May, the first of the Mortal Year Eighteen-hundred and ninety-two
On this day, Morcic, the mysterious and devilishly handsome traveler, stumbled into The Painted Pine-Martin, half-crazed with sleep deprivation. He paid more than fairly for a room and a man to share it with…but fell asleep the moment our bodies hit the bed…Silly thing.
Councilman Julian Armande
April 30, 1892
So…many…owlbears. What are…my eyes? I can hear the beads singing in their bag and it’s beautiful. They say: “Share, Morcic…share, share, share…” I wish I could. I would share them with the world because they are light and this world is so dark and cold and I am so cold and they are warmth…
April 26, 1892
I am very, very, tired…Yael still takes no pity on me. The horse sleeps standing. At this rate, I would consider a dire wolverine if it offered to lend its warmth for even five minutes.
April 23, 1892
We are nearing a large city and I am relieved. The prospect of a warm bed grows increasingly mirage-like. Similarly mirage-like is my consciousness. I am beginning to see things that are not truly there. It appears that sleep is still important, even for one such as I.
April 20, 1892
My intention was to travel quickly, but Yael tires after half a day’s ride and I find that I am enjoying the scenery and (relative) solitude.
We came to a small town today and half way through the shops, I came across a bead-seller. I spent more than I should have…but I was compelled by their beauty. There was a particularly fine specimen of blown glass that caught the light in all the right ways. I don’t know what I want with all of these beads, but I imagine it will be revealed to me eventually.
On a side note, I have not slept. Yael is frustrated with me and refuses to sleep at my side. It is impossible for me to sleep without some source of heat. I don’t know what I’ve done this time…