Omid's Journal

[Omid Shepsen]

Property of O M I D S H E P S E N I've begun this Pamphlet in honor of Qalaya. In it I shall record those Things that have no other place in my Life, my thoughts, my ideas and my Feelings as they run. --46 Spring 408AV My last entry is brief and blurred, a little not to myself more than to any real Effect. I do intend to Write, but my time and Attention are often drawn away by What goes on about mee. The Professor, overjoyed to find mee in sound mind after my long illness, wished to spirit mee away from that City at once, but was delayed by Quarantine. Wee sit here yet, perhaps the longest I've been in One place since I left Nyka. I have occupied my time here mostly in rest, for until these past weeks I lay limp and useless in my Sickbed. It took all my effort to lift a Glass of water to my lips, and my Food consisted of Little more than a thin Gruel. My Joy was palpable when I was Allowed to palate even a small Morsel of bread. ... [TBC] --07 Summer 408AV The Professor is dead. I thought 'till now that I had known every Sorrow, but obviously my sense of it grew soft in time and has now been Broke anew, its edge made jagged and red against my Mind. Did I know Hee meant so much to mee? How could I? Father, Mentor, Master all at once--yet I never met nor heard mention of a family 'til now. --91 Winter 412AV

[Omid Shepsen]

[Post-in-Progress]
Omid could feel the new season in the wet breeze that ruffled his hair. Suspicious, as always, of the ill effects of damp, he pulled the cloak more tightly around his shoulders to ward it off. His purse felt light against his thigh--he needed a job and the sooner the better--but he couldn't help slowing his step as he passed a particularly delectable-looking bookshop. Thus distracted, he all but ran smack into a young man standing awkwardly in the way.
"Apologies," he muttered, prepared to step around the strange gathering and continue on his little mission, when he noticed the most peculiar bird. So, rather than hurry along, he hovered curiously at the edge of the conversation. It would be something to write about later, he decided, quietly noting the bird's bright plumage.
"Does it bite?" he asked, preoccupied by the vicious-looking beak. "Is it a hawk of some kind?"