What follows are the scribbles of what passes for Flan’s journal.
Doop deep doop, doop deep doop.
I think I’m supposed to write something here.
I suppose I should start from today since I forgot most of what has happened since we left the village.
We woke up in town, not the town full of nasties, but the other one equally full of nasties that won’t immediately rob you blind and stab you- not necessarily in that order.
We stumbled out of bed and filtered back to the bar where a very friendly shepherd was chatting it up with us. It’s good to see a friendly face for a change! I was beginning to think everyone here was a prude. What with the blacksmith and the guards being mean to me all the time! Loomis is his name apparently, and he makes milk! That’s cool I guess.
I also talked to the archaeologist lady and asked her for her digits. For purely professional re
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