10 October.

I grow weary.

I wish I could open this on more of a festive note, but I cannot think of any other ways around this. I have seen so much and continue to see more, and do not get me wrong, the things I have witnessed over the past six hundred and some years have been nothing less than phenomenal. But I still grow ever so weary.

I had decided to journey to England, which is now called Great Britain. It is a wonder of various technologies. There are steam engines, large vehicles which carry people around quickly on rails. Horse and cart are still used as well. I write this with a different sort of pen, and I have seen many other advances, including advances in both medicine and science.

Yet, I still grow tired. Things, perhaps, are moving too quickly for me. Maybe I feel my old brain cannot keep up with such quick development. I do not think human beings were designed to live past a hundred some odd years, give or take, depending on one's individual health. I would love to speak to another centenarian, not giving away my own condition, of course, but I wonder how someone who has lived to a hundred feels, though I know they are exceedingly rare.

I try to find joy in things, but it is so, so difficult. Even the foods I liked grow less and less appealing. The only thing that drives me on is the occasional pain that I submit myself to.

I will stop for now. Perhaps I will come back in a better frame of mind.

18 October.

Some rather frightening murders have happened by a man they nicknamed 'The Ripper.' I tried to investigate, but I have come up with naught.

I do not want to get too involved.

20 October.

I have tried to fill my days with menial tasks. For some time, I volunteered myself to work with breaking stone for the railroads. It is easy work for me as I do not tire, but I found I have to hold back as I was breaking the stone so quickly that they began to look at me strangely.

My appearance tended to make people feel odd, as I tend to be a bit...dated on my clothing. I had opted to attempt to fit in with a long coat, tall boots and trousers, though I still tend toward black. I spend some time drinking ale at the pub, but I find little joy in it.

22 October.

Let me go more into things.

I am, again, tired. I may attempt rest, and thanks to some medical journals I have an idea how, is not me giving up on life in the way you may talk someone out of ending theirs. I have lived too long. Far too long. We are not meant to be immortal, I know this now. I should have been dead before I was thirty. I was glad for the chance to perhaps try again, but I did not know it came with such a heavy burden.

I am glad to have been able to record as much as I have, and I do hope that perhaps this ends up in a museum of sorts, though I suppose it will likely just end up somewhere as the ramblings of a madman. I am sure a museum could perhaps use that, as well, particularly one of the more morbid ones.

31 October.

Well, I live. I am convinced I will live forever.

I had decided to just take it into my own hands with a specially made spike. A long, metal spike, that I thought perhaps sending it through my head, at a certain angle, would destroy the proper areas of my brain and end my life finally. I had actually been working on this item for a very long time, every since I learned a bit about anatomy. I simply saved it for when I felt I wanted to use it.

This did not work. I woke up right away. I shoved it through with my own hand, and all it did was excite me. I do not think I blacked out for more than a moment, in fact.

But I have renewed vigor, somehow.

I cannot explain, but somehow, the spike, which is still through my head, had done something to me. Perhaps because I now have a reminder of my immortality? I cannot say. Perhaps I have gone truly mad. I count myself lucky I was far away from people, as I fear I may have gone out on a spree I was so excited from the act.

I am glad I did this. I feel better. I still feel lost, but I feel somewhat better. I do not know what my purpose is, but I am convinced I have some. I just need to find it. Even if it takes me another three hundred years, I will find it. If I have to wander confused for some time, so be it.

I can find things to do. I can learn. I can still fight. I have still taken it upon myself to do damage to some of the more despicable beings. The other night I came across a den of thieves who hid out near the banks of the filthy waters whom had actually murdered someone who was on their way home. I made sure none of them would leave their den again.

And I can still report things in this book. It has grown rather nicely. After my attempt at entering Valhalla had failed, I had decided to read it again. I have seen such things that I can safely say no one else in the world right now has seen.

I mentioned I liked to read. I found a story titled 'The Raven.' It was rather beautiful, truth be told. I hope it becomes more widespread. Perhaps not everyone will find it as lovely as I did, as I found I have taken a much more morbid sense of aesthetics over the centuries, but I do think it is worth reading. Speaking of the ravens, yes, I still have them. I stay in a simple abode out of the city, closer to nature, where I have taken to liking a bit more. The ravens oft come to visit me there.

The various establishments do have some decent fare if I can get it heavily spiced and seasoned enough. Boiling coffee is always a joy still.

Well, this was a random and disjointed entry, and for that, my apologies. I will return, perhaps, with something that makes more sense, maybe after I have pondered what I have ahead of me.

2 November.

I think perhaps discussing some of the more interesting aspects of technology is the best thing to do. It is bizarre sometimes. Not only the technology, but the knowledge. How illnesses are caused. Substances we thought were useful we now know are poison, even though they do not affect me. Architecture has changed in vast ways. I admit I sort of miss the giant castles of the day, and while they certainly still exist, they are not in the number they used to be.

I sometimes go watching the various people around. Much like always, there are people of different classes. The poor live in these shantytowns, which is what they call them, near rivers and down in rather dirty areas. They scavenge and sell the items for money. The rich live in these amazing homes. I was in one before, when I discovered one which was without an owner. I decided to go inside and look around, simply to satiate my curiosity. I could live somewhere like that, but I'm not sure if anyone would sell a large house to a man who still has medieval gold with a large spike through his head.

Oh, yes, the matter of the spike. Well, it does not bleed, and simply looks like I am an eccentric fellow. I can feel people that are beyond uncomfortable around me, so I mostly only go to various stores and the like for supplies when I absolutely have to. There is a bakery that has wonderful tarts, however. I put up with the stares. I simply pass my new acquisition off as a sort of strange fashion.

12 November.

Well, it was only a matter of time. Some men came after me, thinking me mad; they wanted to take me to an asylum. Naturally, I did not go quietly. After they saw my strength, they definitely thought me mad, and came after me with clubs.

I almost managed to hold back, but whenever the pain courses through my body, I simply lose control of my power. I did not mean to kill the four, but I did. One of the few times where I actually did want to hold back, but their blows finally drove me to the point of where I start to thirst for blood, and that was that.

How many of these entries end with me killing? All of them, it feels. Even some of the more pleasant times in my life. It is is like violence follows me. I mostly just wish to be left alone to my books, to learn new things over the years. Yes, I enjoy pain, and yes, pain drives me to violence, but if I inflict the pain on myself when I am not around others, it it of little issue. The haze passes.

I suppose even way back, when I would fight with a near berserk fury, this stayed with me somehow. I feel so out of place with it now, though. It feels like the people here are much more civilized, and that I simply do not belong. Perhaps I should move onto a place that feels more like I can use the skills given to me. Even though I try to somewhat join in with the rest, my condition simply does not allow it. Being estranged from one's fellow humans can take a toll on one's mindset, and perhaps I should go think things over somewhere else for awhile.

15 November.

I stocked on supplies, including a healthy amount of tarts from the bakery, whom still do not seem to mind my patronage, and will be on the next ship back to the mainland. I think I will travel back to Romania, to visit the land of Transylvania. I have not been there for quite awhile, and I wonder how things have changed since the last time I was in the area, when it was much different, broken up into many different parts and conquered by different people. A dark time and place, to be sure, but perhaps things are somewhat different now.

I have also taken with me several of these fountain pens, and a few smaller books to write in, as while I can carry my large tome with no problems, I sort of want to perhaps move onto writing into something more modern.

And with that, I am off on my journey. I am going to try to keep writing more. I wish to perhaps keep up with more than every two centuries. I will begin again after I spend some time in Transylvania.