Day Three-Forty-Two: In trouble with the missus

Ooog. I'm suffering from a combination of the common cold and two black eyes. Libby wasn't pleased that I ran off on Barrel to help Pagan, even though that did bring an end to the conflict with his slaves. I think she worried for my life - that might become a common trend from now on - though she expressed her worries with anger and beatings, not tears.

Ahh, my wife. What a douche. Gotta love her.

The slaves are on their way back to Pagan's manor, much relieved that they won't have to fight my dad. Everyone in Pubton is set on rebuilding and reinforcing the structures that are still up, with a special emphasis on harvesting the winterweed that popped up overnight. We're a little short on food thanks to all the bloody setbacks, but we'll manage. Somehow.

Yeah. Managing might be harder than it sounds. Harold's eyes nearly blasted outta his head when I said we owe Pagan five hundred gold a month. I think we're down to three hundred total right now…? Gotta hope Harold has the smarts to dig us outta this problem. At least we get to stick around, right?

Right? 

Yeah. Right. Lords help us, we're gonna be bankrupt soon. The winterweed will get us some money, enough to cover our bill, and our animals are producing nicely… but… yeah. Might be tough times ahead. I'll have to ask the hunters to continue hunting while they look for Barrel in the woods. We'll need the meat to survive the winter.

Gah. Barrel. Thanks a ton, buddy. I don't know where you are, and I still don't know why you're so moody, but I hope you're okay.

I'm sending a letter out tonight to ol' Lord B.T., asking for suggestions on what we might do to earn extra money and save on what we have. He sounds like he's a smart guy, and he's probably got a lot more experience in administrative matters than me. I'll send a letter out tonight 'n see what I get. The pub's back in business, which means Tobo will probably be lurking around to take a letter for me. Weird guy, but reliable.

In short, today was a day of work. We cleared snow, we pilfered the remains of the camps the slaves set up (if they wanted all their stuff they shouldn't have left some of it behind), we rebuilt. Again. I'm hoping to be able to help more tomorrow, 'cause my eyesight's not so great today. Danged puffiness, I can practically see my skin bulging up off my cheeks. Libby hits WAY too hard.

Haven't had time to look into who might have directed animals to trash our village. Haven't had time to talk to June, though I really, really wanna. Seems like the important details are destined to be glossed over by my working life once again. That arrangement never ends well, but that's the life of a mayor, I guess. Address the current problems, put difficulties of the future on the back burner.

Yeah. Bad idea, I know. Don't lecture, diary. I see the scepticism in your, uh, cover.

I sleep now, diary. I pray that giant penguin monsters aren't waiting for me when I close my eyes.

Sincerely,

Dragomir the Mayor