Journal Entry 17th of Aprilus, 362

May 31st, 2014

The Journal of Donal MacGraig

The month started out rather rough since my last entry, things have been busy to say the least. Good, but busy. So busy that I almost missed my own birthday. When the crier called out the sixteenth yesterday it wasn’t until I was half way down the street that I realised it was the day of my birth. In case it’s an early onset of old man’s disease I decided to jot down the more interesting happenings of the month so I don’t forget.


Marril Quinseth, one of the Reeves confessed to being a mage or a wizard or however you call it. Literally not fifteen minutes after I retired from her and a few other Reeves’ company. Can’t say I was surprised now that the knowledge is out but I can’t exactly claim I saw it coming either. What makes me laugh though, dare I put it to paper? The sheer irony of the matter.

She gave herself up, surrendered to the Knights after confessing her dark secret to two of my fellow Reeves. And then? Well, she changed her mind didn’t she? She used the very flame they planned to torch her with to burn her captors. Two of their heads up in flames! None of the wounding was lethal, or I probably wouldn’t find it as entertaining as I currently do but it is worth a laugh nonetheless. In quiet company of course, some people in this city wouldn’t understand irony if it set their face on fire.


Despite the colour of that event the rest of the month was even more interesting. I gained apprenticeship with one of the city’s premier smiths. He seems to know his onions and he folds steel like he was born to it. Much better than my old master, but then again he was a man who forged plough iron and pitchforks for a living. It’s a far cry from my old village.


I should probably write my mother and father, let them know there’s a possibility that I may be wed sometime in the future. I never knew what my father meant when he said he felt a bond with my mother the first time he laid eyes on her. But I understand now. It’s a shame I don’t possess the brevity to put it down to words in the short time that I have. Our meeting wasn’t as auspicious as fathers was with mothers. There was no sign from above, nor ringing church bells when I knew she was the one. I can’t remember much of anything in all honesty.
She captivates me, heart and soul. Oxygen tastes sweeter, colours brighter and all the rest of that nonsense that’s supposed to happen when you’re in love. I believe at times I even get the proverbial butterflies in my stomach.


That said I had best attend to my duties, a spate of break-ins seem to occupy most of my time. Every lead runs cold though, at least the thieves in this city seem to possess some form of intelligence. Keeps my job interesting.



Journal Entry, 19th of Maritus, 362

May 23rd, 2014

(The words below are scrawled in a rough excuse for penmanship, barely legible letters flow together broken up by paragraph as well as accidental fingerprints in the ink.)

The Journal of Donal MacGraig

Two months. That is how long I have been here now, although it feels less than that.  Life it seems travels much faster than I could have ever expected in the big city. And although there is ultimately less pig manure here than there is at home the city still reeks. The stale stench of too many bodies jammed into such a small area makes my stomach turn at times and I swear if I hadn’t spent my youth shovelling excrement there is no way I could stomach the sheer volume of it that pours from some people’s mouths. Pretty words, candied words. Although something tells me the sugar would wear off leaving behind the bitter tang of poison if they were to be swallowed.


Paranoia? Perhaps. Time will tell if I am being careful or merely overly suspicious. Perhaps these people are genuinely nice and my time among soldiers where every word was spoken in honest and harsh tones and could be believed. The more swearing the sentence had, the better you knew the man. Maybe I am not adjusting to city life as easily as I believed I would. Perhaps that’s why I spend most of my time out on the plains, knife in hand. Hunting at least is something I understand.


Even the wolf that tried to tear my throat out was something that I understood, he was the better hunter on the day. Even with his teeth buried in the flesh of my arm as he went for my throat was easy for me to understand. Even as the iron of my own blade entered the beast’s throat I could tell he understood as well. You try to kill me. I try to kill you. In a way, we’re kin now that wolf and I. We shed blood on the field of battle and both retreated to lick our wounds.


I’ve gained employ with the Reeves, and it seems solid work. Protecting and serving. Honorable as my fatherwould say, something he could be proud of. Although he is the kind of man who would be proud if your greatest success in life was piling mud pats up to your waist and calling it a day. I’ve also managed to secure employ with the Merchant’s Guild. Artisans all. Work for coin rather than honor but folding metal calms me, as well as filling my pockets. Turning something solid and plain into a work of serviceable art or a tool brings me pleasure I can’t begin to explain.


Although if I could only take one memory away from this place, that one memory will be enough for me. The depths of those eyes calm me and give me purpose that I’ve never felt before even when folding metal. But, the hour grows late and my candle burns low. It is probably best I don’t spend my night scrawling wistful thoughts down on a piece of paper addressed to myself.


The entry is signed below with the simple printed name.