*closed and locked with the level of security given to the more reputable banks, the small book looks fairly battered and completely impenetrable to anyone without at least four appropriate keys. The text inside would be elegant and professional, if not for the large number of smudges in the ink, presumably from tears and a shaking hand.*

Dear Diar-...

Bloody hell, that sounds stupid. I'll never do that again.

So I heard writing your feelings down is supposed to in some way be helpful and for the first (probably the last) time, I thought I might give it a shot, even if it's supposed to be the preserve of adolescent girls and the thoroughly emotional. I am most definitely not the former, and hopefully not the latter.

Taipia was killed today and yet again, in an increasing number of times lately, I honestly don't know what to do... other than find Disto and beat him into chalk dust. I don't even think that will help, because she'll still be dead, won't she? The order is out there for his head - preferably attached to his body, although that isn't a necessity - but what then? There's this gap in the Club now, a big Gnome-shaped gap, and I don't know who or what could ever fill that again - not even that murderous bastard's blood.

Tai was always there for me, whether I wanted her to be or not. There were days some people would ask if we were literally joined if not at the hip, then at least her hip to my ankle. She'd been there for me so many times, not just as a business associate but as one of my closest friends and she was the best assistant I could have wished for. She was determined, honest, hard-headed, at times downright rude but Gods, I don't know how I'm going to pull myself together.

She didn't deserve to die. Not like that.

Gods, this isn't working. Whoever said writing helps your head lied horribly.

I'm going to go hunt some Ogres or something.