[Struck out entries have been destroyed.]

..what a strange little trinket this is. to think someone just left it in the room... the tavern keeper called it a journal, but then he was drunk off his ass. it was easy to convince him to leave the lights off so i could get to my room with no trouble (lucky for him - i didn't have to kill him). ah there ( Read more... )

Met a group of blonds. Made friends. Left them a valuable gift. Maybe we'll have drinks later ( Read more... )

I burned all of my old logs before I left Egypt. The papyrus smelled like the blood I wrote with, so I always left it in the village. Isn't it ironic? My people, the logs, nothing stays in the fucking past. Fire just gives it lifeI'm still writing the same way. It's an addiction ( Read more... )