Week 38.
Another crone felled in the woods. It seems that moss and fungus and every manner of rot and decay that grows in the forest acts as a magnet for brewers and man-eaters out of dark children's tales.
And yet another fine haul. It seems little Tessel is not only blessed with unexpected combat ability but also with great luck and a strong back. Money and blood are not the only resources I manage while leading the Hamlet. Old heirlooms such as statues, paintings and particularly deeds of land are effectively another form of currency here, one I put to great use while convincing different townsfolk to expand their services. The blacksmith is one such enterprising man, having taken the last batch of erstwhile sentimental mementos. The man seems to be intent on putting his heirs in a rank above the rest once he retires.
I am not inclined to dissuade him. He's putting his life in the hands of the protectors of the Hamlet and his trust in my management being able to make a future for this place. I need people to believe like he does.
-Ψ-
On the topic of the town's future, stashed in the last team's treasure were some more architectural documents. I may further enhance the Hamlet's facilities but while money is steadily becoming less of a concern, I am running very low on family heirlooms, which some people seem to value as much, if not more, than regular coin for certain business.
I will have time to think of what next services take the highest priority while I gather more. Speaking of time, I have decided on a date. One year. If no new ill befalls the Hamlet at the one-year milestone, that is when I shall start securing my men with every scrap of medical knowledge they have in the Sanitarium to ensure they are as mentally capable of facing the horrors as we can arrange.
I have sent Buron there in anticipation for coming fights but there are far too many rough edges and unpolished facets in my men to ignore in this war. Meanwhile I'll hopefully barter more things to improve the Sanitarium's care as well.
Some are hopeless, however. I got rid of Anzerai, an unpleasant character with a propensity for theft and none of the attached respect from owing my life to Reynauld, a more suitable recruit appeared in the stage coach and I immediately arranged the swap. Even when relegated mostly to patrol duty the markswoman found ways to be a nuisance, tales of her long fingers worming their way into my ears.
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Campaign expenses (spreadsheet).