The Journal of a Hopeless Man

This is my first entry into this journal. I found it in someone’s home in this little hamlet. It’s mine now, I guess.

My name is Wayne. I don’t know what my surname is. My lineage died too long ago, I can’t remember it for the life of me, and neither could my parents. Everyone is dead, dying, or running. Well, most people are dead. Everyone who isn’t is running. And dying, come to think of it. All the time, slowly. I don’t know why. I don’t know where these things came from. Monsters in the forest, indescribable shapes. They don’t look dangerous, but they hurt you just the same. They can cut you and break you like they have hammers and knives. But they look like abstract shapes to me. I came across some people… at least they look like people. Two young men, almost like me. But a little older. So.. old men, then? Who knows. One had a sword on his side and a white sash robe. His hair was the oddest color, some kind of navy blue. His skin was very deeply tanned. Maybe he’s an islander. The other one had a bow and some arrows in a quiver, and he had some blue clothes covered by leather armor or something of the kind. His hair was brown and he was a little pale. I think he might be sick. I hope I don’t get sick, too. There isn’t enough medicine. I don’t like being sick. But anyways, these men say they can see the creature’s shapes perfectly. Am I diseased? Why can’t I see them? The men said they look like people, but they’re deformed. Dark. Evil. But not dead. They aren’t undead zombies, like the old black-robed men in the books used to raise up. They’re still competent, alive. Sometimes they fight each other. I wonder what the shapes I see them as mean? When I see two killing each other, it just looks like two blobs beating on eachother. Why do they fight against their own kind? They have enough problems fighting regular humans. Even humans fight other humans sometimes. Why? I don’t understand. Too many people are dead already. How can we suffer to kill more?

I had to go for a few minutes there. The men said it’s time to leave this place. They told me their names. The dark swordsman is Aren and the archer called himself Semuel. I have to leave now. Goodbye. I will write in here again later. How are you supposed to sign these out?





It’s morning. Time to write again.

Last night a big fire spread from somewhere southeast of us, on the other side of the woods. We don’t know what caused it. Not much sets things on fire anymore. Semuel wanted to go look, but we told him it was a bad idea. We found an old church of some kind. The people there let us stay the night. They still preach from their holy book. There was a girl there who was a priestess in training of some kind. She was very pretty. Her hair was brown, like Semuel’s, but her eyes were a bit odd. They were blue and then a peculiar shade of orange in a small area around her pupils. But she was a regular human. The church would not allow demons in. They warned us of a glowing, white spirit that wanders the forests and whisks people away. They told us to stay away from it because it was a very dangerous demon. But, we haven’t seen anything like that yet. They said they would let us stay as long as we pleased, but Aren told them we needed to get moving to the mountain. He still hasn’t told us why we need to go there. I think we’re going to meet someone.

Well, I think that’s going to be all for now. I will write again when the sun is setting.


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