Libby has ordered a War tournament this week! Everybody will compete during our evening meals for a grand prize. The nobles greeted the news with enthusiasm, though that's mainly 'cause Libby's scary when you insult or poo-poo her ideas. They may be socially superior to my wife, but they're not in a position to argue with her.
Ha haaaa, grovelling and scraping and agreeing in front of a lowly carpenter. They must HATE it. Life is goooooood.
SO. Caravan. I barely talked about it yesterday, did I? My brain was so wrapped up in rules and regulations that I ignored the fundamentals of our trip. CARAVAN! Let's chat, diary, let's chat about caravans.
Our accommodations aren't great. The wagons are all the same: each is equipped with a large, domed, water-proof tarp, nestled over a round cart with enough space for five or six people and their provisions. Rather than seats the wagons have bunk beds, ringing the edges of each wagon's interior, and the bedding is comfy enough that no one's complained about sleeping overly much. Not exactly a Matriarch, but not bad.
(Wonder what happened to the Matriarch. And Queen Daena. And Princess Celine. And… Logan, though he's probably dead… bah. Think optimistic, Dragomir, you're a mayor now. Mayor's gotta be optimistic.)
I'm not sure these wagons were made by goblins. When we were attacked by King Gok's forces last year, there were TONS of war wagons sitting on the horizon. I came across one on the way to Goblinoster! Gotta tell ya, diary, these don't look anything like 'em. I bet they're stolen from somebody… and I hope we never meet the former owner. They might be pissed.
Enough about that. Caravan! I've established a nice little routine for everyone to go by, and it's still functioning after three days of travel:
- Wake up shortly before the sun crawls over the horizon
- Have a quick breakfast and bathroom break (no room for privacy on the plains, so we've all agreed just to not watch)
- Travel until noon, then stop for lunch and general stretching
- Carry on for five more hours, until the sun begins to drop, then set up a large camp, preferably near a water source
- Engage in social activities (War, these days - the tournament is in full swing as I write this) and set watches - each watch only lasts an hour, amounting to roughly an hour of watch time per person every two nights
- Sleep and watch
- Wake up and repeat!
The watches have proven most contentious among the nobles. Even though they've been essentially 'roughing it' for weeks, they continue to cling to their hoighty-toighty habits. Get up in the middle of the night to watch the darkness? NOT FUCKIN' LIKELY. I've been reduced to yelling at 'em a couple times to take their turns, and when that doesn't work, I play the shame card. The card that reads 'Even my WIFE does her watches without complaining, and she's PREGNANT'.
That usually works. Usually. Thank the gods not all of 'em are like that: the lady with the goofy hats (she's wearing an armadillo, now) is pretty amenable to night-time watches, the Weekendist is downright pleasant in offering to TAKE watches for other nobles, and Harold actually offered to stay up an entire NIGHT. That's courageous.
(I get the feeling he's trying to attract Libby's eye. He's ALWAYS staring at her. I might be jealous if I thought he stood a chance in hell of wooin' her, but… nooooope.)
Also: the pregnancy issue. Yep, Libby's stiiiiill pregnant. And rather pleasant, in fact! There's no chasing or screaming or attacking or any of that stuff, 'least not without provocation. Most of the time she sits back, breathes in life, and rests. Cool, calm, content. Or, as she put it, 'balanced'. Guess normal babies get normal pregnancies, which probably means that we're not gonna have another Eve.
Thank the gods for THAT, eh?
Yeah.
No… no more Eves. That'd… that'd be… awful.
Hrm.
Travel continues. June's knobbly fingers point us ever westward. Hope she's actually TAKING us somewhere.
Sincerely,
Dragomir the Mayor
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