Journal Entry The First
Let it be writ:
Today, an oaf of a man, a woodcutter through and through, passed by my cabin.
“Where go you, axeman?” I said.
“A good day to you, villain!” he said, scratching his beard. “I am on my way to cut a little girl and her granny out of the tummy of a wolf. Bad business for the timber business, wolves eating one of my biggest clients and whatnot.” He sighed. “‘Tis the third time this has happened over the past season. Say, care you join me?”
“I’m good,” I said. I wasn’t, but I was going go be. Snicker.
He nodded, and turned around, tugging at his axe, skipping two steps at a time. Little did he know, a single step was worn out and slippery. It was this step, in fact, which his foot gave way under.
He flew into the air for a few glorious moments. Then, he fell to the ground, the head of the axe burying itself in his chest under the monumental weight. I got up, cackled at the sight, then sat back in my rocking chair.
Sometimes, it’s good to be partially precognisant.
Journal Entry The Second
The axeman pulled the axe out of his chest this morning. He seemed displeased with me. Nothing new under the sun.
“Listen here–” he said. The air shimmered behind him, and a shape enclosed in black iron grasped and threw the oafish man far away into the air. The axeman was silent, be it surprise or shock.
His form was gaunt, the face that appeared behind the iron helm an unnatural shade of white. Save for the difference in colour, it was familiar insofar as my own.
“Villain,” he said.
“Villain,” I nodded. “Have you come to free me from this prison, brother?”
He shrugged. “Something like that.” His fist went flying towards my face.
Partial precognition sucks.