::A dusty old journal lies among the scattered belongings in his own home. A pensive look crosses Perune's face as he dusts off the cover, opens the book, and glances around for an inkwell.::

The world is a cruel thing, and I've had my fair share of the suffering in this place. You can see it in the haggard faces of the townsfolk, the never-ending conflict has worn down these people who are too powerless to do much against any encroaching threat. I can remember what it is to be like them, to feel what they’re feeling. I don't think I've had a real sense of peace since I was a young boy, and you never forget the slaying of that child, ever. Lyras' scythe cut a swath through the entire Clan, and those who remained were in a persistent state of desperation, always wondering who would be the next to fall, the next loved one to rise as a soulless fiend. I lost my own mother to that horror, and a few more of my blood as well. The clan prayed for help, they prayed for salvation, but it took many more months until the undead were no longer roaming the wood. It's a terrible thing for a child to see, but you're no longer a child after that, and unlike most I became something after that hell. I don't know how the commoners do it, live their lives with all of this. They need us, but we don't do enough for them, and frankly most of us are part of the problem.

Now more suffering is going to come to these people, I'm sure of it. My friends came upon a thing of demonic power, and when they couldn't destroy it themselves, they attempted to beseech an Immortal, the rival of this demon, to destroy the blasted thing. Disregard followed, and that piece of filth flared with black corruption and ripped its way from Saragos' grasp. Demons cash in a lot on the stupidity of mortals, and it's really a winning bet. Didn't take long for a moron to grab the thing and run off, and now all signs point to Maelshyve rising in strength here once more. Took all of 10 rois for the holy servant to change from disinterest, to shrieking in shock and fear.

I suppose we're fools for not having attempted to make it a less public ceremony. We're told to “look towards the sunrise”, which I suppose means that there's always tomorrow to do good. But won't the beginning of tomorrow be the result from the foolishness, and primarily, the indifference of today?

I always thought Mazrian's disenchantment with faith was based on the years of war and bloodshed he's endured. Someone's who seen too much pain and death to put stock into the creation we're in and those in charge of it. But now, I think I'm beginning to see reason behind it. If apathy is the state of today, then for every tomorrow we are truly on our own.