The oddest thing happened while commuting from my study to the kitchen. Down the hall I swear that I saw a man walk past the doorway in the dining room. I immediately investigated, cutlass in hand, should the case have been that the man was of evil intention. Instead, though, I found absolutely nothing. I heard no noise, no door, and no footsteps. The man simply vanished. I dispatched the occurrence as a figment of my imagination and nothing more, but I can’t shake the feeling that this person isn’t just an evanescent contingency.
On another note, I’ve resolved to play a game of chess against myself. Each day I will make a move, doing my best to disregard my own strategies for each side. I have completed the first move for the white side, moving the king’s pawn forward two squares. Tomorrow, I will devise a strategy for the black side, and move a piece accordingly.
My research into the dark arts and the undead has become fairly extensive. Never did I know that such powerful knowledge existed within my father’s grasp. It’s almost as if the deeper I go into this subject, the more beneficial and potent it appears. It is becoming increasingly difficult to resist the temptation to attempt such sorcery, and even harder to stop reading about it. Every page I read, the benefits seem to become greater and the risks seem to become smaller. The thought tickles my brain of my father once being a great necromancer, possessing scores of undead at his command. As amusing as the thought was, I dismissed it to continue my studies.
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