Written By Elisha
Aug. 7, 2019, 6:21 p.m.(8/10/1011 AR)
And how is faith made?
I did not make the faith;
I discovered it in its churning offices,
in the troughs and crests of waves.
I found it armed, bristling,
in the wind-whipped formation of an armada,
sailing across an ocean of chains
toward shores dyed Pyrian orange.
Everything is white and deep, Mistress,
seething and forever with moonlight, with
ovaries, with dead ships jeweled in barnacles,
and my body is pulsing, in the Dream, for you.
You measured me between the rocks of the astonished earth
and said, "I did not make you either, my child, my slave, my faithless one,
for even the abyss is contained within the filtered, lapping, gray-green death
of a mollusk cracked by the teeth of the seabed,
in the darkness beneath the fleet that sails toward shores dyed Pyrian orange."
* * *
(Scrawled words: Sometimes I don't believe in gods and sometimes I believe they are everywhere. Sparte is Skald, blessed with forgetting, Tescelina contains gods like panes in a stained-glass window contain a larger image. My mirror-hunted brother Azhan is divine, my cloudtouched prince Ras. Lagoma kneels before Juniper, begging for instruction, and a statue carved into a desert mountaintop whispers urgent truths to Rinel that nobody else will believe. The goddess who flickers like candlelight vanishes into the creases of Monique's second favorite handbag and the one sleeping inside Faye will rouse with a crack of thunder. This is for the gods who speak with me in the alley and the shrine, who ask to remain nameless, who are wise enough to wish they were human.)
I did not make the faith;
I discovered it in its churning offices,
in the troughs and crests of waves.
I found it armed, bristling,
in the wind-whipped formation of an armada,
sailing across an ocean of chains
toward shores dyed Pyrian orange.
Everything is white and deep, Mistress,
seething and forever with moonlight, with
ovaries, with dead ships jeweled in barnacles,
and my body is pulsing, in the Dream, for you.
You measured me between the rocks of the astonished earth
and said, "I did not make you either, my child, my slave, my faithless one,
for even the abyss is contained within the filtered, lapping, gray-green death
of a mollusk cracked by the teeth of the seabed,
in the darkness beneath the fleet that sails toward shores dyed Pyrian orange."
* * *
(Scrawled words: Sometimes I don't believe in gods and sometimes I believe they are everywhere. Sparte is Skald, blessed with forgetting, Tescelina contains gods like panes in a stained-glass window contain a larger image. My mirror-hunted brother Azhan is divine, my cloudtouched prince Ras. Lagoma kneels before Juniper, begging for instruction, and a statue carved into a desert mountaintop whispers urgent truths to Rinel that nobody else will believe. The goddess who flickers like candlelight vanishes into the creases of Monique's second favorite handbag and the one sleeping inside Faye will rouse with a crack of thunder. This is for the gods who speak with me in the alley and the shrine, who ask to remain nameless, who are wise enough to wish they were human.)
Written By Archeron
Aug. 7, 2019, 5:33 p.m.(8/10/1011 AR)
Relationship Note on Tyrus
There were fewer children of that war than many, your highness - when Donrai ordered Tyde Hall taken he wished none of my blood left save the one child he took as a ward. Few, noble or commoner, escaped that. The only taking care of children when it came to me and my sister that Donrai would have wished was to end us - I am not sure if we were overlooked or if even Donrai did not dare attack a Grayson duchy to try to finish the deeds.
But you are right, there was much blood. And these things are facts, not things to be emotional over. And most if it simply the way of the Isles. When the banners were raised and war fought, both sides knew it was to an end. Look at Lord Darrow Darkwater's family and their fate. The isles seem to have always believed the kindest way to wage a war is in totality - the least overall suffering is to ensure in future there will be no second war, no third.
I am happy those times are gone, happy to consider House Thrax friends rather than fear their banner appearing at night. Eventually I hope all of the scars of that conflict can be undone, I hope that houses can be restored, lands returned, that we can find all who are lost and need to be found. But I do not know if we can say the children of that war were looked after. I fear my cousin Reveka is testament that many of the children of that war took the one thing that they were given - a lesson.
But you are right, there was much blood. And these things are facts, not things to be emotional over. And most if it simply the way of the Isles. When the banners were raised and war fought, both sides knew it was to an end. Look at Lord Darrow Darkwater's family and their fate. The isles seem to have always believed the kindest way to wage a war is in totality - the least overall suffering is to ensure in future there will be no second war, no third.
I am happy those times are gone, happy to consider House Thrax friends rather than fear their banner appearing at night. Eventually I hope all of the scars of that conflict can be undone, I hope that houses can be restored, lands returned, that we can find all who are lost and need to be found. But I do not know if we can say the children of that war were looked after. I fear my cousin Reveka is testament that many of the children of that war took the one thing that they were given - a lesson.
Written By Preston
Aug. 7, 2019, 4:58 p.m.(8/10/1011 AR)
It is always a noble idea, that death haunts us. That we remember each kill. That it changes us. I am never sure though.
I am not a callous person, nor am I old. Yet in even my few years I have fought wars, I have fought skirmishes, I have gone to places long abandoned and fought raiders, I have fought on the road... In truth? I do not remember all whom I have killed. I do not revel in their deaths either. Many I did not even see to know who they are. Many more are dead because I have ordered attacks.
The important thing I think is to be certain in the justness of your actions, and your choices. I know each action where I was sent out, and where now I send men out, is to serve the Faith and the Gods. I will always ensure that my enemy has had a choice. Never have we attacked innocents. Those fights we have fought, we fight with honour and do not revel in the kill nor in the suffering after. The wounded, the captured, all others, are treated honourably. Do those things, hold true to the Gods? You will find your dreams haunted less. But. I know my life in that sense is easy, I do not serve temporal power. I do not fight for borders or silver or such. I never face many of the cases that fall close to the edge of morality.
I am not a callous person, nor am I old. Yet in even my few years I have fought wars, I have fought skirmishes, I have gone to places long abandoned and fought raiders, I have fought on the road... In truth? I do not remember all whom I have killed. I do not revel in their deaths either. Many I did not even see to know who they are. Many more are dead because I have ordered attacks.
The important thing I think is to be certain in the justness of your actions, and your choices. I know each action where I was sent out, and where now I send men out, is to serve the Faith and the Gods. I will always ensure that my enemy has had a choice. Never have we attacked innocents. Those fights we have fought, we fight with honour and do not revel in the kill nor in the suffering after. The wounded, the captured, all others, are treated honourably. Do those things, hold true to the Gods? You will find your dreams haunted less. But. I know my life in that sense is easy, I do not serve temporal power. I do not fight for borders or silver or such. I never face many of the cases that fall close to the edge of morality.
Written By Thena
Aug. 7, 2019, 3:44 p.m.(8/10/1011 AR)
Relationship Note on Tyrus
Lucky Prince.
Written By Lora
Aug. 7, 2019, 3:44 p.m.(8/10/1011 AR)
Not all entries can be filled with witticisms.
Why? Do we not have the luxury of composing our thoughts on paper? Are we not afforded an opportunity to review them before they are added to the record, preserved for posterity? Should we not all take an extra minute to ensure that every word so captured is worth the ink it costs to add it, one after the next? After all, everything that is here may one day be read by someone. This very entry might be pulled from a book a thousand years from now by some industrious scholar looking to answer some question, who might, from these words, draw some profound edification.
No.
Close your eyes. Think of love, or loss, or life. Think of something that floods your heart with sunlight, or something that shatters you and makes you weep. These are not careful compositions of memory, but rather raw, unfettered fragments of existence that have lodged in the corners of your mind like weeds taking root in fertile ground. They surely are not all fit for white journals, but neither should what makes it here be carefully cleansed from all hint of the emotion behind it.
Someday someone might wonder what duty feels like, or whether it is worth waking up before the sun to taste the dew, or if dreams ever hold power beyond showing us the secret wishes of our hearts. Maybe it is impossible to accurately describe these things, but some have come very close.
Why? Do we not have the luxury of composing our thoughts on paper? Are we not afforded an opportunity to review them before they are added to the record, preserved for posterity? Should we not all take an extra minute to ensure that every word so captured is worth the ink it costs to add it, one after the next? After all, everything that is here may one day be read by someone. This very entry might be pulled from a book a thousand years from now by some industrious scholar looking to answer some question, who might, from these words, draw some profound edification.
No.
Close your eyes. Think of love, or loss, or life. Think of something that floods your heart with sunlight, or something that shatters you and makes you weep. These are not careful compositions of memory, but rather raw, unfettered fragments of existence that have lodged in the corners of your mind like weeds taking root in fertile ground. They surely are not all fit for white journals, but neither should what makes it here be carefully cleansed from all hint of the emotion behind it.
Someday someone might wonder what duty feels like, or whether it is worth waking up before the sun to taste the dew, or if dreams ever hold power beyond showing us the secret wishes of our hearts. Maybe it is impossible to accurately describe these things, but some have come very close.
Written By Peri
Aug. 7, 2019, 12:22 p.m.(8/10/1011 AR)
Relationship Note on Eddard
Soot is house trained. If he shat on your carpet then you've seriously alarmed or offended the him. Perhaps he now holds a grudge. I shall no longer ask you for fashion advice via my Soot. Poor Soot.
Written By Tyrus
Aug. 7, 2019, 9:24 a.m.(8/10/1011 AR)
The debt of death is not solely the purview of warriors, and it is something that we Peers might forget, as we consider our ambitions or the slights faced.
One who commands is equally responsible, indeed, more so. By the nature of command, more may die by their will and order than even the best swordsman might manage. This holds true for title holders, Voices but also to the more mundane commander.
I was one such, during the Tyde Rebellion and afterwards, hunting pirates. I did not wield sword or bow. My weapon was always my ship. My method to order my men to rain down arrows upon our enemies while I would seek to ram their ship to the bottom of the sea. Rarely were survivours fished out. More often after the war, against pirates. Perhaps the odds were greater to find one who did not belong in the wreckage. Or perhaps I felt I had given the sea its fill of corpses already.
I do not see them when I close my eyes. Tyde, RedTyde, the commoners that followed them, they do not haunt my dreams. Nor do the pirates. Duty is duty. There's no glory or horror to find in doing what is demanded by blood and order. The time I spent afterwards ensuring the children of the war were looked after was not to assuage my guilt. It's simply another aspect of command, of a Peer. Our responsibility for death should never overshadow the one we have for life.
I'll have to revisit this entry, later. More rambling than I intended, and I must wonder if anything of worth, any helpful notion or idea, might be found. Still, I won't take this to the black. Not all entries can be filled with witticisms.
One who commands is equally responsible, indeed, more so. By the nature of command, more may die by their will and order than even the best swordsman might manage. This holds true for title holders, Voices but also to the more mundane commander.
I was one such, during the Tyde Rebellion and afterwards, hunting pirates. I did not wield sword or bow. My weapon was always my ship. My method to order my men to rain down arrows upon our enemies while I would seek to ram their ship to the bottom of the sea. Rarely were survivours fished out. More often after the war, against pirates. Perhaps the odds were greater to find one who did not belong in the wreckage. Or perhaps I felt I had given the sea its fill of corpses already.
I do not see them when I close my eyes. Tyde, RedTyde, the commoners that followed them, they do not haunt my dreams. Nor do the pirates. Duty is duty. There's no glory or horror to find in doing what is demanded by blood and order. The time I spent afterwards ensuring the children of the war were looked after was not to assuage my guilt. It's simply another aspect of command, of a Peer. Our responsibility for death should never overshadow the one we have for life.
I'll have to revisit this entry, later. More rambling than I intended, and I must wonder if anything of worth, any helpful notion or idea, might be found. Still, I won't take this to the black. Not all entries can be filled with witticisms.
Written By Willow
Aug. 7, 2019, 3:17 a.m.(8/9/1011 AR)
I am nervous about how the trip to Twilight Dale will end. I am about to depart after writing this. There is word of people going hungry and the fertile valley becoming something of a Wasteland, even the notion there may be a curse of some kind. I just hope there is something to be done to help these people. Nervous butterflies will live in my stomach until contact is made with the locals and more can be confirmed or ruled out.
Written By Raimon
Aug. 7, 2019, 2:34 a.m.(8/9/1011 AR)
My boy lost his lunch on my today. It was not so bad as I was fearing it to be. The smell was less then pleasant, but easily enough cleaned up. It was so hard to be upset with the way he smiled though. Though I find such expressions foreign, I hope to give him plenty reasons to smile.
Written By Saoirse
Aug. 7, 2019, 1:35 a.m.(8/9/1011 AR)
Relationship Note on Martino
Sometimes it is best to let a battle we do not need to win be won by someone else.
Written By Miranda
Aug. 6, 2019, 11:13 p.m.(8/9/1011 AR)
Relationship Note on Nadir
I'm not sure, yet, if it's been cathartic to have finally given some of Faruq's things to his family.
In the meantime, I'm glad for the opportunity to get to know his brother.
In the meantime, I'm glad for the opportunity to get to know his brother.
Written By Cambria
Aug. 6, 2019, 8:55 p.m.(8/9/1011 AR)
The Compact gets the nobility that it can produce, and the nobility will then rule in such a way as to reflect the Compact's nature. The condition of the Compact's populace is reflected in the morality of its elite. At the same time, the nobility is responsible for the people. Its duty is to advance their interests. In this way, the pivot point of a people is its ruling class.
Written By Zacharie
Aug. 6, 2019, 7:30 p.m.(8/8/1011 AR)
I have been neglecting these journals but please do not think I've been neglecting to think, and work, and write. There is so much to study and process, but I must remember to give Vellichor his due.
Written By Selene
Aug. 6, 2019, 6:41 p.m.(8/8/1011 AR)
I may be convinced to wrap myself up in this delicate silk cloak, watch the stars, and roll through the dewy moonlight.
Perhaps.
Perhaps.
Written By Eddard
Aug. 6, 2019, 4:56 p.m.(8/8/1011 AR)
Relationship Note on Peri
I have been scouring the white journals for the best way to remove ferret scat from carpet.
Any suggestions?
Any suggestions?
Written By Delilah
Aug. 6, 2019, 3:57 p.m.(8/8/1011 AR)
How fortuitous, sometimes, to think of someone and then suddenly a message comes directly from their hand. How finer still when that paper opens to a small token of affection, a simple proof of well wishes or a scrap of good news they've undertaken successfully.
Send words of kindness forth on the wind, and reap the gladness and joy for its own sake.
I've found myself combing the market today in search of just the right message, the appropriate token, a hint of something that might spur gladness. A flower, a fruit, a pretty gem (or a very expensive coronet of star iron and dragonweep fit to make a queen sigh). I've found myself labouring over parchment to locate a meaningful swatch of poetry, a worthy pinnacle of knowledge, to set forth.
Gratitude can be expressed, and acted on. It can be a gift enfolded, a thought shrouded, a smile shared.
Send words of kindness forth on the wind, and reap the gladness and joy for its own sake.
I've found myself combing the market today in search of just the right message, the appropriate token, a hint of something that might spur gladness. A flower, a fruit, a pretty gem (or a very expensive coronet of star iron and dragonweep fit to make a queen sigh). I've found myself labouring over parchment to locate a meaningful swatch of poetry, a worthy pinnacle of knowledge, to set forth.
Gratitude can be expressed, and acted on. It can be a gift enfolded, a thought shrouded, a smile shared.
Written By Martino
Aug. 6, 2019, 3:11 p.m.(8/8/1011 AR)
Relationship Note on Saoirse
Surely, even in a milk drinking contest, we would put our best forward and take the prize?
Hypothetically this is. Seriously it would not be milk. Have you ever seen me drink milk?
Not even in coffee
Hypothetically this is. Seriously it would not be milk. Have you ever seen me drink milk?
Not even in coffee
Written By Apollo
Aug. 6, 2019, 2:39 p.m.(8/8/1011 AR)
Relationship Note on Nurie
I think Nurie and I are inclined to view all sorts of things through a lens of station. It's a slippery thing for both of us. Home and family, nobility - and we aren't. But not everything is about station. Someone who's going to strike a lord is as likely to strike a carpenter. A bully will push around merchant and Lady socialite alike. The sharp-tongued will have their way through a ball or the market to their advantage.
There's no subtle dance here at all.
There's no subtle dance here at all.
Written By Thea
Aug. 6, 2019, 8:17 a.m.(8/7/1011 AR)
Relationship Note on Valencia
As long as it isn't Martino representing house Malvici, I think that is a fantastic idea.....
Written By Arcadia
Aug. 6, 2019, 6:13 a.m.(8/7/1011 AR)
I spoke at lengths with someone tonight. Someone I knew, but not well. But she knew me. She saw things about me I didn't realize existed. I want to thank her for finding them. For validating my thoughts and helping shine a light in the dark for me. There are so many questions now. Scary ones. But ones that need answering.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.