I can't get the screaming out of my mind. At times it's all I can think about.

Sasha

Married for less than a week, and then

He stops abruptly, puts a hand against his forehead and pauses for a long moment.

Duty. That's all that matters now. I just have to be devoted to my duties.

Duty is Purpose Purpose is Life Life is Duty

Nothing else signifies.

The new Private. Grigorio. He needs to learn that. Thinks being in the Watch is a game, or a good way to get discounts on whores. Just a snivelling child, I tried to teach the boy and he ran away to lick his wounds.

The only person who will talk to me in this city though. Mylin. I don't understand. As much as I insult her, she doesn't relent. And

He pauses again before continuing

And I don't want her to. She's the last human contact I have and She knows me like a book.

That shithead Orcblood was arrested by the Tigereyes for Murder, with easily at least 6 witnesses. He was exiled for a week.

The fucking Tigereyes are completely useless.

The Spellguard whore is completely intent on bringing the entire city to it's knees.

And I'm still all alo-- The Line is scratched out until it's completely illegible

Mylin

Please help me

Cail stares at the page for a long moment, before tearing it out of the journal and crumpling it in a ball in disgust, he begins writing on the next page

Joined adventurers today - to kill orogs. The fortress I was saved from.

They should have left me The writing breaks off and continues once more below

I tried. I really tried, but

It wasn't enough - he wasn't there, the bastard that did it to her. We had to turn back. Vengeance can wait, for now.

We had to go to Fort Mur, everybody and their fucking grandmother knows about Sanctuary it seems. There was a bulletin, some shithead paying for information about the city. No doubt dozens of people have already collected.

No wonder fucking drow came knocking on our gates.

Though that could just be the idiots who run around casting in the streets, with no regard for the safety of the other 1500 people living in the city.

It's that bitch of the Spellguard!

She's trying to bring the city to it's knees. Like a carrion bird - everywhere there's dissent she shows her horrid face.

She was behind the riots in lower. She was behind the anonymous package to the news paper. She must be behind the Aegis of Reynolt - she's breeding disorder and chaos throughout the city.

This can't continue.

I need to decide what to do before she brings the city crashing down around our ears.

I can hardly sleep anymore.

I keep dreaming about what happened. It was my fault. If I hadn't shirked my duties for her I wouldn't be here. We'd still be on the surface.

She wouldn't have died. Not that way.

I can't get the screams to stop. She just keeps screaming. But I can't help her.

I couldn't help her. I'm sorry. I couldn't help you. Sasha forgive.

While the ink is splotched in some places, such spots are infrequent, and would only be seen if one were looking specifically for them.

Why did I agree to let her help me? She's just a ruddy common whore. Wants me to go back tomorrow with food and plain clothes. What has that got to do with anything?

I don't even remember how I got there. I was going for a drink one minute and the next I was standing on the stoop to the House of Light.

I don't need to be healed. I don't need to come to terms with this. I just need to concentrate harder on my duties. Not shirk them to go gallavanting off to that brothel.

I went anyway.

Nothing more is written on this page. A new entry follows on the next, however.

That idiot woman Marshall had gotten herself killed on duty because she went after a criminal without giving me a warning. I couldn't just leave her dead. Would have looked bad.

So we had her raised. She tried to thank me, and I made her cry.

I can't stand tears. I apologized and now she wants to be friends. Apparently because she pities me. I can't XXXXXstand women. The X's are to represent the word 'under', but striked out.

It won't be much longer now. I'm not ready, but I can't stand waiting. I just want to get it over with and get back to forgetting.

Invited Marshall to come when I finally go to do it. Regretted it less than a minute after doing it. At least maybe she'll stop asking so many ruddy questions.

The bitch of the Spellguard apparently finally got around to telling my superiors what happened. Released a couple prisoners she arrested for false crimes. She's made her move. It'll be my turn soon.

Nothing more on this page, on the next is a new entry, apparently written at a different time, judging by the content.

War.

3000 drow. Twice the number of citizens in the city. Fifty times the number of privates in the Watch. The gates will never hold. But I won't fail twice. As long as I can take one more breath, the city won't fall.

It won't be wise to cause trouble with the Spellguard with Drow breathing down our necks. It'll have to wait.

FUC| the letter is broken off suddenly, and a large stain of ink mars the page, as if the writer pressed so hard on the quill that the end broke open.

After a particularly difficult night, Cail wakes up in a cold sweat, and pens an entry

I can't keep this up. How much longer until it's time? I'm ready. I can't keep waiting. I'm so sorry. She said we have to wait for the moon. Why? Sasha forgive. Let me sleep.

She's free now.

I finally returned to Fortress Khun, to the very cell where they kept us. Where the orog had his way with her. He's dead now. I have the ring. The one I gave her on our wedding day. Enchanted with the money I had saved up, my pay from the Lord I served. My words inscribed inside.

I'll never see her living again, and I still miss her. But I can sleep now. and maybe I can carry on, and when the time comes, I'll be with her once more.

The second stoning I've been a part of, and very different.

I think in the past months I forgot the will to live. I haven't had any interest in carrying on, and did so out of the stubbornness of not dying, not until I got my revenge.

I definitely forgot what it meant to be anything like happy, or content.

Mylin helped me with that.

But for some reason, I almost felt a twinge of guilt locking the animal in the cage, for the treatment he recieved in the Watch House, for his entire life to culminate there in the cage and be beaten to death with rocks. Sergeant Greyward went to lengths to prolong it as long as possible. I could barely force myself to watch.

Mylin was there too, and that must have been part of it. She had been there the entire time, from almost the time of capture to when he was thrown into the cage.

She seemed as disturbed as I expected. I heard her words, they were what anyone should suspect. The monster had killed and decieved, he had taken part in destroying a building devoted to free charity and the greater good. But I could see it when I looked at her, she didn't think he deserved the cage. Maybe that's why it bothered me, too.

But for some reason, as appalled as I was, I still threw stones, with the rest. Was it the mob mentality? Or something else that guided my hand?

It wasn't like with the other one, before. When he was put in that cage, I threw the first stone, and with relish. I wanted his suffering, for the things he said, and the harm he'd done me. I didn't feel any regret then, and I still don't. But for the demon who committed crimes double, or triple as heinous, I do?

What is all this?

Now she's suffering too.

The blame isn't mine, but I owe her a debt I don't know how to repay.

And it's almost exactly the same. She says it's all because she shirked her responsibilities. Exactly as I did. I understand too well, and it cost me a price I'll never pay again. One I'll never be able to afford.

So I'll help her. I'll do everything I can to help her. I won't shirk my responsibility to repay the favor she did me.

Ruddy mountain of paperwork today. We've almost got that shithead Tigereye. Almost. At least enough to get him exiled, but we have to get more on him. Just a little bit more. He has to slip up again.

Mylin seems better. Maybe she's just hiding it still, I don't know.

I was assigned yesterday to remove an old woman from a home she had been living in for 40 years without a deed. It was all the poor woman had. I did everything I could to get her out, short of tearing her from the support beam she gripped so tightly.

I thought I had gotten through to her, that she'd be okay, and the woman jumped. Splattered herself on the pavement of Lower. I'm sorry, Sasha. I wanted to help you, but I couldn't. I wanted to help the woman, and I couldn't even do that right.

And my reward for letting the woman kill herself? The Sheriff made me Sergeant. Bastard probably thinks I pushed her.

What a fucking dream.

I don't know how it happened. I was patrolling the gates. Saw something by the walls move, before I knew it I passed out.

It was a stairwell. Huge, and it seemed like there was no bottom. I started to move, I don't know why, I can't explain it, but I wanted to reach the bottom. There was something there, waiting for me. Something, I don't know what. I rounded the first flight, a group of orcs. Slayed them, another flight, another fight.

Flight after flight, there were more orcs, and then orogs waiting for me. Every fight, more and more difficult. I ended up using nearly all my healing supplies trying to keep myself going. And right when I was almost out, right when I couldn't keep going anymore, I reached the bottom.

A statue. Me. It was a statue of me, standing over the bodies of the orogs I slew. A plaque at the bottom read simply. Cail Durris, hero of the Great Orog invasion of 1373 DR. What?

Was it prophetic? Impossible. But

It must have been real in some way, anyway.

I didn't find it straight away, but when I got back, a skull I had found on the slewn bodies of one of the beasts, It was there, in my pack. The potions and herbs I had used were gone. No. It's not possible, I must have picked it up before I passed out. I had just gotten off a job, I must have used more potions and herbs than I thought. I could have sworn I didn't use any but

It's just not possible. It was a dream. That's all.

Another dream

General Durris? Zero Nine? Path to Salvation? What the fuck?

I have to stop eating sporebread.

Delgado and De La Ray had the dreams too. Probably others. I'm not crazy. Not because of that anyways. Somebody is just fucking with us. I'll find out why.

Mylin is back. She was gone for a long time. That's good news. Lots of bad.

Is there some conspiracy among women, that they all want to drive me out of my mind.

Singing whore is just as responsible for Rayas's death as that doorwarden.

No she isn't. etched in deeper Yes she is.

The writing in this entry is ragged and uneven, letters formed irregularly by a shaking hand

I saw her Sasha

She told me what I needed to hear. I have to get back to work.

The city must have gone to hell without me.

I still feel like shit.

Fever broke though.

A line, each word fiercely scratched out, while strangely still leaving the spaces between each letter ##### # ##### ## ### #### ##### ("Maybe I ought to get some sleep")

This is just ruddy great.

A Ubel sympathizer, a whore, and an idiot are on the council.

Maybe he has some good ideas though. If he wants to get rid of the shithead Tigereyes, then I may as well help out.

Cail returns to his sparsely furnished room in the Watch Quarters, badly bruised and bloodied, removing his plate he sets it aside and collapses on his bed and lays still for a long time. Finally rousing he dresses down, and sets out a series of medical supplies on his desk. He cleans up the blood around the wounds and applies a salve to the wounds. The blood clots, but the wounds remain partly open. They'll close eventually, but not without leaving wide scars all the way across his torso. Gritting his teeth, he wraps a series of bandages and cloth around his chest and pulls his off-duty clothes back on. Grunting and with much difficulty, he shambles into the chair and pulls up his journal. Scowling furiously he grabs a quill and starts penning an entry onto a clean page.

What a pussy. That's what she said.

The bitch the whore

I meant what I said though. She'll get what she deserves. By all the hells I swear it. She and every last gods-be-damned tigereye will get their turn in the Cage.

and her head will decorate the wall A sickly, almost manic grin passes over Cail's face. He stares at the page, his cheeks pulled back in his uncouth mirth, as the ink dries on the paper. Finally closing the cover and setting it back on his desk table. Standing up, he cringes as the pain in his side shoots through him. Taking only a couple steps, he hobbles in the direction of his bed and collapses on the end, dragging himself fully onto it almost exclusively by sheer force of will. The crown of his head touches a pillow, and he passes out from the pain.

That Tigereye bitch. Zerelde.

Had gotten her exiled from Upper forever, and not a week later the bitch gets butchered along with Dreagle.

The bastard. I wanted to see both of them in the cage

It's little more than just a shame at this point, though. There's still the rest of the fuckers.

The City was attacked again. Breen that spider rutting bastard. He bred a damn army and sent it against the city. We had to fight through near a hundred of them just to get to his hidey-hole, and by the time we got there, the fucker was already gutted.

That's twice it's been stolen right out from under me. The next one to cross me is going to get what they deserve at my hands.

Ought to start with this Zau shit head.

Zau's scratched.

Leaves the goblin, some of the other whoreson coalskinned elves, and this Cathal.

Elections end soon. Little to be lost this time unless this new Tigereye whore gets on, or Hastian is elected back.

Either way, it's inconsequencial. She can't do shit to us, no matter how much she obsesses and bitches at the other Councillors. We do our job, we do it well. Budget cuts won't come near us.

Civil Defence League is getting set in motion. Marshall has ridiculous ideas at times, but it's going mostly smooth.

Whoreslime

Ambler's been burned alive.

It's been hours now. I can't feel anything. It must have been that spell the son of a bitch cast before he turned me to stone.

The fat bastard wants us to give up on this Case. To turn it over to the Tigereyes. Like hell we will.

Children are being enslaved, and the pieces of shit want to look the other way because it's happening in Lower.

Kozamis needs to show his true colors soon, if I have to force it out of him.

But we have nothing now. No leads. All the files have been locked away. Even the originals that I spent hours copying.

We have one more thing we can attempt. We'll have to try and get the staff from the pig loving bastards at Bone Swamp.

It'll take a lot of power to kill the old goat rutter.

A number of pages are ripped forcefully out of the book Cail uses for a journal, probably only to be torn to shreds and tossed into a corner of his room in the Sergeant Quarters of the Watch House, then on a new page after he'd apparently set a good portion of his rage aside, an entry is started.

I probably did something today.

The Tigereye whore got on the Council

it was bad enough. It looked like a fight was about to break out and I was watching to make sure one didn't.

She got too close

I hit her. It felt a splotch of ink where the pen rests for a moment good

I'll probably be suspended

Not a big issue

I wasn't suspended. The bitch is gone now, on the run or dead, or completely insane and rocking herself through her psychosis.

---Next Page---

I don't get this woman. Marshall.

I can't figure her out. I passed out for a little bit in a fight from so much blood loss at once, and the next thing I know I'm on my feet and she's trying to squeeze the life out of me by hugging me.

I tried to ask her about it and she ended up running out of the Watch House to deal with some report.

I can't stand women. Too bloody emotional all the time, it drives me up the wall.

Duty is Purpose Purpose is Life Life is Duty

Nothing else signifies.

Why did I forget this?

All these bloody politics are killing me. Not what I joined the Watch for. I'm here to serve the city, and keep it safe, not to bicker with politicians about policies they'll never even carry out.

Back to basics. Need to get my mind off all this stupid shit, and get back into normalcy.

Back to duty, to protect the city from threats. That's what's important.

The book smells vaguely of vomit

I'm not going to die like this.

I won't rot to death in my own room.

It's not bloody allowed

Something has to be done.

The condition of the writer seems vastly improved, even the words seem to adequately reflect his usual hate for mankind.

That ruddy bitch!

What right did she have? No one pretends to be

and now I bloody owe the wench.

Why the hell did she do it?

The journal, unlike normal, is not locked in his desk, and is instead left on top for a day or two. The latest entry is brief, and written in bold-faced blocky print

I told you not to read this.

[the last note is placed in the journal, last page, and the journal is bound with a strip of rothe skin, and the front of the journal is neatly labelled by a clearly feminine hand:

Memoirs of Cail Durris, Sergeant of Sanctuary

It is then taken from the room with a sigh]