27 November

I’ve got a job: assistant (Pah! They obviously don’t know my skill at botany, or maybe their just giving an old dwarf the chance to shine) florist to miss.. Eh… Honeydew (or was it Moneypew?)! And the owner of the warehouse said he’d allow me to rent out the loft so all round I’m reasonably happy (except about having to drag the chair back to the Shack).
Ying and Yang will have to be moved to a more permanent home. Oh goodness I totally forgot about them till now! I’ll see to that now.

- Hester

P.S. a portrait of miss Runneydon… I mean Honeydun. Oh whatever!

25, November - Venore City

“At best Venore is a rubbish tip; full of vagabonds, thieves’s and rats.”
From Tibia, a History by H.A. Alston.

Midday
Phew the journey through the swamps was certainly exhausting for both me and the pair (Ying and Yang that is). We managed it in two days (must be a record for an old dwarf and her two donkeys) with the broken chair in the back of my wagon tied down with rope. I’m in Venore for two reasons: to get the chair fixed and to, hopefully (I said a couple of prayers to the gods), to find a new job.
I’ve left Ying and Yang just outside the city in a nice stable which was thirty gold a day - can you believe it? No, your right, neither could I. Well I sit in a quaint (if there’s such a thing in Venore) café with a cup of what they call coffee (it’s quite strong with a horrible foreign tangy flavour) as I write this and am about to lug the chair off to the furniture warehouse. I could find someone to lug it for me. I’ve got a couple of coins left. Hmm, maybe…

Sunset, 6 o clock.
Well, I can say in the end the chair managed to be take to the warehouse. I’m not going to say how though. That would be too embarrassing. I’ll just wave that part away, and tell you some shocking news. I was coming back from the warehouse (my purse was considerably lighter) and about to descend into the local depot when… it was terrible. The streets of this foul city were red and smoking. There was flickering flames and bodies scattered about. A giant massacre. Oh the horror. My stomach will never be the same again. Those poor, poor people. I can feel the tears on my cheeks now as I write. A little embarrassing. No wonder this city is the last on the list of the Tibian Explorer Society’s ’100 Places to Visit in a Life Time’.
It’s just too horrid.

11 o clock
In the end I managed to find a nice place to stay, it’s a loft above the local florists. The owner is a charming and surprisingly young man by the name of - well I’ve forgotten but I’m sure it’s something nice. The loft is cosy, with a little coal cooker and a nice window looking down on to the streets. I think I should write to everyone back at the Shack. Yes that’s what I’ll do.

- Hester

23, November - the Shack

Well I never!
I woke up, got outa bed. It’s been five days since I came back to the dear Shack and every moment has been interesting and (somewhat) humorous. Well it was - that is - until this morning. I pulled on my dressing robe and half tied up my hair (I should have it re-coloured by that witch sometime soon. It’s greying again) and tottered down the stairs as usual.
Everything appeared normal; no one was up yet (lazy sods); Daisey (the cow) was out in the field with Ying and Yang (my donkeys) munching grass; and the sitting room, as I came in, was nice and tidy with Cidius on the couch again. Everything was perfect - everything except - the armchair by the heart - my favourite armchair! It’s legs were broken and the fabric was torn all along the back. I stood there in shock for what seemed like an hour (well, it was my favourite armchair!) and thought to myself: who could have done this?
I narrowed by eyes at Cidius, drooling at the mouth and snoring loudly. That little… ugh! I was so sure it was him. Whacking him a couple of times across the back got him up. Served him right too - breaking my favourite chair.
“What?” he cried and lashed out at me! Me - an old woman! The nerve!
“I dud no do it.” was his reply to my questioning him about the chair. Hmm. Now a liar as well as a vandal.
It was about ten in the morning when the rest slowly started to get up. Redwick dunked his head in the bathtub of rain water out front and then came in wringing wet, dragging murky water across the freshly clean carpets. I’ll wring his neck someday! Lapin followed shortly, then Gin (whisked down by magic. I say I‘ll never get used to it!), then Tath (he had got back the day before) and finally Merrick.
I lined them up in front of the armchair and by the ludicrous look on their faces they’d thought I’d finally lost it. Or at least they did until I pulled back the white table cloth which covered the ruined chair.
Redwick rolled his eyes and Lapin chuckled. The nerve! I gave them a couple of whacks on the shins (except for Gin who managed to stop me with magic. Damn the boy!) to keep them in line.
And… well I’d best make a long story short and tell you I now have to go to Venore to buy a new chair (and of course find a new job. The Shack is lovely but there’s one or two problems - constant cleaning; not having a key to the basement; etc - besides I need a place and something to call my own.) because not one of them would own up to damaging the chair.

18, November - the Shack

Arrived okay at the Shack (even if it did take a whole day and these bones were not the same afterwards) and I was greeted warmly by everyone outside - Gin had a cold - that boy never wraps up and necromancy too. Heavens knows where he’ll end up. I wonder if he’s a member of the Brotherhood of Bones? I’ll have to ask him sometime.
Delion, Greca, Anentor and That were all away when I arrived. I was looking forward to seeing everyone again. Oh well - beggars can’t be choosers.
The Shack was the usual mess; dust caking the floors; spiders dancing on the rooftops - something’s just never change (oddly reassuring in a strange sort of way). Which is why I immediately felt compelled to grab a sweeping brush and clean the place up (hopefully it will give me an excuse to get into the wine cellar and sneak a quick - well not too quick - drink).
I got through the hallway first, with Terena lingering by my shoulder begging me to just sit down for five minutes. I had to get her off my back by chasing her off into the living room with the brush. In the end, when I reached the kitchen, Redwick wouldn’t let me into the cellar.
“I still don’t trust you Hester,” he said, “Not after last time.” Just because I drank some… half… okay, I admit, most of the cellars store. I had a good excuse too. But anyways that’s a story for another time.
The day wore into the night and I took a bottle of whiskey and nestled into that armchair that is so very and drowsily comfortable by the hearth.
The room was dark - fire dead and candles snuffed - when I woke. Everyone else had gone to bed (except for Cidius - he’s been drinking too and lay strewn across the couch) and I trudged up the stairs into my old bedroom. It was good to be back to a true home with a family (and of course my store of whiskey beneath the leftmost floorboard in my bedroom).

- Hester

15, November - Kazordoon

Fired!

Can you believe it?! Fired! Those ungrateful pups at the infirmary just fired me as soon as I got off the ship. I told Them “I was on that ship with full permission and order by you bloody lot!” and They told me they didn’t appreciate my tone and that I should calm down. They went on to explain They were letting me go because I simply took too much time off to go traipsing around the country with a band of… ragamuffins (they carefully chose that word).
Oh I showed them calm! I hurled a couple of vases in the head Matrons direction (I admit maybe that was a little too much but I had taken some whiskey this morning to sooth my spot of seasickness) and stormed over to my office, packed up, and shoved off like they wanted me to!
I don’t think I fully comprehended the damage done by losing my position as Secondary Matron right then; otherwise I might have dropped to my knees and begged Them not to fire me. You see - I could not keep up the rent on my already expensive cottage on the mountainside - never mind feed myself and the donkeys and chickens with no salary.
I sit by my table in the cottage here, writing this and pondering away the day: ‘What in heavens name is going to happen to me now?’ ‘Where shall I go?’ ‘Will I survive?’ (That last one was a tad too dramatic) and other such woefully depressing thoughts.
“I suppose,” I say aloud to myself, “I could move back into the Shack.” But I wouldn’t like to trouble Red Un and everyone - even it was better and much more exiting and homely (except for the piles of dust and unwashed dishes. I’m stumped to think how a couple of people can make such a mess).
I know! Aha, Hester you genius! I’ll write to them and ask if it’s okay! Oh and I can pull the caravan out from behind the shed , load it up with the junk that I call furniture and wobbled my way - led by the donkeys - to the Shack.