Day Three-Thirty-Seven: They'll finish this stupid town some day

Right… picking up from yesterday…

Shortly after my visit to Pagan, I woke everyone I could find up and called a town meeting by the golden tree. Same old routine, vastly different circumstances - and when my dad caught wind of what was happening, he flipped. Kept screaming challenges to Pagan, and a few times he looked ready to charge off and face the old man one-on-one. Only the fact that he would have done so alone kept him from moving. Dad's strong, but he can't take on an army by himself.

Shame Eve ain't here. This wouldn't be a problem. Bah, poor Eve… how are you doing, my baby…?

We discussed the options. Most people were not in favour of leaving, though they would if we couldn't concoct a better alternative. Nobody wants to die, and fighting is probably tantamount to dying. A few people suggested asking Barrel to intercede, but that danged dragon remains sullen, and refused to budge from his shelter. (The tents are built well away from him, speaking of which. You'd think his presence alone would be deterrent enough, but nooo.) Grylock capped off the meeting by offering to assassinate Pagan… which is a good idea…

… but I turned him down. Like it or not, Pagan has a legal claim to these lands, handed down to 'im by… somebody. I dunno. His documents looked real authentic, though, and I've had no reason to doubt his story. We can't murder a guy for protecting his own lands.

So… I guess… we… have to leave…?

That's the real pisser here. Fine, we have to move. I can live with that. I don't want people getting hurt. But I've gotten used to Pubton where it is. Weird though she was about the trip, June found us a real nice spot. Good view of the mountains, nice proximity to a river, pleasant forest… I don't wanna leave, diary. This is home.

Home. I don't wanna leave home.

AND SPEAKING OF JUNE! Where the hell is she in all this? She wants us to stay here yet she can't be fucked to come help?! She could be planning something in the brush, sure, but she could at least alert us that she'll help us out. Between her 'n the rats, who are STILL useless about this whole thing, well, lemme just say that I don't have much faith in magic today. Or yesterday. Or any day. Magic hasn't done me much of a lick of good in my life. Wish I still didn't believe in it.

Shame it brought me back to life. Things like that kinda force ya to sit up 'n take notice. Was so much simpler when magic was a rumour, y'know?

Today's been a high-tension standoff. At some point last night my dad and a bunch of his followers - yeeeeeah, he's got followers - set up their own perimeter to face off with Pagan. They've got their own ramshackle weapons at the ready, along with some cobbled-together tents, and both sides are glaring at each other. Dad will fight at the slightest provocation from Pagan's bunch, and he keeps calling me names for not helping out.

"Dragomir," he said before hunkering down to watch with his comrades-in-arms, "you don't get it. A man has to fuckin' defend his home with his life. This is where we live now, 'n we need ta be willin' to die for what's ours. You hear me, you useless brat? YOU HAVE TO DIE FOR WHAT'S YOURS. If you can't be bothered pickin' up a spear -"

"I CAN'T pick one up, dad!" I whined, demonstrating with a saw somebody had left on the ground. "See? See? No weapon! No pick up! Can't fight!"

"FUCK YOU, THEN, YA USELESS WORM!" He cuffed me in the side of the head and sent me sprawling. "The hell happened to you, shitbrains? Ya go away 'n you become a completely diff'rent person! No more muscles, no more weapons, no more fuckin' GUTS! You're not my goddamned son, you're a fuckin' FAILURE!"

I fled. His words were too painfully true - 'cept for the part about the weapons. I swear I've never picked up a weapon in my life, not even before that thing with the bandit. I fled, bitter and angry and ashamed, back to my wife… who, being of my dad's general opinion, didn't offer much consolation.

I've made a decision.

We leave tomorrow. We leave, and we don't look back. 'cause I can't let these people die.

Goodbye, Pubton. I will miss you. I'm sorry I failed you.

Sincerely,

Dragomir the Beaten