((Yes, i'm perfectly well aware that EVERYONE is doing these. But i'm doing it because my character has reached a point where he just needs to put his thoughts down; not because i've seen others doing it an wanted to copy. For some reason that seems like something i should mention. Although now that i have mentioned it it seems silly and i want to erase it, but i'm not going too...))


<<The journal is written on a scroll of fine paper. A border of tiny runes glows softly at the edge of the page, and the words are written in a strange text. A text designed to be written with four talons, and not with a lead stick or quill. The letters seem... burned into the page, written without ink; a faint hint of energy still hangs about them. Its flowing characters are difficult to follow for the eye, to tell where one ends and another begins, except for a strange insight the reader would have, as if guided by magic. An inexplicable knowledge, even understanding every word within those strange letters. Perhaps, those sigils have more than a decorative purpose?>>

What have I done wrong?
I have given of myself without complaint, without protest, without asking for one little thing in return. I have done everything i possibly could for those whom came to me in need. And most of the time, i made a difference. I have poured out my blood and my very soul for these people.

And I am a heathen now? I am a demon? I am a disgusting wretch none better than the aegis?
<<There is an angry knot of energy lodged in the paper here, invisible but tangible. As the eyes pass over it would pulse, tinting the edges of one's vision rust-red and giving the impression of a raw, bleeding wound.>>

What do I have to do to be accepted? I thought I had been. I thought I had proven myself capable and trustworthy. I have mended shattered souls. I have sealed away vicious criminals- even if they DID escape. That was because they would not take my advice on the type of imprisonment! And I worked my spells as requested. But I digress.

I have helped where I was needed; I have instructed young ones, I have bespelled weapons and armor. I have even given - alterations, to certain few, whom request it of me.
I have made friends and even have found love. I have made for myself a place in this strange, strange land. I have even been adopted into a family. Are all of these things not enough testament for me? Would I -were i a.. a heathen, a heretic, a demon and an unliving hellspawn- would i have done any of these things?


...Is this what people really feel about me? Are their friendly words a veil for harbored malice?


...Why?