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// Entry #41 July 13, 2190 
// Story: Starswirl's Journal 
// by AlesFlamas 
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After much toiling and troubling, I do believe I have perfected my poem. Or, at least made it passable to a mixed crowd of half inebriated nobles and peasants. I assume they'll be drunk, anyway. Everypony's had such a hard time holding their liquor these past few days, that it wouldn't surprise me if they all stayed home or at the inns, nursing their throbbing headaches. Though, I suppose drunken debauchery is preferable to race riots. 

It's funny. I thought I'd be more nervous, but something or other seems to have smothered my fears. I have the utmost confidence in myself, and in the poem which I have created. In all honesty to myself, this sudden burst in self-confidence seems wholly unwarranted. I have no reason to hold faith in my writings; so why do I? Could Rain's presence have a role in all this?