A'Malorian Havoc, sitting across from you, smoking his pipe and drinking some wine, opens up his journal and hands it to you. Although you two have never spoken, he seems to want you to know something about himself. Of course, Mal not being an educated man, you may find it dificult to understand his ramblings.
The first part of the entry has been crossed out, but you can still make out what was written . . .
Curse her overzealousness. If it were not for my light forsaken bond, and those "toys" that she holds so dear, I'd turn her over my knee and show her what for.
The writing seems to trail off in some sort of twisted scribblings.
What am I saying. I have never raised a hand to hurt anyone, or anything in my life, and I'm not gonna start now. Curse me coward will you. No, burn it, not even with the Trollocs, and Shades. Defend, parry, disarm, escape. Cheer will you when I knock a couple unconsious. Tinker. I'll tinker arround with you..... Yea, I'll mend her pots good..... Sick the butterflys on me will yea... I am not, was not, and will never be a part of the Traveling peoples. My job is to protect, not to bash every darkfriend that stands between us any your stupid toys...
Apparently Mal got sloppy with his pipe and burnt away some of the entry.
Stupid book won't even burn right. "All I'll do is waterproof it with the one power so you don't loose anymore of your writings." Blood and Bloody ashes I'm a fool. It didn't have to scorch the little wretch when she tried to open it. "This way, even my sisters won't be able to read of our adventures, or whatever it is you write in that book of yours. " She probally put that bloody brown up to being nosy. Cursed woman thought I channeled at her.
And this bloody sword breaker that she made me. Giggle when you tell me I have a sword breaker that will never break will yea. It will never need sharpening. Theres nothing to sharpen. "It's not a weapon made of the one power, in fact in some ways it's an anti-weapon." "It Might even break a weapon made with the one power." If I ever have to face someone with a weapon from the age of legends, I'm dropping this peice of junk, and running as fast as my round little body can take me. If the horrid thing could break, I probally wouldn't have this cursed scar. "Do you have to help every little kitten stuck in a tree." "Shut up, I'm having a hard enough time reaching this little critter without it scratching me." When I woke up she told me what happened. Could have gotten one of the yellow sisters but she didn't think I would want that? Impaled by my own sword breaker. Then she channeled the kitten down. If she had just done that to begin with, I wouldn't have been 40 feet up a tree that should have barely held half my weight. Thought she could do a better job at hiding a scar. An expermental Ter'angreal. I hope she at least felt half the bloody pain I felt. The other warders give me a hard enough time because I won't practice with them. Why would I want to go to the blight anyway.
Funny how the damn scar looks like the Dragon's fang. Every bloody Whitecloak between here and Arad Doman wants to take me in. It's hard enough traveling with this cursed packrat of a woman.
He skips a couple of lines here
Why would I want a hair piece that will never dislodge from my head, even in the most heated battle. To begin with I don't want to be in any more battles. Secondly, I like being bald. What I lack on my head, I more than make up for on my chin. It's fun and all, but aren't I good enough without them.
He seems to make some kind of note to talk about this in his next entry.
For all her nasty little tricks, and all her mind games. The trouble that she seems to be able to find no matter where we go. For all I am just a pawn to her. Just another one of her toys. Why is it that I lie and cheat for her? Why do I constantly end up risking my life for her? Why would I even go so far as to curse the light and kill for her? You know the answer to that Mal, because she is the greatest person in the world. She loves you in a way that no one will ever love you, and you feel the same toward her. I love Shel'aura Reannah. I pray the light never seperate us, and curse the Dark one for even trying.
Apparently the waterproofing did not work as well as intended, because a single tear drop marks the bottom of the page.
As you finish reading the entry you start to scim through some other pages. Much of the same grumblings, all with the same endings. You look up and realize the the short, pudgy, bald warder sitting across from you has fallen asleep. His pipe has spilled on his lap and his trowsers are begining to smoulder. You pour his half empty cup of wine on it to put out the fire. He wakes up just long long enough to nod and smile and take the journal from your hands. In his sleep he mumbles something. All you catch is,
"Bloody Jain Farstrider I'ze Ain't."
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