Avant

As it turns out there are many journals kept right here on this very site. In the Town Square you will see many posts with the Journal tag. There is even a directory of those journals and you can also collect and peruse them by clicking on the Journal Tag itself. If you are of a mind to do some recreational coding there is a popular wiki with character profiles and images and such, some of them are quite involved and most are persistent works in progress. If you still prefer to keep your own pages then any site with which you feel comfortable will do and you can just link to it in your signature to give other people a chance to find and enjoy what you have written.

[on fine paper with copper leaf trim, crumpled, in a corner by the striking dummies, Falcon’s Nest, Coerthas] With honor and greetings from the Dowager Regent, House Tulurane Dame Naloine Entrusted of Gridania Lady beneath the Boughs It has come to her excellent attention that the scion of house Tulurane has taken up dancing. With her voice: “Doth they throw money at thou as well? Return anon, ungracious child.” With honor and regards from the Dowager Regent, House Tulurane Dame Naloine Entrusted of Gridania Lady beneath the Boughs

[Written on a bill of lading at Moraby Drydocks, Lower La Noscea] Puzzle In Gridania I am laying by the lake. Not my own, but another, stealing a shape from its stubbled shore. The sky breathes hot against countless leaves, a shifting puzzle of living and dying without solution. In the moment it becomes both at once, and then neither, and then a silhouette gate to the lewd and naked noon, It is hard to imagine that I am without, gazing down at the sky inside its puzzle box. Certainly it is a lake on display, and a thief on its shore. All captured in a net of living and dying. Ser Avant du lac le Tulurane, Errant

[Written on the back of a schedule sheet at Black Brush Station, Central Thanalan] Hyur When the Elezen tribes were young on the world, you drifted like blown dandelions. Thoughtless and reckless, useless to the needs of a sleeping land. And then, in an instant, you are choking every copse, carpeting every meadow. The yellow flower of you under every foot. While we are grown to steel, you are steeped in spirits. While we are formed to our holy discipline, you are revelry and war and gnawing on the bones of the world. And now we are friends. Wound round with one belt. Rueful of our indecorous pasts. At every compass point, each other. How clever, the Elementals, to so thoughtfully punish us both. Ser Avant du lac le Tulurane, Errant