Ragnar and I guarded a granary at the behest of the local lord of Mabeth (I think his name was Jeff or Geoff or some other Man name). They mentioned The Stag Lord but that halfling was more scared of me than of any bandit king. The dog, not so much. Guy with a crossbow shot himself in the foot but he knows some of that magic that makes me feel like I just finished a few pints so I guess he’ll be all right.
At the trial, Ragnar did most of the talking, which I think may have saved our collective hides. The foot-shooter and the other priesty gal think we’re their wards. This dwarf is his own dwarf.
Traveled to Restov. Nice town if you don’t mind flimsy buildings without any structural integrity. The roads are way too narrow also. To be true, it’s no wonder the men live too short of lives. They don’t build anything to last.
Got a paying gig from some fancy folks that I’ve heard are pretty good with a blade. We’re heading off to the untamed, wild lands to the southwest. I’ve got the job of drawing maps and cataloging some of the flora. Most of what I know is underground; mushrooms and the like. But I think I can manage. The barbarian is our cook. Torag only knows what his kind eats.