Day Three-Hundred-Four: Party On, Dragomir

Last night was one of celebration.

Shortly after I finished that last diary entry, a cry of jubilation went up around the caravan. Somebody decided it was time to enjoy the fact that our long journey was finally over -

- and that somebody was Grylock. Yes, the pissy little goblin set off the festivities by grabbing a bottle of wine he'd hidden in a wagon and downing the ENTIRE THING in front of a bunch of nobles. That got one of the nobles, a portly lady, in a good mood, and she demanded some spirits of her own.

And so did a few more of the nobles.

And the Weekendist preacher.

And Robert, joined by lady-friend Bora, who began to slow dance awkwardly under the stars.

And the rest of the peasants, who haven't had to endure quite as much as the rest of us, but who love a party anyway.

Pretty soon the whole caravan was out by the golden tree, dancing and singing and carrying on in as merry a fashion as they could, downing most of the alcohol in the caravan. I joined in a little bit, marvelling that the nobles and the peasants were FUCKING GETTING ALONG for once, though I settled down with Libby and Grayson after an hour of fun. Last thing I heard before I drifted off to sleep was the gentle strum of Edmund's lute, the notes slurred by the drinks he'd imbibed.

I woke up with puke on my shirt. It'd been my turn to sleep with Grayson on my chest, and he left me a present. Thanks, kiddo.

The camp was a mess when I left my wagon. Few people had managed to crawl back into their wagons, opting instead to flop into piles of snoozing bodies for warmth. Drunkenness is the great equalizer, I guess, 'cause these flop piles consisted of peasants and nobles alike.

Oh, and they were in various states of undress. Don't know what happened out there last night, don't wanna know. Hope most nights don't end like that. This isn't gonna be the village of exposed thingers, this I vow.

After the majority of the hangovers had worn off (the sun was well into the sky, lemme tell ya), we held the first village meeting. It ran as usual: status report, air grievances, plot course. The course now, of course, is building a settlement, and the last part of the meeting was more an open debate than a dictatorial statement on my part. I dunno where the fuck to start. Would you, diary? Seriously? Figured somebody else might have an idea. 

Opinions were… mixed, to say the least. It was obvious that most people had their own affairs in mind. The nobles demanded opulent housing, almost universally, while the peasants were content with the same damned houses for everyone. Grylock and Robert demanded a restaurant, Edmund wanted "a single street corner / Upon which I might strum mine odes", Libby pitched a carpenter's workshop… I'm pretty sure Grayson asked for a crib, though his mouth is still a little twisty on words… ugh.

I still haven't made up my mind, so I stalled for time by suggesting we take apart a bunch of the wagons in preparation for setting up houses. We have more than enough wagons to house everybody, what with some of them being allotted entirely to supplies, and the planks of wood will come in handy for making huts. Most people agreed to that and got started, following Libby's instructions in pulling apart boards. She finds the process weirdly backwards, and thus it takes longer than usual, but it shouldn't require more than a few hours of work.

And then what? I dunno. Roads? Buildings? Farms? Fields? A freaking communal bathtub? I DON'T KNOW, diary, and nobody here seems capable of helping me. I need more advice… 'n sadly, I think I know where I have to go to get it: from the only person who didn't chime in at the meeting today.

Her 'n her spider.

Man, I hope she didn't settle too far into the woods…

Sincerely,

Dragomir the Mayor