Thursday, October 13, 2011

Day Fifty-Four: My sores have sores, and they, too, have their own collection of sores

I'm still on the run, diary. Only got you and the armour as companions... well, aside from Philip... but he's dead, and not at all helpful, so... should he count? I don't think so.

I've been on the move all day. My legs are exhausted. Taking this stupid armour was such a dumb idea. I keep seeing the zombies on the horizon, though - 'least I THINK I see them - so I don't have much choice. I can't stop or they're gonna take me, and if they do somehow catch up I can use the extra protection. Zombies never stop shambling 'til they get what they want, so I hear.

Gah. I want to stop. I'm so tired. Why am I out here again? Why am I not sleeping in my cramped little bed back at the castle?

Right. Because I infected the place with some plague. I guess that's a pretty good reason.

What the hell am I supposed to do once I get to Goblinoster? I don't know anybody there. I don't even know the name of the witch I'm supposed to find 'cause I didn't bother to ask when I left. What if there are lots of witches? There could be an entire freaking district of witches, for all I know. The witches' guild! Every second gods-be-damned goblin is a fucking witch! Wouldn't that just be my luck!

Between this and the gods-be-damned squeaking, well, I'm just having an awful day, diary. Pure misery. I can't even look at my feet, 'cause I bet my boots are in tatters from all this walking. Hell, I KNOW they're in tatters, 'cause grass keeps poking at my big toes.

Off to walk some more. I shouldn't have even stopped for this quick entry. You're my only source of consolation, diary.


Dragomir the Tired

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