Dear Diary,

  I’m going into battle. Hopefully it’ll go better than st time, especially since I’m in command (not a fan, by the by). I don’t think we can afford another 70% casualty rate. I’m stronger at least, level 86 and my stats are: PP 21 (10+11), PS 202 (182+20), PE 111 (96+15), MP 288 (268+20), MS 20 (10+10), ME 201 (96+105). I miss Jared, it was fun to race against him, even if I never won. On the positive side, I have a girlfriend - Jen and I are official now. She doesn’t know what I pn to do today, but she suspects something and doesn’t like it. Good start, eh? I’ll have to apologize profusely once word gets back to her, it always does. It’s dumb but I’m doing it anyway, I need to know where my limits lie and what I can really do.

  The System is full of shit. It says I can magically store up to 3 swords I ‘control’ at max 3 centimeters range in my [Sheath], [Control] lets me manipute up to 3 swords with my mind at max 3 meters range with ‘half the force I can exert’ and I can [Launch] swords I ‘control’ ‘twice as hard as I can throw them’ by expending 5 energy (compoundable!), only possible while they are within 3 meters of me and in the direction the point is facing. It paints a fwed picture, there’s so much more to it, as everyone is quickly discovering. It’s weird how our circumstances shape us. An Errant phase worm gave me the long-awaited epiphany, so maybe writing things down does help somehow.

  I have two spells, cantrips to be specific. [Create Food & Drink] and [Mending]. The only information avaible is that they cost 10 energy, as they have no descriptions. But I bet there’s more to them than meets the eye, I just need to figure out what.

  Would a user manual really have been so much fucking trouble? Oh well, no point crying over spilt milk. Instead, it’s time to spill some blood… well, ice I guess? Water? Fuck it, Errant don’t make sense anyway.

  I’m pretty pissed at the Errant these days. If there is a God out there, one without inclinations towards blowing up our pnet, then Redhead might even be currently scraping bits and pieces of its kneecap together. A man can hope.

  Let’s see where the fury takes me.

  Bye dear Diary.