Entry 1

  So… This is what I buy with my first bit of money? A journal. Why am I even bothering with it? Maybe it’s to pass the nights. Not like I need to sleep. Maybe it’s an attempt at normalcy? Feels strange having a quill in my hand after so many years. Gods… So many years… I feel so unbelievably… shit I feel shit. Okay, rule number one. No fucking lying in my own journal. I’m lonely. I feel so alone. I wish I knew who I can trust. Maybe keeping this journal will help me somehow. Help me regain my sanity at least. Maybe. This inn is horrid, I spent the past hour watching cockroaches fuck. This dead body. I don’t get tired or hungry. I was curious so I ate some stew and had a few mugs of shitty ale. I can eat and drink and it still comes out the other end as black goo several hours later. Eating and drinking just doesn’t fill me, not that there’s something to fill and I can’t even get drunk.

  I spent most of the night laying on this shitty bed staring at the ceiling until the sound of drunken laughter caught my attention. The folks in the room next to mine are enjoying each other. I got hard. I didn’t think I could. I rubbed one out, I came, it was see through. Fucking weird, but then again what isnt weird about me. It still felt good thank the gods. Now I want to visit a brothel. Spend some of my coin in a more fun way. But I can’t. Not with what I look like. My gray skin is so tight clinging to my skinny body, scary yellow eyes. I'm wrapped up from head to toe and I wear a mask. I have been telling people my face is horribly scarred. It might as well be.

  Those two in the other room are fucking like rabbits. I can’t listen to them anymore. I'm going for a walk.

  Entry 2

  Aazd is dead. I am dead. Changed my name to Zag. Well that’s the name I gave Syrus when I spoke with him. Lord Syrus Blackhorse. He told me he knew the mask wasnt magical. I made the mistake of telling him it's enchanted with healing magic for my scars. Turns out he’s a fancy mage type. I wonder if he can tell I'm not normal. Not alive. But am I really dead? I mean, I still feel like me for the most part. I told him that Jif and I worked together and that Jif didn’t take it back from Usten. So it was up to me to finish the job. I think he believed me. Is it weird to miss the prison? Maybe it was the solitude. Maybe I’ve gotten too used to it. I find it hard to talk to people. Guess I’m out of practice. I used to be so good at lying, now I find it hard to put words together. Is my brain rotting? I really hope writing helps.

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  So the reason why Syrus called me to meet him in his fancy fort. The two books that Jif was after in the temple of the god of light where Jif found me imprisoned. Held a location of some ruin that he wants me to go search for some stone tablet he’s been hunting for years. We argued a while about why going on my own is better. He wanted to hire more mercenaries for a journey into the dead lands on account of Jif’s death. Eventually he agreed. Then I asked if he could make a magic item for me to change how I look. He really wanted to see under my mask. He agreed to make a ring that will let me change my face. Then an idea struck me and I asked if I'll be able to change my face and body as many times as I wish. He said it would take a long time to make a powerful item like that but he finds the challenge intriguing. I ended up agreeing, I'll have to pay off the ingredients to the item and the work to make it by working for him until the Item is complete.

  Entry 3

  Imagen, it’s a pretty big city but it’s no El’Narir. It still hasn't fully sunk in, Usten being gone that is. A whole kingdom. Cursed. So that's what it was, I wasn’t missing the prison. That place was a tomb that I'd still be in if not for Jif. I just miss my home. I wish I could watch the fire dancers dance under the light of a full moon. I hope they are still out there, somewhere. I learned that after Usten fell what remained of the people scattered to the winds looking for a new home. I can barely believe it. It’s been over fifty years since Usten fell. Now it’s simply referred to as the dead lands. Fifty years it's hard to believe. It didn’t feel that long in the cell. Maybe I was in some kind of undead slumber.

  Spent a few days getting ready for the trip. Mostly food for the horse and some more ink. And a new bag. My ink spilled all over the bottom of the bag. Since when have I been so careless? Just remembered I need to buy new boots too.