Dante's Journal

[Dante Grixis]

After finally getting settled into my new home in the slums of Camelot I have been working for an underground organization of Rogues called the Brotherhood. The work is rather simple, well most of it, and it pays well.

I have a few acquaintances now. Anna Glenn who I met at the market one day. She says that she's from a small Kingdom that was attacked and she is the only survivor. I doubt the validity of the statement, I must investigate further to make a judgement though.

Dreamer, a gypsy, I met at the Ram. He is the new entertainer there. His violin skills are magical. I swear to god he could hypnotize people through song. He seems like a genuinely good person. I'd like to get the chance to meet him again, though I think it will be hard to hide my true identity as he is a rather inquisitive boy.

Then there is Henry. My only true friend I suppose you could say. When met at the market I don't think he liked me much but we went to the Ram for a drink and he warmed up to me. We've met a few times since. He is part of the Brotherhood as well, though he is a thief not an assassin. He seems to like to stand up for innocents being harmed, a rather noble rogue.

Arthur Pendragon, my enemy. I would've killed him during our first meeting if he guards hadn't been there to help him. He will die though, I know not when or where, but it will be by my hand.

I often miss Spain and the friends I had there but as my new life progresses I can see that life in Camelot isn't so bad. In fact I kind of like it here. Well, so far at least.

[Dante Grixis]

I am a wanted man. I constantly have to look over my shoulder to make sure the guard are not right at my heels. Once again I am a man on the run, the instinct of self preservation running through my veins like a mad bull.

So do I run away and hide to yet another unknown place, forced to assimilate to another set of people and cultures, leave my new found friends behind? Or do I stay, hunted down like a dog, persecuted, hated by the general population until I hang from the gallows? The latter seems like a grim existence but I cannot run. This time there is no fleeing to a safe haven to start a new life.

When I left Spain I had to leave behind the only home I had ever truly known. My friends, Raul and Fabian, are now but bitter, distant memories. I wish that I had never left, but if I didn't I would have surely died. This time though, I must repress my self preservation instinct to keep the few things that I have. My friends, my home, my pride.

Pride is a deadly sin, but one I am guilty of. I am far too proud to let Arthur live while I run and cower like a cornered animal. I must finish what I started. I normally would not be so committed to my mission, but this time it is different. This time it had become a personal vendetta.

When I first took it, I treated it like every other mission. That was until I met my enemy. That battle, every swing, every strike, all the small details are burned into my mind, playing constantly, reminding me of his fighting style, of my faults in battle.

It goes deeper than my will to dominate Arthur in combat though. It breaks down into ideologies, his views on the poor against mine. He, and the rest of the Pendragons for that matter, are willing to let the Lows continue to live their desolate existence. They are willing to let the peasants toil in the fields day after day for little pay, save for what they can make at the market.

He had never set foot, let alone lived in the slums of Camelot. He had never seen a man kill for a small piece of silver to feed his family. He has never had to face the loss of a husband to a war, leaving behind three children and a mourning wife. He has never lived in a shack that can't keep the chill of winter out. He has never survived on a loaf of bread for a week. Not all Lows are drunks and thieves, many simply cannot find work, or are not allowed a job due to their social standing. But the Pendragons refuse to see this.

I have lived that life, on the streets of Spain where my father was a peasant, and where years later I first learned the trade of assassination. For years I lived on the little I got for my services. I was lucky enough not to have a family to feed. Countless friends have died of disease, hunger or the elements in the slums, yet the Pendragons turn a blind eye to it. For this reason he must die. Perhaps then the Pendragons will know the pain of loosing a family member suddenly; know the loss that countless poor feel every day.

Wars are not fought with blades and horses, they are fought with ideas. In this sense Arthur and I are at war. I cannot retreat now. And so, here in Camelot I stay. I shall remain until my task is complete. Here I wait, hands always close to my blades.