Journal - on everything



Feels like It was almost a year since I wrote something in here last. This annoys me. I was supposed to do this more often, but then I got distracted with Trestlebridge - and never actually found anything of value there. Waste of my time.

Can't believe it's been so long. Not much happened in between either, though I did finally manage to set up my own smithy in Pickgrove, between some abandoned houses, a broke map-maker and some retired warrior woman from who knows where. Accidentally hired a maid, too, when someone I knew from my past came in, looking for some old pots. We talked, turned out she's without home, and her kin scattered to the winds, like they're wont to do. Curious bunch, earned me a nickname, too. Captain Clovenface. That's a story I have to write down one day, it was hillarious.

Either way, she sort of lives here now. Odd timing, I've been reminiscing that bunch with doc twigman the other day... right, that. Apparently the Dimheim Soothery in Gondor moved to here, of all places. Small world. He, as in, Elias, the old Dim Doc's son, is here now and I've made a cage for him, for one of his patients, reportedly. Told him how bloody weird that sounds, but he seemed to not care. Not my problem, he paid well.

Now I'm off traveling with him again. He's paying me as a sellsword on the way to Ered Luin, because the git needs some seaweed for alchemy. He brought up those illustrations his grandfathers made, that I snuck a peek on at home, when Ol' Dim Doc didn't pay attention to me. Turns out those were coded, go figure. Damn alchemists.

We took a detour through Buckland, or rather, they did and I met them there. Initially, he's been guilt tripped by some broad, not looking a day over sixteen winters. A grown woman with the mind and manners of a pampered, petulant child, throwing a tantrum because Twigman wasn't hungry when she made him fish. She buggered off after that, good riddance.

Our short trip into the woods felt like it took a damn eternity, though we spent barely a few hours there. I'll write on that later, my side still hurts. Though it seems Twigman got himself a little bruise to that cold logic armour around his mind. Good, maybe he'll stop being so insufferably disbelieving.

Now wouldn't that be a miracle.