The words upon these pages documents the life of a humble student of the Troican academy. My name is Rheged Sayre, named after my highly esteemed father, a high general in the royal palace of Troi. I was born his one and only offspring. A son.

Mother speaks fondly of the day of my birth. It is said in Troican tradition, that the first born son welcomes good fortune for his family. Both she and my father are believers in this notion, for my father was promoted to high general a few years later, and we were blessed with the comforts of much luxury for years to come. I was given the education that most peasants would dream of, and have attended some of the grandest banquets set by the Emperor, flourished only by his generosity. It can be said that we have attained a state that resembles nobility as closely as is possible.

However the life of wealth and glamour is not all that it seems. Perhaps by ushering good fortune to my family, it has instead been stripped from my grasp. I am a dreamer, a poet... a musician. I have always hoped my strength in academics would someday bring me to a place in power, so that I might be able to develop a center for culture in Troi as I have heard has been done in other foreign nations; hailing the glorious works of artists and instrumentalists from throughout Tyria and Cantha. That through poetry and artistic interpretation may the nations be united as one, for art upholds no barriers and is able to penetrate most cultures. No matter how varied.

But as sleeping dreams go, they rarely materialize. Alas for me, such passions are not to be indulged in - for they are said to belong only to paupers who daily line the cobbled streets of our city from day to night, entertaining calloused crowds for the sake of a few copper coins. There is no room for dreamers in this city.

Instead I have unwillingly been drafted into the Troican academy, in order that I may follow in my father's footsteps to someday assume the position of royal guard, and perhaps... high general. I do not wish to disobey my father's wishes, but deep inside, my heart feels nothing but distress, for I know this path will only drive me further from my dreams.

Therefore my dear journal, I have decided that I shall turn to you, for I believe only you may understand the trials of this soul. Perhaps in time to come, someone shall discover what I have written when I am long gone from this world, and he shall be endowed with what I refuse to share with any other person. Till then, I shall indulge in my deepest thoughts and sorrows through my writing, for you are my comfort and my only elopement from reality.

~ The hidden poet
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This day marks a milestone in my life.

I have officially graduated from the Troican academy and have been enlisted in the service of guards for the Emperor. For the next few months for two days in a week, I shall be required to spend two days at a stretch guarding the bailey. I shudder at the thought of forty eight hours over day and night in the harsh cold and beating sun while sleep is kept from the soldier. It is a rite of the profession to determine the reliable and determined. And at the end of the trial, shall the proven best be drafted into higher positions in the military, be rewarded with a position at the main gate to regulate the influx of peasants into Troi, or receive a place in the palace to guard royalty.

A mischevious thought haunts my conscience, that I should fail this test by intention so that they may be deem me unworthy for the service, and allow me to continue with my studies. But I know that in doing so, I will tarnish my father's good name. He expects much from me, and it is my duty as his son to deliver. I only wish I could come to appreciate my responsibilities as greatly as he does.

Mother and Father were very pleased with my graduation, they had arranged an exorbitant feast to celebrate the occassion, of which I felt was most unnecessary and let them know. But they were insistant that it marked my coming to as a man. They said the only other thing that would be lacking would be a wife.

But marriage? In my heart, I am nothing more than a lad - it is strange to think that I should so quickly be entrusted with a family of my own. Would I be able to bear the responsibilities of upkeeping one? And what of my wife-to-be? I have not yet courted any woman, bashfulness be my flaw. I wonder how would I find a wife while I am surrounded by other men most of my working hours?

I will admit however, that the idea does keep me thrilled in my waking hours. And when I walk the streets to the marketplace with mother, the only time I am able to mingle with the opposite gender, my eyes scan the crowds for a gentle, pretty face, one that will belong to my wife-to-be. She who will capture my heart... my soul, and turn this poet into a lover.

~ The poet who waits
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It has now been my tenth duty upon the bailey, and am pleased with how well I have done thus far. Time passes much more quickly with a good companion, and I have found that in the young man assigned for duty on the Northern wall with myself, Nerthach Rickter. He is a witty soul who manages to find cheer in every bad event. Oft times he spends hours hailing Troi's leadership, claiming that any nation that would be as bold as to offer an offensive stance towards this great city would certainly be crushed before arriving at the wall! He teases sometimes that our assignment is nothing more than a test for our resistance to tedious-boredom. How true!

In recent times, I have found much in common with this man, besides our opinion of the bailey duty. We share the love of music. And he had kindly offerred to teach me the usage of the Zimmer; a wooded instrument threaded with the mane of a mare that emits a beautiful mystifying tune with each strum.

In many ways, he reminds me of myself. I had questioned him once as to how such a musical soul should find himself in the military. And his honest answer drowned me at once in guilt, for my reasons for joining the academy had been neither patriotic nor humbling as his was. It dawned on me that here sat Troi's most dedicated servant, if they would only discover him through my eyes.

Apart from our casual conversations through the night till the dawn of light, we would keep watch on every person who passed through its gates, attempting to detect stowaways hidden within caravans, watching drunken hoodlums being cast from Troi's gates or the beacons from the mountains yonder that would be lit to forewarn the arrival of a warring nation... although Troi had been at peace with her neighbours for decades now, there would be no reason for the beacons to be lit - or so we would assume.

~ A poet on his duty
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Princess Orianka... I was privileged with a distant sight of her majesty on my most recent watch. She arrived upon a white chariot, draped in powdery silk that floated in the air as she glided across the street while crowds fell to their feet in honour. It as though time itself paused around her, and silent reverence rolled out as a carpet beneath her feet of shimmery jewels. Though her skin was as fair and smooth as creamed milk, she was crowned with raven hair, cropped neatly at her shoulders and at her forehead, draped with beads of many colors - the traditional dressing of Libistine, her country of origin. Her face partially concealed within a veil, so that no man may gaze upon the face that launched a legend.

Stories have been told that the Princess was originally a gift to Emperor Ghalin. She had arrived just days before Troi sent their troops to conquer the grounds of Libistine. And so mesmerizing was the sight of she that the Emperor immediately put behind all his plans of war in order that he might wed her for himself. So commenced a time of peace between the two nations where trade has blossomed, and mothers are able to rest easy that their sons live on for another day.

Due to such events, she has found much favour with the crowds; statues have been erected as a symbol of peace for this nation and for Libistine, and her name uttered in a thousand households along with rave words of praise.

A dozen times have I seen her appear on the streets once more in my mind, like a fairy gracing effortlessly upon a still lake. Though it was just for a moment, I too, like the Emperor, have been entranced with the princess.

~ A poet mesmerized
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I had never dreamt I would miss my duties on the bailey, perhaps it was Nerthach that made the experience so pleasurable. We had graduated a few days ago, and our performance on the wall has been well looked upon. Nerthach is now a city-guard, while I am drafted to palace-guard duties. I will not complain as there are worse things in life, but dullness has sought me in the company of my ever-so-silent colleagues. Time drags on each day that I stand in the temple grounds where rarely does a soul arrive or depart, and I am left with nothing but my thoughts.

I still practice the Zimmer as Nerthach had taught me when I am off from my duties. We have plans to meet soon so that he might correct me if my fingering is errored, but I believe we might end up spending more time catching up with each other as we always do, than practising the Zimmer. I have much to tell him; especially of the events that have transpired lately.

Events that have me trapped once more. When my parents had wished for me to be married, I had mistaken their words for a suggestion, when it was in fact a command. During my bailey duties, my father had sought the hand of the daughter of his second in command. I am to be wed to her in two weeks, even though I have not yet seen her face, nor heard her voice. How strange it is to be forced into such an engagement. I feel my heart ripped from its place. But once again he is my father and it is my duty to oblige, such are the responsibilities of a child - to put aside personal happiness and dreams for the aspirations of one's family.

I wish at such hour that I could be the child of no one, but it would be saying I was never born. Perhaps I would find more joy in the ignorance of life.

~ A poet trapped
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Her name is Catherine, though she requests to simply be called Cath. She is a quiet woman who enjoys the art of stitching, and broils a delicious beef stew. Though simple in appearance, her gentle kindness shines through her smile. She is my wife... As strange as it is to pen the words 'my' and 'wife' so closely. Yes, I am married... I am the master of my own house; a little cottage within the city walls, close enough to where I work.

Cath maintains our new home with much vigour. It would seem that she never tires of the endless chores, nor sewing handsome suits for me to wear. I believe I am the envy of every man in Troi for being married to such a devoted and skillful wife.

Father was right, I should never have doubted him. Will I proudly declare that I am in love with my wife, and she with me - the humble daughter of a general, now keeper of my household. I am determined to appreciate her form of beauty that radiates from within, even if it takes me to the end of my life.

~ The married poet