Today, I officially moved to my land. I rose before dawn, gathered my few possessions, and ate a quick portion of bread (a big thanks to Ariani, for selling me 2 loaves for a highly discounted 2 pounds each). Moving in was pretty easy. The one-room cottage is roomy enough for all my things. There’s no cot (I need to go back to the shack and procure a pile of hay) but there was a nearly broken stool in the corner.
I had to depart early to work once more in the mines. But, the day passed quickly.
After work, I rushed to the Cock & Bull Tavern to announce my new status as a land barron. I was greeted with many congratulations. In addition to the usual patrons, I met a fellow named Mcmannanan, a professional traveller. He says he Scottish, raised in England. He kept the whole tavern entertained with tales of his travels and his past.
During one story, he indicated that the ghost of his dead mentor speaks to him in dreams sometimes. Hearing this made me recall that chilling dream from two nights ago. Visibly shaken, I proceeded to relay the dream to the others. Afterwards, Mcmannanan said it sounds like the almighty is telling me to become a physician.
Since the dream, I’ve been wondering if there was some higher purpose to my life. The church friar intimated that he felt so. In truth, I’d considered Mcmannanan’s interpretation myself, but discounted it. Is it even possible? How does one become a physician? How long does it take? Is it expensive? Would I have to leave Ayr?
Thought like these kept me occupied for most of the evening. After some time, I came out of my thoughts and realized that most of the patrons had left for the evening. Kidcool, and Allorardagon were the only ones remaining. I said my “good nights” and was on my way.
Before turning in, I managed to scribble out a quick letter to one of the other town folk, Weinerschnitzel. Earlier the poor fellow had gotten so pissed that he had to be “helped” out of the C&B. Afterwards, a few others commented on the fellow’s sad state. Apparently, he’s been around town for a while and still not applied for property yet. They said that every cent he makes goes straight to the tavern. I figured a letter of encouragement might lift his obviously troubled spirits.
