Posts from ☀️ Arselia and Akonia Auto-translated

I'm actually trying to write a diary in my free time from work. I've gotten to the part where Beata was being interrogated, ugh, it was such an emotionally heavy episode, it's very difficult to even revisit it in the diary. When I was describing how she burst into tears, I was ready to cry right there with her.

"Am I imagining things, or was magic weaker in my world?"
Erephir leaves Merel in this shop. Maybe she bought something, maybe not, but the girl didn't visit in vain either: she drew conclusions.

Already at the exit, she starts a conversation with the astrologer:

-- In general, witchcraft is, of course, a specific thing; some people train their whole lives, while others learn only one water shield, cast it on themselves – and what can you do to them then? Well, more precisely, what I can do; you don't have any problems with your sword, – it was clear that Erephir's extremely frank speech became even more straightforward after a glass of wine, although otherwise the girl didn't seem to be tipsy. -- I wonder if I could learn something from those volumes? There is definitely something useful there.

When I described how she burst into tears, I was ready to burst into tears myself.

That's why Elliot believed her so easily.

There's Miss Universe, and then there's Miss Information. The value of experience, and even money, hasn't changed here.

It's just a joke. I simply enjoy criticizing excessive writing whenever I get the chance.

It's just a joke. I simply enjoy criticizing excessive writing whenever I get the chance.

I used to criticize excessive writing too...

I think we'll talk to Arcomage later; Nebok is missing him. Let's start a new day and do some interviews.

I used to hate excessive writing too...

I see... when they introduce a system where you have to write diaries in exchange for loot, the game will turn into a club for novelists.

Nebok is bored there.

I'm not in a hurry, you can drink for a week if you want.

- Knock, knock,” she says to the guildmaster if there are no statues, graffiti, or other mysterious markings to be seen at the location.

Later, when the right moment presents itself, Alyria sits down to fill in her diary. She decided to keep her entries in her native Tanarsian, so as not to forget her mother tongue and its script. Preserving knowledge that, perhaps, she was the only one to possess in this world at that time.

"Prelude
My name is Alyria Doran. A warrior who failed to take root in her homeland. I could tell you much about my life there, but I prefer to leave many details out. I'll just say that my parents were hollow people. Mother, father alike. You know that type of person who does everything not because they want to, but because "it has to be done"? They married each other not out of love, but out of necessity. They had a daughter because it was necessary. And then turned their backs on her for that very reason. A completely sterile life, devoid of any emotional closeness.
But I didn't thrive at home not because of that. Although I tried not to disappoint them, this way of life disgusted me since childhood. In public I behaved well and dutifully, but in secret I sometimes enjoyed breaking the mold with small, rebellious acts. Over time, as the stakes grew and my rebellious streak escalated, I grew bolder and less cautious. I showed excessive persistence toward my childhood sweetheart, urging him to neglect his duty. Eventually, he gave in. And then backed out. Looking back, hardly the most surprising action from such a spineless man. Our shared secret ceased to be one, with catastrophic consequences for our lives, though some walked away with lighter consequences. My punishment, among other things, was etched onto my back with a whip. He deemed such punishment fair and stayed, while I left. Sideways glances. Whispers behind my back. A complete lack of prospects. For me, it was unbearable. I would have suffocated there alive. Though now I realize I would have rotted away anyway, had I continued that ridiculous charade.

New Beginning
For someone who spent most of their life only learning to swing a sword and finds themselves in unfamiliar lands, there is usually only one profitable way to make a living — the path of a mercenary. A lucrative business, but a dangerous one. That is exactly what I did in those first months, simultaneously drowning my grief in alcohol. While on my contracts, I crossed paths with a young merchant named Julian. Enterprising and energetic, he bore a radiant smile. He paid well. He was easygoing and pleasant to talk to, though he sometimes liked to splash out to satisfy his spontaneous whims. In all fairness, with his talents, he could afford it. He hired me as a bodyguard, but without any unnecessary formalities — to him, I was a friend and, at times, a drinking companion. Although I sometimes snapped back at his flirtatious advances, traveling with him was no burden to me. From him, I received what I couldn't find in my homeland — acceptance of me exactly as I was.
A bottle and flickering romantic feelings are not the best combination. Especially when multiplied by self-loathing. One evening, under the influence of alcohol, my feelings spilled out. Julian, who had also had more than enough to drink, returned them. The next morning we woke up in the same bed. And then shame crashed down on my sober mind. Another wave of self-loathing. Given my life experience, it was hardly surprising. For Julian, however, our situation was not an issue. I understood it then. I understand it now. And he clearly understood my state of mind at the time as well. Some awkwardness crept into our dynamic, stemming entirely from my side. Since then, we've gone our separate ways, which I sometimes regret. I wonder how our relationship might have unfolded if I had taken things more lightly back then. But I will never know."

Alright, that's it for now. But the main work lies ahead. Because what's here so far... a prologue with four entries? Well, maybe six, if you count Tanarsis and Alyria's self-description. 7 OD in parrots, by the way.

It's just a joke. I simply criticize excessive writing whenever I have the opportunity.

Now that's what I call respect, you can tell they're experienced players from a mile away, they're just communicating with emojis 👍👍👍

Now that's what I call respect. You can tell he's a dedicated player from a mile away. Great guys, they mostly communicate with emojis 👍👍👍

So that's why Nebka liked Laid so much...

professional deformation after tens of thousands of hours in Badush chat rooms.

tens of thousands of hours in badush chat rooms

Billions of badush girls processed personally by Nebkom.

I'm not sure when the next diary entry will be, but here's a small teaser.

Margelov Central, northern wind,
Transported from Yansi, a lot of trouble,
A heavy burden lies on my heart.
Margelov Central, northern wind,
How did I get into this window, my life is ruined,
But it's not Sarana who's ruining me,
But Elliot, that bastard, Ironboot!

By the way, who are we waiting for? Artza?

A heavy fruit lies on my heart.

Fixed. 😆

By the way, who are we waiting for? Arza?

I'm waiting for interviews... We'll talk to Arza later.