Written By Appolonia
Dec. 24, 2019, 6:24 p.m.(6/9/1012 AR)
Things are settling in Arx again, and I feel as though the fog is creeping back round me. The diverting thrill of shopping et al. soon pales, and my thoughts turn back again. I think that I shall never dance again.
But Dio is dear and I may take him up on his plan. It was good too to meet Lady Thea, and to see her steel.
But Dio is dear and I may take him up on his plan. It was good too to meet Lady Thea, and to see her steel.
Written By Teagan
Dec. 24, 2019, 5:54 p.m.(6/9/1012 AR)
It may be time to send my brother off to the woods again.
At least there his lack of etiquette and manners is not just acceptable but welcome.
At least there his lack of etiquette and manners is not just acceptable but welcome.
Written By Dianna
Dec. 24, 2019, 4:53 p.m.(6/9/1012 AR)
“Whoever undertakes to set himself up as a judge of Truth and Knowledge is shipwrecked by the laughter of the gods."
Written By Sydney
Dec. 24, 2019, 4:31 p.m.(6/8/1012 AR)
There are few who seem to grasp the beauty that come come from a good fight - and no, dear knights, I do not speak of a spar in armor gleaming, nor of cleaving your enemies in twain, wading through their lives like a ruinous disaster wrought of steel.
I'm not eloquent in my own person. I understand that. I eschew pleasantries too often, drink too often, and care little for the pursuit of politics, and I'll accept your apology for assuming that means I'm incapable of stringing together a sentence that isn't full of swearing, savage lovemaking, or all things bawdy.
Even I find myself perusing the stacks. Even I look through old volumes, hoping to find answers. I seldom do, but when I do ? They strike such a chord in me. Here was an author who knew the joy of a fight. Who knew what beauty could be found testing your will against another with nothing to protect you save a few scraps for decency.
A second hand account from the fictional tale 'Lady Floribund, Paragon of Pugilism: Chapter 1 - Sylph of the Mist' struck a chord with me. It puts voice to what I've only ever felt. To those who think me self-indulgent for it, I agree, but care little. I would look back on this passage time and time again, and hope it brings pause to those who would scoff and declare the art I put my hands to a savagery.
---------------
Her opponent's knuckles bruise
her cheek and chin
and a red-welling crescent splits
across one sweat-darkened brow
and weeps blood into her eye
and makes her half-blind and
half-masked
behind the damage she allows.
She tucks her chin
and listens for
the sound of coppers
jingling in a purse
and stays on her feet.
---------------
May my fists be so blessed as to continue to rain down like falling water, and my path remain clear.
Up for a brawl?
I'm not eloquent in my own person. I understand that. I eschew pleasantries too often, drink too often, and care little for the pursuit of politics, and I'll accept your apology for assuming that means I'm incapable of stringing together a sentence that isn't full of swearing, savage lovemaking, or all things bawdy.
Even I find myself perusing the stacks. Even I look through old volumes, hoping to find answers. I seldom do, but when I do ? They strike such a chord in me. Here was an author who knew the joy of a fight. Who knew what beauty could be found testing your will against another with nothing to protect you save a few scraps for decency.
A second hand account from the fictional tale 'Lady Floribund, Paragon of Pugilism: Chapter 1 - Sylph of the Mist' struck a chord with me. It puts voice to what I've only ever felt. To those who think me self-indulgent for it, I agree, but care little. I would look back on this passage time and time again, and hope it brings pause to those who would scoff and declare the art I put my hands to a savagery.
---------------
Her opponent's knuckles bruise
her cheek and chin
and a red-welling crescent splits
across one sweat-darkened brow
and weeps blood into her eye
and makes her half-blind and
half-masked
behind the damage she allows.
She tucks her chin
and listens for
the sound of coppers
jingling in a purse
and stays on her feet.
---------------
May my fists be so blessed as to continue to rain down like falling water, and my path remain clear.
Up for a brawl?
Written By Amund
Dec. 24, 2019, 2:15 p.m.(6/8/1012 AR)
Relationship Note on Gaston
I did say at the onset that fire was going to solve that particular predicament, but you weren't quite conscious to hear it.
It's okay, though.
It's okay, though.
Written By Miranda
Dec. 24, 2019, 1:59 p.m.(6/8/1012 AR)
Relationship Note on Hamish
I found myself in the Shrine of Lagoma the other day.
I go there sometimes to think, to take in the beauty.
Sometimes, when I visit the shrines, I'm fortunate to have a Faithful arrive and talk with me.
Blessed Sina was there, but it was Archlector Hamish that gave me something to truly think about.
Some time ago, I was having a crisis... of faith, of faith in myself, whatever. I was lost. I was terrified. I was afraid.
You may think I am repeating myself, but being terrified and afraid can be different things. They are for me. The Fear is the worst.
I had gone to the Shrine of Gloria in despair, desperate to find some sort of help to manage what I was going through.
I had always believed She had sent my friend, Lord Kincade, to my side to help me. But, the Archlector asked me to consider that maybe Lagoma had brought him, changed his regular schedule to go to a place he would not normally go.
Something new to think about.
I go there sometimes to think, to take in the beauty.
Sometimes, when I visit the shrines, I'm fortunate to have a Faithful arrive and talk with me.
Blessed Sina was there, but it was Archlector Hamish that gave me something to truly think about.
Some time ago, I was having a crisis... of faith, of faith in myself, whatever. I was lost. I was terrified. I was afraid.
You may think I am repeating myself, but being terrified and afraid can be different things. They are for me. The Fear is the worst.
I had gone to the Shrine of Gloria in despair, desperate to find some sort of help to manage what I was going through.
I had always believed She had sent my friend, Lord Kincade, to my side to help me. But, the Archlector asked me to consider that maybe Lagoma had brought him, changed his regular schedule to go to a place he would not normally go.
Something new to think about.
Written By Cyril
Dec. 24, 2019, 1:46 p.m.(6/8/1012 AR)
You run into so much weird stuff the farther in the stacks you go. Now to find the Thinnest Point in Arx.
Written By Jules
Dec. 24, 2019, 11:09 a.m.(6/8/1012 AR)
The delightful thing about being vague in your journals is that if you read your own journals later without looking at who wrote it it makes you wonder who or what they are talking about. Later when you realize it is your own it lets you wonder, "I wonder who or what I was writing about." So delightfully funny.
Written By Gaston
Dec. 24, 2019, 3:12 a.m.(6/7/1012 AR)
Relationship Note on Preston
Ah, but of course. I simply forgot to elucidate.
You see, in every turn of the Wheel a soul confronts its own "demon tree."
For some, these are the basest vices -- Dust, the abuse of haze or liquor, the gambling away of every last platinum duke. For these poor wretches, the "sacrifice of their blood" to the "tree" is obvious; as the tree's roots wrap tighter and tighter, squeezing every last drop of willpower from them, the damage to their metaphorical forearm is garish and visible for all to see.
For others, the "demon tree" is much more insidious -- the lure of poisonous ambition. What might lead one to forsake family and friends in their lust for ambition, tromping ruthlessly on the upturned faces of any who help them in their ascent from humble beginnings to the peaks of what power they thought possible and beyond. The gutted forearm in this case is so subtle that the victim might not see it at all until they are bled dry.
Tragedies, both.
And then, last but not least, there are those for whom the "demon tree" is literally a Gods-damned demon tree that possessed them and made them bleed for it and we burned the horrid little shit to ashes.
Praise be to Skald.
Praise be to Lagoma.
You see, in every turn of the Wheel a soul confronts its own "demon tree."
For some, these are the basest vices -- Dust, the abuse of haze or liquor, the gambling away of every last platinum duke. For these poor wretches, the "sacrifice of their blood" to the "tree" is obvious; as the tree's roots wrap tighter and tighter, squeezing every last drop of willpower from them, the damage to their metaphorical forearm is garish and visible for all to see.
For others, the "demon tree" is much more insidious -- the lure of poisonous ambition. What might lead one to forsake family and friends in their lust for ambition, tromping ruthlessly on the upturned faces of any who help them in their ascent from humble beginnings to the peaks of what power they thought possible and beyond. The gutted forearm in this case is so subtle that the victim might not see it at all until they are bled dry.
Tragedies, both.
And then, last but not least, there are those for whom the "demon tree" is literally a Gods-damned demon tree that possessed them and made them bleed for it and we burned the horrid little shit to ashes.
Praise be to Skald.
Praise be to Lagoma.
Written By Dio
Dec. 24, 2019, 12:38 a.m.(6/7/1012 AR)
I returned to the Palazzo after a glorious night of hard drinking and gambling with Anne at the Empyrean. After bedding my marquessa, I was catching my breath, running my fingers through her dark hair, when she repeated a rumor that I'd heard from Sir Merek on the Isle al'Aswaq.
Marquessa Imogene had been furious about one slave trader in particular, a man named Karim. He was on her account a truly low cur who existed only to squeeze silver out of those he could clap in chains. I saw his body after the uprising when I removed the luxurious rings from his fingers, for which he no longer had any need. He had a glass of wine in his hand, and look of horror on his face, as if he died in great fear and agony.
The story Merek had suggested much earlier, and which Imogene that night purred into my ear in her melting Oathlands accent, was that Lady Thea Malvici had personally seen the slave trader Karim to the Abyss. Passing amid the crowds, the Lady of Southport, skilled in medicine, and thus knowing the best substances to protect the body or destroy it, slipped poison into this man's glass as he gloated over the fortune he'd been making in human flesh. She watched him choke and die. Afterward, she fought alongside the freed folk in the uprising, and employed her medical skill to protect the lives of me and my crew.
Of course only the gods know what really happened to Karim the slaver. He probably died out of shock that those he had only accounted in terms of silver coins were now fighting to their last breathe to claim their freedom. Then again, Lady Thea is a Lycene woman from the House of War. I would doubt the rumor more if every time it was mentioned in her hearing, a slight smile did not rise to her lips.
Marquessa Imogene had been furious about one slave trader in particular, a man named Karim. He was on her account a truly low cur who existed only to squeeze silver out of those he could clap in chains. I saw his body after the uprising when I removed the luxurious rings from his fingers, for which he no longer had any need. He had a glass of wine in his hand, and look of horror on his face, as if he died in great fear and agony.
The story Merek had suggested much earlier, and which Imogene that night purred into my ear in her melting Oathlands accent, was that Lady Thea Malvici had personally seen the slave trader Karim to the Abyss. Passing amid the crowds, the Lady of Southport, skilled in medicine, and thus knowing the best substances to protect the body or destroy it, slipped poison into this man's glass as he gloated over the fortune he'd been making in human flesh. She watched him choke and die. Afterward, she fought alongside the freed folk in the uprising, and employed her medical skill to protect the lives of me and my crew.
Of course only the gods know what really happened to Karim the slaver. He probably died out of shock that those he had only accounted in terms of silver coins were now fighting to their last breathe to claim their freedom. Then again, Lady Thea is a Lycene woman from the House of War. I would doubt the rumor more if every time it was mentioned in her hearing, a slight smile did not rise to her lips.
Written By Preston
Dec. 23, 2019, 7:20 p.m.(6/7/1012 AR)
Relationship Note on Gaston
I am sure Lady Teagan was just worried others would not understand what a clear metaphor this 'evil tree' is meant to be for some, I'm sure, very pious and well considered point - rather than a literal accounting of some event.
Written By Sabella
Dec. 23, 2019, 7:17 p.m.(6/7/1012 AR)
After making a few inquiries, I am happy to announce that A Taste of Arx will become an annual event! So, start making plans now everyone! What best represents your House?
Written By Jules
Dec. 23, 2019, 1:33 p.m.(6/6/1012 AR)
I just recently heard about the slaves that were freed. It's good to know that people are out there trying to do good. I hope that they're able to manage all of the difficulties that come along with it.
Written By Thomas
Dec. 23, 2019, 2:09 a.m.(6/5/1012 AR)
How often in the course of your entire lifetime will you have an experience that so thoroughly changes your perspective of the world that from that point onwards you must always think of everything in terms of "before" and "after?"
Once? Maybe twice, if you are very extraordinarily lucky?
To be gifted such is beyond priceless.
How I can ever repay it, I do not know.
Once? Maybe twice, if you are very extraordinarily lucky?
To be gifted such is beyond priceless.
How I can ever repay it, I do not know.
Written By Arcadia
Dec. 23, 2019, 2:05 a.m.(6/5/1012 AR)
Should I find one more book on statecraft or the joys of sitting still hidden under my pillows, my husband may find a strategically placed dog house on his side of the bed.
Why does healing broken bones take so long?
Why does healing broken bones take so long?
Written By Richard
Dec. 23, 2019, 1:47 a.m.(6/5/1012 AR)
Relationship Note on Bianca
A hand to steady me and keep me from my darker thoughts.
Written By Richard
Dec. 23, 2019, 1:35 a.m.(6/5/1012 AR)
In my attempts to reconnect with life, I have taken charge of a young sleuth hound, two years of age, having overheard a groundskeeper lament that he no longer had the energy to keep up with her.
Given the laconic nature of the creature, I am concerned about our man, but I digress.
Her name is Louiselle, she seems to prefer chicken over beef, and has a habit of lying over my feet as I sit that I confess is somehow heartening. She has taken the transfer of ownership well.
I only hope she does not linger near my operating table for scraps.
Given the laconic nature of the creature, I am concerned about our man, but I digress.
Her name is Louiselle, she seems to prefer chicken over beef, and has a habit of lying over my feet as I sit that I confess is somehow heartening. She has taken the transfer of ownership well.
I only hope she does not linger near my operating table for scraps.
Written By Verity
Dec. 22, 2019, 10:58 p.m.(6/5/1012 AR)
Work in the city is so different from work in the country. I feel as if I'm being pulled in a million directions at once. Sure, there's plenty to do in the country, but it's never so much that you have a poor idea of what order in which to approach your tasks.
Arx, though! Endless possibilities. I do appreciate being given leeway in carrying out my duties, but it opens up such vast room for second guessing.
If this is the consequence of being regularly confronted with the world's complexities, I'll survive. Better than too dull, anyway.
Arx, though! Endless possibilities. I do appreciate being given leeway in carrying out my duties, but it opens up such vast room for second guessing.
If this is the consequence of being regularly confronted with the world's complexities, I'll survive. Better than too dull, anyway.
Written By Rysen
Dec. 22, 2019, 10:29 p.m.(6/5/1012 AR)
Relationship Note on Rukhnis
In an attempt at wit, I made a joke in extremely poor taste about a medallion I'd won in a contest at an event put on to benefit people in the Lowers, believing the medallion was made by our Minister of Medicine, Rukhnis al-Katibi. Rukhnis and I arrived in Arx around the same time, and I am not ashamed to say that, after many long adventures and experiences together, she is one of my closest and most trusted friends. She saved my life many times with her skill in medicine, and my soul many times with her wisdom.
One manifestation of her wisdom is her ability to temper my pride, and prevent me from causing harm where she knows I meant none. She wrote to me recently, and the letter is worth reproducing here in full:
Lord Rysen,
I wish you to write a letter of apology to Miss Zettie Bissel, Crooked Tree Court, the green door on the north corner. She is a young woman of fourteen years whom I treated shortly after I began working at the Commons Clinic. Two of the fingers on her right hand were crushed in an accident with a wagon gate and had to be removed. Her heart was nearly broken by this because it was her life's dream to become a jewelcrafter one day. However, I assured her that I had seen others with injuries as serious as her own who had nevertheless learned to be so clever with their remaining fingers that their dexterity yet surpassed those whose hands were intact. When I wanted simple medallions for the wellness festival I commissioned her to create them, telling her they would be won and worn by noble lords and ladies and others among the great people of Arx. I doubt that she reads the Whites herself, but if word ever reaches her ears of what you wrote about your own prize, she will be devastated. I hope you will tell her that you did not mean it, and you only wrote as you did because you wished to play a joke on me instead.
Peace and honour,
Rukhnis
I truly meant no disrespect to the fine work of Miss Zettie Bissel of Crooked Tree Court. The craftsmanship on the medallion was superb, and I was, in fact, making a poor attempt at humor. I have already written to Miss Zettie personally, and in recompense, I am happy to sponsor her apprenticeship to a leading jeweler of the Crafter's Guild, where I am most confident she'll excel. I will be wearing my second place medallion with pride everywhere I go for two weeks, and spending some time in the Shrine of the Thirteenth to reflect on my actions and seek greater wisdom for the future.
One manifestation of her wisdom is her ability to temper my pride, and prevent me from causing harm where she knows I meant none. She wrote to me recently, and the letter is worth reproducing here in full:
Lord Rysen,
I wish you to write a letter of apology to Miss Zettie Bissel, Crooked Tree Court, the green door on the north corner. She is a young woman of fourteen years whom I treated shortly after I began working at the Commons Clinic. Two of the fingers on her right hand were crushed in an accident with a wagon gate and had to be removed. Her heart was nearly broken by this because it was her life's dream to become a jewelcrafter one day. However, I assured her that I had seen others with injuries as serious as her own who had nevertheless learned to be so clever with their remaining fingers that their dexterity yet surpassed those whose hands were intact. When I wanted simple medallions for the wellness festival I commissioned her to create them, telling her they would be won and worn by noble lords and ladies and others among the great people of Arx. I doubt that she reads the Whites herself, but if word ever reaches her ears of what you wrote about your own prize, she will be devastated. I hope you will tell her that you did not mean it, and you only wrote as you did because you wished to play a joke on me instead.
Peace and honour,
Rukhnis
I truly meant no disrespect to the fine work of Miss Zettie Bissel of Crooked Tree Court. The craftsmanship on the medallion was superb, and I was, in fact, making a poor attempt at humor. I have already written to Miss Zettie personally, and in recompense, I am happy to sponsor her apprenticeship to a leading jeweler of the Crafter's Guild, where I am most confident she'll excel. I will be wearing my second place medallion with pride everywhere I go for two weeks, and spending some time in the Shrine of the Thirteenth to reflect on my actions and seek greater wisdom for the future.
Written By Jaenelle
Dec. 22, 2019, 10:24 p.m.(6/5/1012 AR)
Recently I requested penpals to break up my day between meetings and appointments. I was not disappointed. The people of this city never cease to amaze me.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.