks for itself.
It is also impossible to overstate the importance of the help she was given in the tireless work of Mistress Kamaria, who made sure the word of what we promised to those who fight for us spread across the Compact, and also the help of Master Mortimer, who burned many a candle at both ends to ensure the chaos of vows, supplies and logistics all came together as if we were all of one mind.
I am so proud to work beside and serve such powerful souls.
Light, Knowledge, Victory.
It is also impossible to overstate the importance of the help she was given in the tireless work of Mistress Kamaria, who made sure the word of what we promised to those who fight for us spread across the Compact, and also the help of Master Mortimer, who burned many a candle at both ends to ensure the chaos of vows, supplies and logistics all came together as if we were all of one mind.
I am so proud to work beside and serve such powerful souls.
Light, Knowledge, Victory.
Written By Delilah
Jan. 15, 2020, 8:53 a.m.(7/24/1012 AR)
The mind, and our thoughts, determine our journey. What you think, you shall become.
Written By Petal
Jan. 15, 2020, 2:15 a.m.(7/24/1012 AR)
Cillian and myself have just had a daughter
Cala Lily Weatherwood.
She is named Cala Lily for my past patron the Archduchess Eleyna and also for the many lilies growing at the lodge. We are thankful to Marquis Reigna who helped to care for me during the pregnancy and who was my doctor during the birth. We are doing well - Cala Lily, Cillian and myself.
Petal
Cala Lily Weatherwood.
She is named Cala Lily for my past patron the Archduchess Eleyna and also for the many lilies growing at the lodge. We are thankful to Marquis Reigna who helped to care for me during the pregnancy and who was my doctor during the birth. We are doing well - Cala Lily, Cillian and myself.
Petal
Written By Appolonia
Jan. 15, 2020, 1:51 a.m.(7/24/1012 AR)
An ATTEMPTED murder?
Truly?
Genuinely?
Does the queen grant favours for ATTEMPTED jousting?
I am aghast. I walked all the way over here, I am so aghast.
Truly?
Genuinely?
Does the queen grant favours for ATTEMPTED jousting?
I am aghast. I walked all the way over here, I am so aghast.
Written By Katryn
Jan. 15, 2020, 1:37 a.m.(7/24/1012 AR)
Relationship Note on Drake
Lord Richard's brother. Every bit the man of his brother, yet trimmer.
If I had thought the Lord Wyrmguard likely to heed it, perhaps he would know and hear that he needs not seek decorations very far.
I wonder how he became as tanned as Richard? Does he also engage in... landscaping?
If I had thought the Lord Wyrmguard likely to heed it, perhaps he would know and hear that he needs not seek decorations very far.
I wonder how he became as tanned as Richard? Does he also engage in... landscaping?
Written By Katryn
Jan. 15, 2020, 1:32 a.m.(7/24/1012 AR)
Scotch! How could I never have learned of this Oathland viper?
I am bitten, but like any poison, I will overcome this venom that burns with diligence! And vigilance! Lashed to the rocks of my own head, I shall overcome! Weathering this storm in amber, like a rain of fire along my throat, hazy ashes of heat that pop and fizz just between my eyes.
I must remember the teachings of Lord Richard. To balance my humors - water! Water shall be my sword.
I am bitten, but like any poison, I will overcome this venom that burns with diligence! And vigilance! Lashed to the rocks of my own head, I shall overcome! Weathering this storm in amber, like a rain of fire along my throat, hazy ashes of heat that pop and fizz just between my eyes.
I must remember the teachings of Lord Richard. To balance my humors - water! Water shall be my sword.
Written By Katryn
Jan. 15, 2020, 1:25 a.m.(7/24/1012 AR)
Relationship Note on Gabriella
Her eyes like sapphires, shining azul
To capture light, and time
Warp the stone and wood about us
Shipwrecked upon her attention
To capture light, and time
Warp the stone and wood about us
Shipwrecked upon her attention
Written By Rowenova
Jan. 15, 2020, 1:06 a.m.(7/24/1012 AR)
Come on down to the Golden Hart and get your Punch in the Face (formerly known as White Summer Punch). Just ask 'tender Maggus, today, for your very own!
Written By Apollo
Jan. 14, 2020, 9:16 p.m.(7/23/1012 AR)
For those who've asked, yes, I'm disappointed in Praetor Marcus Sulla's proclamation. I'm proud of the innovation Oakhide represents. If the Praetor would like to give a presentation on Cardian innovation, I'd happily attend, even if short.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.