Skuld Svan

Journal

• Journal

  • Fucked up.

    Mist 19th, Year of Priest's Defiance
    
    Everything I have is gone. That day I was raised from the filth to become a templar was perhaps the best day of my life, and I've thrown it all away. I was stupid. So fucking stupid. If I had just left the drugs alone for a while, I would have done all right. I could have made something of myself.
    
    My father was furious. He came down like a dust storm on me. All of my wealth has been repossessed, to go to the pockets of the other templars and the sorcerer-king's treasury. They even took the clothes off my back- now I have these rags to wear.
    
    In a few hours they'll be coming for me, to take me to the arena where they intend for me to die. I will not die. There must be something I can do to get out of this. Father is useless. He wouldn't help me if he could.
    
    I am burying this journal here just outside of town, because I know once they come for me they'll take it and burn it. So for now, stay safe, journal. I intend to return to you again, and write my victory in your pages.