The journal was a simple and orderly notebook with a hard blue cover. Upon the first page a few words are written in a sharp and bold manner "IF YOU ARE READING THIS, I WILL RIP YOU LIMB FROM LIMB"
Noticed that the previous two never had a journal, so I thought it would be nice to try and do one. I wonder what would most people write here, writing secrets here seems like taking a risk... Might as well talk about casual things then.
Lately I have been given a weird name, I can not pick my own name can I? How many folk do you know who pick their own name. Because I was given that name I wonder if it is good... Palliuma, I find its shorter version Pally, to be somewhat smooth on the tongue and ear. Should I consider other options before I pick it though? But then again most folk never get options. I wonder if me putting so much value on a name is but a waste of time or not, might as well just test a few others...
I have been given a loom today, it brought back memories... Despicable and disgusting memories. But then again, I need to earn my living in normal ways, I can not go on living the way I am now stably. It was hard to pass the strings, I could not accept having the same job "she" did. To make it easy on myself, I thought of a way to use this to pay off a debt to a weird cursed folk who lived in the same city I do. He better like my masterwork; would make me somewhat mad to hear he did not like it.
Given... Given... Today I have something I, taken. A silver sword, Long malign and ugly. Every inch of my body curses its touch, and my eyes hate to stare at it so I wrapped it up in cloth. It feels wrong to throw it away, but I think it is time I forced myself to rid myself of this item. There is a lake north of the city, might as well put that ranger's sword in a place no one will steal deep under the waters. He went far ways for them, the ranger was a warrior until the end, and I respect that.
It seems that the page ends here, the next one containing some weird gibberish looking letters, though pretty in their flowing shape
The gibberish goes on in the next few pages, but in a odd manner becomes more orderly and coherent. Anyone who knew demonic could figure it this seemed like practice more than any attempt to write another journal entry. After flipping three pages filled with the demonic letters, it would seem a passage was finally written in the common language of Simul.
Living is expensive you know? I gotta do so much just to float above ground level, the fact tailoring is earning me more money then my other job just shows how stupid this is. People pay so much for those stupid tapestries and cloth pieces. Then again I may just be this good in the eyes of idiots. I do find myself somewhat enjoying tailoring though, it is somewhat therapeutic after a - (the next part is completely drenched in ink, seemingly the same way you would fix a mistype, soon after the ink spot words return) a good nightly walk. Today I am happy, even elated. But I gotta keep this a secret, so much so that even here Iwill not write it. Though my mood experienced a sharp decline, why you ask? I know I ask myself as well. I go on some walks during some nights or outside of the city to the lake north of it. And as such I see some people over and over, I look different each time you see. But last time I befriended some old nomad who lived in the area. I felt angry when he asked who I am when I greeted him by name , even if it was my obvious fault. Why do I care for something so stupid like what some old idiot thinks, I am who I am, and they are all idiots who could not understand anything. I think I will go on a walk tonight, I am sure this will go off my mind later, after all, this is a good day.