Journal - idleness



Idleness pisses me off.

Technically I'm not idle. I work in the forge every day, deliver the stuff I make to people, earn my stay. I'm no freeloader. But one can make only so many bloody pots and horseshoes before he craves change. Especially one used to combat. Even since I parted way with those rangers - good riddance to most, haven't seen such a bunch of uppity loudmouths in a while - I've done nothing but recovered and banged out more damn kettles than I've ever seen in use.

Even though I didn't see the end of their campaign, I consider my dues paid. Whatever I owed them for siding with those damnable slavers, knowingly or not, was paid off when that would-be sorcerer was struck down and the bunch of lowlifes were brought to an actual use. Some of them probably turned away from brigandry after that, my little speech as Clovenface have shaken a few. The rest are idiots.

Sod them and sod kettles, though. I'm out. I've heard locals whine about outsiders stealing their jobs - well, here's yours. Go grab it. Rumours and adverts go on about the "best mercs in the realm", currently in Trestlebridge. Bunch of big words and claims.

Let's put them to a test.