Sellsword

“This is where we part. Thank you for the assistance, I am glad you weren’t needed to use your sword.” Edward said with a warm smile, reaching out to shake his hand. Taraborn grasped it, and found himself tugged in close, “Tell anyone what we do and I’ll have my sons fill you with arrows. Got it?”

White.

It was white everywhere. The ground, the sky, even the air around him was white as snow fell heavily.

It was cold as well. So cold. He was wearing all the furs and thick woollen clothes he could find, yet still the cold found its way in. At least he was moving, keeping warm.

Staring out over the world, Taraborn admired the view. A great, solitary mountain loomed in the distance, it’s tall jagged peak piercing the sky. Beneath the mountain was the great city of Dale, and further to the south lay the Long Lake and he could just about make out Lake Town.

They were nearly there, maybe another week till Taraborn could rid himself of the tomb-robbers that had employed him.

And it all came down to the final blow, the strike that caused to end the life of yet another target. Another human being with all rights to live, in the eyes of the wise.

I would not refer to it as a diary, more like a logbook of memorable occurrences . A diary one would write in daily, which I do not. We can call it a logbook of sanity, as above all else I have to try to hold on to the thought that I am not entirely losing my mind with the current, stressful profession.