Being many, many weeks since I have written in this here journal last. What can I say, I've been busy. Not really. Actually, I've been doing a whole lot of nothing, which is what I will here write about.
I haven't really seen anyone I used to see oftentimes before anymore. I've met a few new folk, but important characters from my previous narratives have yet to make an appearance. This includes (but is not limited to) Carlsson, the Black Viper, any members of the Bandits from the North, that Baelus fellow that made my new iron hands, and so on. Can you think of someone I've mentioned in my previous entries? Well I haven't seem them, not for a good while. That might be, partly, my fault. I've been staying in my apartment more than usual, and on multiple occasions I wouldn't get out for weeks on end. My landlady, if I give her the coin, will go out and get my food, as I don't necessarily have hands and she is a fairly nice woman.
In any case, I was able to recruit a fresh young fellow to the bandits! Yes, I know, you're shocked. "But Barny," you're saying to me, "how is that possible? You haven't seen any of the bandits for a very, very long time!" To which I say you're correct! I haven't, but I didn't invite him out of ambitions for the group, I invited him in order to protect myself. The young man assaulted me as I read a book in one of the Pony's back rooms, claiming he recognized me as a man of some wealth. Now, I am not an idiot, and as a part of my lacking of idiocy I can, occasionally, recognize a dolt when I see one. This man was a dolt. I played upon his need for cash, denying I had any on my person, but claiming that I could help him obtain more for himself. I admitted to my banditry, as lying would get me nowhere, and said that the young man would be a 'perfect bandit'. I admit, if the Bandits of the North ever do rise to prominence, the boy could make a good henchman. Until then, I'll impress him with vague promises of payment for his services.
Though this stupid young boy is not the only person I've met in the Pony. I have become acquainted with a watcher, named John. John and I have talked many times in the Pony, as we always seem to go there and have an ale or two around the same time. Apparently, he's a big fan of my short story, The Adventures of Oswine the Pig. If you're wondering, I had that story printed in book format nigh on three years ago, and I'm never going to print another. It was terrible. Anyways, I find John to be a pleasant drinking partner, and I have sat and drank with him on multiple occasions. One time, there was a woman with stones who apparently read the stones to determine... something. I'm still not clear as to what. But you see, faithful reader, that's what the stones are: unclear. As the woman worked her crazy magic-type stuff it was clear that it was entirely random. Anything the stones could say could be fitted to apply to any person. The love advice the stones gave John were applicable in any relationship ever conceived. Even I could have told him what the stones told him. The next day I saw the stone woman in the same seat, and I started asking her about the stones. Through intense logical reasoning (and a good deal of guesswork, on my part) I have gathered that this woman is older than she seems. I'm not one to believe in fairy tales, but something about that woman just seemed off. Some wild travelers came in and talked loudly so I snuck out at that point. I haven't seen the stone woman since, but I have taken to trying out some of her practices...
I went in a black robe and had with me a bag of random stones. I had memorized a list of vague prophecies and forewarnings that I had found in a book on that very subject, stuffed in the back of the Scholar's Stair Archives. Into dark alleys I went, telling prophecies to all those who would hear. I found a nice audience in Beggar's Alley, and for a pretty penny I let each one get their prophecy. Of course, I didn't make my fellow Beggar's Alley folk pay much, but I still got a good 50 copper pieces out of it. Elsewhere I found less luck. A pair of watchers stopped by one of my spots, and they refused to see the stones. Men after my own heart, just not the type of folk I'd have liked to seen at that time. In any case, I returned to my apartment with a small profit out of the venture.
Other than these few anecdotes of action or interaction, my life has been dull, and grey. I have enough money to keep me in this apartment until I'm thirty, but that's five (and a half) years away, and by then I need to find some way of supporting myself. No one wants to hire a man without real hands, you know. I mean, I always knew I'd have an issue like this - finding jobs that I could actually work and all, but I never thought it would trouble me this much. Maybe it's some higher power trying to tell me that I never will get a real job, I'll remain a bandit without action for the rest of my life. Though that's nonsense...
All I'm experiencing is extreme boredom. I haven't done anything for months on end, and now I feel the need to actually get out and do something. Of course, I can't, for the most part. I can scam a few suckers in Beggar's Alley, and I can drink and talk with friends like John, but what I can't do is actually have something to do. I've been writing a lot, and writing has almost lost its luster. I need to take a break from it, lest I start to legitimately despise it. Perhaps I can write music, but it would be nice to still be able to play an instrument.
You readers all probably have hands, don't you? You're all mocking me with your handedness and all. I see. Well, won't it be funny if no one ever finds this journal, and I'll be talking to no one. Maybe, someday, after I'm dead, someone will pick it up, read it, have a nice laugh, and reproduce copies of it. Maybe I should start catering more to such a person, and include fantastical tales and all that just for the amusement of the reader. On second thought, that's a terrible idea. Just read The Adventures of Oswine the Pig if that's what you want. I'm sure you can find it somewhere in the dark reaches of the Scholar's Stair Archive. Or maybe the same place that you found this book.
At this point, I'm just rambling on. So I'll stop. Right now.
