Diary of Bushi Ironewill Mountainstream, formerly Ublark

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-The script is jagged, and there are stains of what appears to be blood and dribble on the page. Mixed into these stains and the harsh red inking rendering barely into sentences of Common, is the smell of mead and vomit. It is a difficult read-

Blasted nobleshit. If the boys'back 'ome 'ould see me now they'd die laffin'. Me, Ublark Stonebladder, proudest o'tha swungfolk in the cold north, in tunic and makin' myown bed. Whas'tha point'a puttin' sheets wher'ya know you've gotta' mess'em up 'gain? Stupidass general. Should'a gutt'd mewhen I slay is'son.


"I'll fashion for myself a new one, in his honor (you notice a strange cleanness in the script at this point, only within the quotation. You wonder for a moment if the script was written by two authors, but upon close comparison decide otherwise. You continue reading)." 'esaid. Mufuggin' baby, cryin' bout'is lost'babe. You didnsee me tearin'noway when my seventh n eth son went'a the far'fields to hunt with mi'kin.


Year 11. Day 133. Unnamed welp (Ublark)

-You find a new page and on it the same scribbling handwriting. Though the script matches that of the previous entry you found, the blood and dribble is not present from the entry, nor is there a stench rising up. More comfortably, you begin reading.-


These Bushido, never'knew what they called themselves a'fore, they're stronger'then they make ya'guess. Turnsout they don't march in thos'lines cause they're scared of us, they march like that because it makes it harder for enemies to escape. They care more 'bout living than my kinfolk do, 'nd they'ralways prayin' and singin' afore war or meals or shits or whate'r else. I'm to learn katana-fighting soon, 'cording to Master (why they have these names that aren't names I'llnotknow, they don't even have special ones. There's four Masters here. Fuggin' confusing) Rel. Not sure what they're gonn'do with'a greyskin samreye anyhow. 

-Another few pages contain various charts that appear to be from another set of documents, old mapbooks perhaps. After a few minutes of looking you find another page with more of the journal's entires. You wonder if someone thought how difficult it would be for you to put the story together when they took the pages out of their book. You settle down to read once more.-

Year 11. Day 11. Ironewill. 


I'm to recieve my secondname tomorrow. The date is a good omen, and I am happy for it.

It appears my old kin knew nothing of true combat, of true fury. We thought that by screaming and running naked we might frighten our opponents, and call down Urgrosh's power to wield as our own. But the Bushido, they rage all the same, with every calculated and quiet swing, they burn with the fury of generations. Whole family lines of anguish and struggle and strife, all channeled into katuna or rage-sword, in their old tongue. I am to become bushido, samurai tomorrow. And then I will return to the cold north that was once my home. They have no one in the camp who can speak Orc, and they think perhaps I can bring peace between our peoples at last. 


I must say, I worry it may not work. But I will try. I must try. 





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