It is nearly impossible to fathom that we docked in Scrape (a vile town of scum and villainy, so they say) only three days ago. I have lost count of the Danes I have slain. If feels ... agreeable to purify the streets of these heathen Norse dogs. A flaw in all great killers is their lust for infamy - they cannot help but incriminate themselves in the recounting of their exploits. But should Helmut's bitch ever discover that I am Ixie, well, she will remember me, I swear it! I certainly have no qualms in recording my more memorable kills for posterity:
1) The two guards in the tannery in the Carthage quarters. Unfortunately for them, they were also on the payroll of one of my charmed pals, a lowlife Carthy named Van. He didn't bat an eye when I gutted his employees and gave excellent advice in weighing down the corpses before tossing them in the river.
2) Two more guards on the bridge during the Norse-Orc brawl of Day two. I learned later that Helmut had started the fight. I'm not even certain anyone noticed that it was I who killed them in all that chaos.
3) Yet another guard from the roof of the Shrieking Phantom, sniper-style with my bow. I regrettably lost my rope and grappling hook. The Bitch also noticed the fletchings of an Elf master, Jorja tells me. I am pleased. The more she knows about me, the more she will have to fear.
4) The very next morning, I revisited the Shrieking Phantom to find it's roof was now patrolled. Someone was finally taking notice. By the time I was finished today, Ixie was the talk of Scrape. I count five Danes slain and the Phantom a smoldering ruin. I was home in time for breakfast.
And Jorja stands accused for my crimes and must fight mayor Yorin in the pit! I am both amused and insulted. For now, the Ixie mask comes off. I must attend the fight to protect a comrade. After all, there is plenty of time - we've only just arrived ...
