LOG ENTRY ONE: User:[email protected] logged in... General Location: Skytower City, Time; 13:82...

This city is my home. I myself am one of the many that have never even left it. I've had some travel between the districts and neighborhoods, but I've never gone past the farmlands circling the city. The city has always had a pyramid class system, even when it had first started to form around the base of Skytower.

The intelligent, noble, and more importantly the rich were given the privilege of building their estates around the base of the tower. Over years, manors have turned into skyscrapers, built with the best technology that the black market could get on this side of the world. Spas, arcades, sports, whatever you wanted could be found in the 'Noble' district. As for the common folk, however, we just called it the Glimmer district. The damn thing was lit up every hour of the day, keeping plenty of us in the lower districts awake at night.

Surrounding the nobles were the merchants and hotels, though four straight lines branched off from the main cluster to connect to the cities four main gates, each of which occupied a cardinal direction. Here, in the 'Stall Cross' were the better-off merchants. Well, partly better-off. Gun and Blade crafters, along with armorers and tech-suit manufacturers take up the western section of the cross. Hotels and other tourist attractions can be found in the northern segment. The red light district situated itself to the east, while the southern district foughy off the stench of sweat and sex with it's many resturaunts. It would take an estimated four hundred and sixty nine years to visit each shop, hotel, and brothel, even if you simply tapped the door with a toe and say you've been there.

This leaves us with the remaining three types of district. The Quarters, the Slums, and the Farmland. These take less detail to explain. The quarters are the areas outlining the Stall Cross, where people can live with a foot in and out of the richer lifestyle. The average citizen, so to speak. The slums are what lie past these neighborhoods, where the buildings are cheaper, the people are meaner, and you could hire a hit man at any bar or street corner you visit. My home, in all its glory. Lastly is the Farmlands, though I imagine that's enough said.

Now then, I suppose now is the time for introductions, right? My business associates call me Peirrot, on account of the mask I prefer to wear in public. Before you ask, no I'm not hiding a scar, I don't have fishlips, and I'm not some noble hiding from debt collectors. I wear my mask because I've seen what happens to people when someone wants revenge. Entire apartment blocks have been blown up because of one man with a bounty on his head. Here, the word innocence simply means you haven't been born yet. The mask is my protection from that, and more importantly, my greatest weapon.

I first joined a guild at the age of fifteen. Within a week I had comitted my first -paid- murder. Now, ten years later, I've forgotten how many times one of my bullets have torn through flesh, or how many of my blades lie imbedded in the ribcages of corpses rotting in the cities sewer system. I am a bad man, an evil man even. Though, in this kind of place you have to be in order to survive. Sounds cliché, right? Well, in the time I've been writing this little entry I've heard no less than four separate gunfights, nine debt collectors pounding on doors, and I'm half certain someone is being raped in the room above me. Speaking of which, now is a good time to fix that, so please give me just one moment.

Status: User [email protected] AFC, screensaver activated. Time; 14:03

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User [email protected] returned, loading previous document.

Time; 14:23

Well now, I have returned, albeit a slight bit more annoyed. I was right about the rape, the unfortunate boy. Luckily enough for him however, his assailant had a rather nasty fall from a ninth story window. Which he may or may not have been thrown through. Nasty Freak. Ah! I should explain that as well, I believe.

A few thousand years ago, there were many proud and noble races that made up the inhabitants of our country. However, once technology began to catch up to magic, resulting in huge advancements in transportation and living, it became much easier for the races to...intermingle. Which is to say, fuck. Before, Beastmen would be loath to so much as talk to a human. Now, you're lucky to find one person out of a crowd that doesn't have mixed blood in them. So, now only three real terms of labeling are in place.

First are the Purebloods. While this city is basically a giant cesspool, there are still plenty of people that have little to no changes in their ancestral physical makeup. An oddly colored eye here, shining green hair over there, etcetera. For the most part, as long as you looked like an original member of your race, that's what you were. Pretty simple. This applies mostly to the humans and elves, but can stand for any race.

Next are the Freaks. These come from the old demi-humans. The Catkin and Orc races for example. Like I said however, the races have had plenty of time to mix their bloodlines. Some actually don't look to bad, like when you mix an elf and a Catkin. Slim figure, sleek tail, and tall height. Then you get the odd goblin/siren mix. Think of a tiny green lady that loves to sing, but sounds like metal scraping against the inside of your skull.

After them are the lowest cast of society, the Rotters. These are the people that have just completely lost their shit. Honestly, there's not really another way to put it. Whether their mind just snapped from the abuse of the city, or they got so wigged out on drugs that they couldn't come down from the high. The first occurance happens often enough, they just kinda lay around in gutters or take up the shit-jobs of the city. (Both literally and metaphorically.) It's the other type of Rottter that causes trouble. Driven insane one way or the other, these guys are basically animals in human/beastkin/etc. skin. Mindless and constantly one hundred percent devoted to a single emotion, some will rip out your throat for the fun of it, while others will do nothing but sit on a street corner and laugh until they pass out, only to wake up and repeat the process. What causes this? What else but drugs!?

The narcotics in a city fueled by drug money are bound to be intense, obviously. The stuff made from the Glimmer district is downright incredible, made using the best pharmaceutical and botanical equipment available. The small boxes of dawnweed I always keep on me are from there, and cost more than two months rent. Each. Anyway, the drugs from the Quarters and Slums are...flawed, in comparison. Genetic defects in dawnweed cause those laughing idiots, while careless chemical doses in a inhalent called Rageroot could make you beat your fists against the wall until you were wacking it with the bloody stubs that remained of your shoulders. Of course, sometimes the wall was a person instead. I'll get back to the drug trade in time, but for now be patient.

It's time we get to the part where I explain my intentions for keeping this log. You see, Skytower has a secret. No one can get into it. Whatever loony overpowered sorcerer built that place built it good. This city was formed in the goal of somehow finding a way to open up it's doors. Three thousand years have gone by, and still, not even an inch of progress has been made. However, at the age of twelve, I learned how to get in. That's a story for another time though, and I wouldn't dare to repeat it here. At least not yet. The point is, I'm finally starting to move my pieces to where they need to be. After a decade of training, and hours of study, I think I'm ready to begin.

I am writing this now so that I can keep my mind focused and clear. The path I am about to take may well drive me crazy, as it involves many dark forces and magics. Again, that is for another time. For now I shall say this; I will kill anyone I need to in order to accomplish my goals. I will torture, beat, and maim any that oppose me. I will unlock the doors to Skytower with the entire world watching as I claim the treasures within! But most importantly, and certainly most difficult, I will burn this city to the ground and then dance on it's ashes.

I am Peirrot, and soon enough, I shall have power like no other! You may call me crazy, because I am. You may call me vile, because I aim to be. But one day, all will know me as either master, or executioner. Why, you ask? For one very simple reason; I have lived in this city my entire life, and it disgusts me. I only plan to cleanse the world of it's filth, and then lock myself away from any other atrocities that might lie beyond the city's walls.

I believe I have rambled on for long enough now, there is much to do. I shall be sure to update this page for any that wish to hear of my endeavors, and for those that wish to stop me... You will all be dead within twenty years, thirty at most, so this page is meant to give you the opportunity to escape, or join me. The choice is yours."

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COMMENTS(3) Views (9)

User: Big.Gobo- What in the fuck???? Is this guy crazy???

User: FlowerGurl22- Peirrot? Deffs, he's a big fish in the slums. Last week alone he set his old guild house on fire, killed evry1. I heard they were even all dead b4 he did it....

User: DaMAN- like hell. 1 dude cudnt du that!

User: NyanNyaaaan~- FAAAAAAAAAKE.