So is this really what it all has come down to... My sanity kept in a little brown leather book. I must have lost the last remnants of my sanity if this is truly the path I want to take, yet I do feel it helps me. How? Well... if all my thoughts are on paper, then they might not be in my head all the time.
Lately I have been congratulated on the death of Jerry Wolfhound. As if death was something to cheer for. He might not have been a good man, but who am I to judge him? Well.. it is too late now, we judged him guilty the second that girl said he raped her. He was dead as soon as the girl said that word. I do not even think the men cared if he had done it or not, they just wanted blood and who is better than Jerry Wolfhound, especially considering what happened to his brother so long ago. I suppose the die was cast when the girl first uttered the words. And so we captured him, luckily watchman Thilech arrived, a despicable man, utterly barbaric and I have caught myself wanting his death on more than one occasion, but too much trouble for what it would be worth to me. Though there is one think I will thank him for. The Death of Jerry Wolfhound was on his hands, and only to satisfy the bloodlust of the men, did I let them beat Jerry until he was half dead anyway. The proper way would have been to have his head and be done with it. Quick and swift, easing his passing, letting whatever god or gods would have him decide if he was guilty or not.
And now my hand is damned tense and tired, bloody book supposed to help me... I doubt it, but I suppose it is a good idea to have a little journal.. all the nobles seem to have one, and if they have one, I suppose I need one.
