Leather-wrapped journal on a writing desk, within a workshop

Diaries, logs, and personal notes.
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Nicasio
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Leather-wrapped journal on a writing desk, within a workshop

Post by Nicasio » 02/11/17

The handwriting within this brand new journal is horrid, barely legible and calling it chicken scratch would be complimentary. Still, the writer seems to have attempted to at least keep the words in near-perfect lines. The journal's leather cover is free of scuffs, the pages crisp, and the cover beautifully etched with a stylized rising sun.

Fair reader,

I've never attempted to keep a diary before, and truthfully had little interest in such previously. It certainly is not because I've ever shied away from recording important things - the gods know my entire livelihood has ever been dependent on keeping timely and accurate correspondence - but perhaps because I simply never thought my life was particularly worthy of saving for posterity.

Yet, this morning, as I made my way through the Harbor district to meet with yet another potential shipper, I strolled past the usual motley sidewalk merchants hawking their oft-dubious wares. A young halfling with a carrot-red mop atop his head, who I had not seen before, sat cross-legged on the cobblestone surrounded by a miniature army of hand-tooled leather books. Even with my initial quick glance, I could tell that the designs crafted by this particular artisan were exquisite, and in him I could see a kindred soul of a craftsman. He let me off far too cheaply, I think, for this journal as it's a fine piece. I think I shall keep it atop my writing desk a while.

Now to fill it. We'll start with Today, as it seems the practical thing to do.

As said, I was meeting with a promising shipper to try to find another reliable transport line to Faydwer to replace the contract I had lost... during the unpleasantness last year. Though the man I met seemed knowledgeable enough and I negotiated his rates down to a deal I could profit with, his actual ship was a mess. I requested to board to have a quick lookaround - standard practice considering I'd be entrusting my cargo to its care - only to find crates and barrels stacked overly high, haphazardly, with some even stacked directly along the head rails. No, no, that could not do for my business. I work far too hard to take a loss by either having my crates fall overboard or spill out onto the deck, or worse yet, lost in its entirety when the ship capsizes from the uneven weight. My search continues.

In happier news, it is time for the celebration of Love again. Though sadly I've seen no advertisements in town for any sweetheart balls this year and thus am left to my devices to sort out an appropriately romantic evening for my beautiful lady, I am quite happy to be home and free for this holiday. It is a far cry from the one last, when things were... well, let's not dwell on dark things just now. I should make arrangements and also find an Erollisi Day card at the market square, if there are any decent ones left to be sold at this late hour. I'm not sure that she enjoys my poetry so much, but I think she tires of flowers and chocolates too. What else do women desire? I've no clue.

I wish I could just ask her to tell me what she wants, but I am fairly confident she'd tell me that it would be unromantic if it's not a surprise. Maybe I'll just ask the next young woman I see at the market for insight. That seems like a good idea. What could go wrong?

I hear a knock at my door now, and it looks to be time for my first interview for a new shop assistant. I should close here.

Yours truly,
I remain,

Nic


Author's note: This is copied from the actual in-game book on the character's writing desk, within his home in East Irontoes, NQ, first room on the right. I am seldom on EQ2 these days, which I'd like to remedy as I dislike hanging storylines, and writing gives me motivation I suppose. Thanks for reading.
Last edited by Nicasio on 02/15/17, edited 1 time in total.

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Nicasio
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Re: Leather-wrapped journal on a writing desk, within a work

Post by Nicasio » 02/14/17

These pages look to be smudged by something tacky, causing them to stick together lightly. The same awful handwriting is scrawled across the otherwise neat pages, but the script is written less carefully than the last entry.

Fair reader,

I've no luck with hiring help for the shop and it seems I may be working singlehandedly still longer. The man I "interviewed" the day last was not suitable. On appearance, he was ideal - towering, brawny, and youthful enough to carry stacks of crates back and forth all day long without breaking sweat - but as the Barbarian crossed the threshold of my property a chokingly thick cloud of ale odour wafted in with him. That alone was enough for me to cut the meeting short, but he then inquired about any females employed and how they looked.

Now I've hired a womanizer before (to my detriment, as that turned out) but I cannot have that kind of thing going on in my shop, so I kindly told him I would consider his credentials and contact him. Being a not-brawny man myself, I'm glad he was satisfied with that and left peacefully. Hopefully he forgets the whole thing in his next, presumably soon, binge.

On to happier news, I've just finished up my gift for Erollisi Day. I got the idea from a pleasant lady in the market square, as I had planned to do last time. She was a well-dressed Koada'Dal, with a milky complexion and golden ringlets draped down her back; she could have her pick of Erollisi dates truly, though I suppose I've never seen one of her kind who was unattractive so perhaps I'm a poor judge of such things.

I simply walked up to her, apologized for intruding on her time and asked her plainly. What would be the best Erollisi Day gift for a man to give a woman he was keen on, to make her feel she was special? She seemed flattered that I would ask her opinion and suggested that a handmade gift would probably be the best idea. As I was about to thank her and leave, the Elf woman quickly extended an invitation to her home for drinks - which of course I declined on account of the time, but it was awfully kind of her all the same.

I came straight home, wandered my workshop collecting bits and scraps, and set to work creating a handmade Erollisi card for my beautiful lady. I'll admit that I am hardly an artist nor am I particularly creative, and I could never hold a candle (see the pun?) to my sweetheart's exceptional talent, but I did try my best to pour (haha!) my heart into it. She is special to me, and I hope she realizes it with my gift.

It's set down on my desk now to dry, and wait for the right time to be gifted.

It grows dark and I need to clean myself up yet, so here I close.

Yours truly,
I remain,

Nic
Last edited by Nicasio on 04/12/18, edited 1 time in total.

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Re: Leather-wrapped journal on a writing desk, within a work

Post by Nicasio » 02/23/17

The writing here has returned to a carefully lined state, though the letters are just as poorly scrawled as before. If the content were less cohesive, one might mistake the writing for that inside a child's study chapbook. There seems to be several large black ink blots where the quill tip must have sat for a few moments in pause, though.

Fair reader,

It seems that I have one employee again, and thus can now share the workload to turn some focus on rebuilding contracts again. I am ambivalent about this arrangement though, and in fact have a sense of dread about the situation, as I suppose.... no, I know... that this will not go well.

The Barbarian returned the next day after I met with him. Again, smelling of cheap booze and other unmentionable things. He staggered inside as soon as I opened my workshop door, though I waved him out and told him, "No thank you, good day!" repeatedly. Unfortunately for me, that beast weighs at least double what my body could possibly be estimated at, and despite living lushly none of it seems to be corpulence but solid brawn.

I... simply had to mitigate damage. To myself mainly, but also to my belongings.

Then he plainly stated he was there for his shift, and strode to the storeroom without awaiting any reply from me. He is back there now, moving crates onto carts with an inspiring - but no less physically intimidating - efficacy that I have never beheld before. I can only hope that the orders are being loaded correctly, else he might yet destroy me without having laid one beefy fingertip on me.

I loathe the discussion I will no doubt have about his presumed pay. Gods help me.

Now that Erollisi Day has come and gone, I can happily report that my dear lady seemed to like her gift, and took it home with her where I'm sure it will be given a place of honour. And in turn - she is wonderful, how did I get so lucky? - she gifted me with a painting of the two of us done by her own hand. I've hung it on my wall to look at when I need inspiration...

here the writing breaks and a few ink dots are visible

... like now, apparently. Is he... do I hear catcalling on my loading dock?

series of larger ink blots

now scrawled very unevenly, obviously in a hurry

Also, she brought over a bottle of Halasian wine, which we've yet to crack open yet. Perhaps the next free evening we get together. I should make a point of picking up a pair of crystal goblets at the market for occasions like this.

I need to close here.

Yours truly,
I remain,

Nic
Last edited by Nicasio on 04/12/18, edited 2 times in total.

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Re: Leather-wrapped journal on a writing desk, within a workshop

Post by Nicasio » 04/10/18

The terrible handwriting has reappeared in the journal, in a new colour of ink.

Fair reader,

I have done precisely the thing I knew I would do: namely, neglect my well-made halfling-crafted leather journal. Though I attend to my accounting logbooks with de rigueur, I suppose the details of my rather common life are not particularly inspirational to anyone. Not even myself.

I won’t now detail all the uninteresting minutiae since last year. Suffice it to say that my business has stabilized in the interim and I run again with a full staff (some more trouble than they are worth, alas) and a bustling workshop. I have regained many of my old contracts and a few new ones, thanks to my time working for the Court of the Coin during my exile.

An ink mark scratches the page, dragging across the parchment and to the margin, where is written the following:

‘Exile’ is such an inconceivable word, for one as admittedly bourgeois as I. And yet it was what it was. Thank the gods that’s all over with.

The writing resumes.

But let me now turn away from the dour and on to much happier and exciting things!

This could very well be one of my last entries before I am officially done with my wild bachelor ways. That’s right, soon gone are the days of throwing my socks in a pile under the bed, eating only Voleen’s bakery takeaway, wearing the same tunic twice in a row and using air mist perfumery instead of cleaning.

I am to be married to my lovely Kit. Me. Nic Archemorus. I will become a Mister to a wife.

I had been wanting this for some time in truth, but always had there been obstacles. Either she was not ready, or her family was coping with untold tragedy, or I was simply too enmeshed with my own plight to consider such a thing. But she proposed to me in my workshop living area one recent night and without spending a moment in consideration, I accepted.

If this all is not proof of Erollisi’s desire for me to live my faith, I don’t know what else could be. It was through her discipleship that I met my beloved bride and it is to be through her will that I am bound to my love at last.

The only wish I have now is the ability to make Kitowyn a happy wife and to give her the life she desires. And also, that all my daughters look exactly like their beautiful mother.


Yours truly,
I remain,

Nic


Author's note: The actual in-game books have now been moved to the character's new residence at Hua Mein Retreat, Qeynos and his old Irontoes workshop location is being rennovated. I remain extremely casual with EQ2, but I always did like following up on old stories. Thanks for reading.

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Re: Leather-wrapped journal on a writing desk, within a workshop

Post by Nicasio » 04/23/18

The next entry is neatly lined and the normally illegible scrawl appears to have been painstakingly written this time, making it somewhat easier to read for most eyes free of impaired sight.

Fair reader,

With great excitement and much pleasure I am happy to record that I now number among the ranks of men who had always been a bit of a distant mystery to me: a Married Man.

As all our preparations were technically complete, my dear bride gathered what remained of her family and their household supporters, and when I arrived at the chapel in my newly tailored suit with freshly clipped hair, my lady was already there before the shrine to the Huntress, dressed in a flattering gown of the softest red, an absolute vision of Love and even - dare I say it? yes, I think so - desire.

A note appears in the margin.

I will never know what I’ve done in any previous lives to gain the type of mortal reward I have now in my stunning bride. Gods help me to never squander such a gift.

A half-invisible scribble sits next to that, as if the author found himself running out of ink. The rest of the page continues.

We exchanged our vows after being handfasted by her cousin, who held authority on behalf of the Temple to authorize such unions. Then joyfully yet teary-eyed we embraced, sealing the ceremony. We accepted well-wishes and congratulations, signed the necessary documents needed, and retired to her flat together as man and wife.

I’ve not recorded this before, so here it is now: my lady and I agreed to change both our surnames after the wedding, for a variety of reasons which I’ll not burden the pages of this fine journal with. And so my own name and that of my business will change in short order, pending the receipt of my official identity documents which I signed at our wedding.

I am currently in the process of closing a deal to purchase our new family house, located in a peaceful outlying village, that my Mrs took an instant liking to. I do admit that I too liked the look of the place and the seller was reasonably open to negotiations.

A series of small dots break the page, as if the author became lost in daydreams while still holding a quill.

I don’t believe my life has been any more perfect than it is today.

May it always be so.


Yours truly,
I remain,

Nic

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