Tuesday, 7th January 2002
Another day.

You half-wit! Stop your nonsensical blathering and tell me why you are here, the wizards eye, sharp and glittering like ice did not tell of any more patience.
Will you see Mr Wizard, a man who told me to tell you to, to..
The cold stare froze his words.
“Children! Look here litlte one, slow your heart that by now must be beating like a tremelous bantam’s and unite your tongue.
The words passed over the street urchins head. What language was he speaking? Is he still angry with me? The wizard took one look into the eyes wide with fear and concluded that no sense would come out. How did he used to befriend children? Make them at ease with his creased and furrowed mien? He did not recall.
The uneasy silence under the wizards thoughtful stare only made the boy more anxious, clearly he was shaking.
“Nefali,” he bellowed, long white beard fluttering.
The servant soon came.
“Get this boy a meal...” he sniffed the air cautionsly. “And a bath then bring him to me.”
“Yes master,” replied the pudgy Nefali and led the boy into the kitchen by the hand.
The wizard blew out his moustache with scorn and returned to his library.

Where was Gerio? Antafel glanced outside of the filth encrusted window of the tavern and judged by the angle of the sun that it was a few hours past midday, which was the time the wizard was supposed to be here.
He drank the ale that could be best described as swill from a pig’s trough and doubted that the message even reached the wizard. The boy he picked to deliver the message looked the same as any other urchin, desperate, scared and hungry.”
Did the boy simply run off with the money that Antafel gave him? Did he even know where the wizard resided?

Wednesday, 8th January 2002
Antafel felt like cursing. He should have gone to see the wizard himself. Infact he would now. He got up with resolve and paid the ugly barmaid for the drinks. As he exited the filthy place vowing never to return, he suddenly realized that he had no idea where Gerio, the Grand Wizard of Tarvesty lived. Maybe the people of Montahgue would know?

The sunlight washed the cobblestoned streets with amber. The day was getting old. Several hours of fruitless questioning had put the ranger in a foul mood. Most of the replies he got were blank stares. He was about to give up and start looking for a ride back home when he accidentally walked into a marketplace full of merchants setting up stalls. Must be a night market, he thought to himself. Maybe the people here would know something Gerio’s whereabouts.
Netali walked into the room where the poor boy was eating and found him soundly asleep, plates clean of any food that was on them. She let him rest feeling remorse for the life the homeless child must live.
She was about to go and tell the wizard that he fell asleep when there was a knock on the door.
“Hello, who is it?” she asked tentatively through the door. It was nearing nightfall and she did not know who could come knocking at the time.
“My name is Antafel, Highway Ranger and delegate of Kneld,” answered a robust male voice. “Does the wizard Gerio reside here?” he asked.
“Yes he does,” she said. “What business do you have with him?”
He said something but she could not hear it through the thick wooden door and all the yelling of hawkers.
She opened the door and the man looked into the house. He looked weary but strong, a man of many miles.
“Are you a traveller?”
“Yes I am. I have come from Kneld under the order of the King to speak to Gerio about a matter of importance.”
That seemed geniune thought Netali at ease with the stanger now.
“Well come in then.”
He stepped inside momentarily dazzled by all the light inside.
“Sit here. I shall go tell Wizard Gerio that you are here.”

Thursday, 9th January 2002
The servant knocked on her master’s door and told that a man called Antafel was here to see him, supposedly by the order of King Tylock of Kneld.
“Well, bring him to me. What of the child Netali?” asked the wizard.
“He fell asleep.. Shall I wake him?”
“No,” said the wizard, musing on how this must be the first time for a long time that the child had a roof over his head.
“Let the boy rest.” Netali smiled and went back to Antafel who was sitting quietly where she left him.
“If you follow me I will take you to wizard Gerio.”

Antafel entered the wizards library to find Gerio sitting on the far end of a hall at an oak table with tapers placed precariously all over it. He walked down the hall in awe of the masses of books, tomes, manuscripts and scrolls that flanked the walls of the hall either side of him. To Antafel the place reeked of scholarly knowledge and archaic information.
Gerio stood to meet the man who he was close friends with back when he was in the service of Kneld.
“Antafel,” he announced grandly.
“It is good to see you my friend.”
“And you too, Wizard. How has the warmer climate of Montahgue been treating you?
“Good. My bones are no longer creaking with the cold of Kneld,” he smiled a smile that was barely perceptible underneath the masses of white facial hair.
“How about you? Have you any stories to tell of your journey’s across the long and lonely roads of Kneld?”
“Plenty, but I will tell of them at a more suitable time. I have...” Antafel trailed off with a crestfallen tone: “... dire happenings to tell of, to your first.”
The wizard’s face became stern. He expected as much.
“Be seated and tell your old friend of what troubles you.”
Antafel flopped into the upholstered oak chair with weariness, sending clouds of dust into the air.
“This thing does not trouble me as much as the people of the Arkhon Wastes, Old Kingdom, or for that matter the world.”
“This sounds like dire news indeed.”
They were interrupted by a soft knock at the door. Nefali entered bearing a tray laden with hot tea and sweet cakes. She seemed the trouble from the dour expression of both men and left with haste.
“Have some tea.”
Antafel drank the hot bitter tea, savouring it’s bitterness. The wizard did likewise. With a sigh Antafel begal telling what had befallen the Old Kingdom.

29th January 2002
I know not what to write.

I am ready Thomas de Quincey’s “Confessions of an English Opium Eater.” The vocabulary is paramount to nothing I have read. It is an over embellishment of a mind super-active from opium. It is impressive yet barely understandable.

The cloud amass
as the eyes roll back
and the body falls.

Warm, tepid, cool
Festering, rotting.

Getting there is half the fun.

I smell shit and strawberries. My lungs are clenched, my muscles ache as if I ran a marathon. My mind is, for once, at peace.