The 22nd day of the month of Highsun, according to the reckoning of the Severed Hands, in the second year since I left the tribe for the human lands
We spend our days packed in wagons and I find myself with lots of time to sit and think. In my time with Jamlain, the barkeep that aided me in the city of Bop, I noticed that humans tend to write things down as a way to pass along knowledge. This was not done among the Severed Hands, or any other orc tribe I am familiar with. Since I fled the tribe to learn more of the human ways, I will indulge my human ancestry and attempt to record my experiences and thoughts.
I’m on a journey north, towards the lands I know as the Gallows. I’m part of what seems to be a mercenary army. At first, I thought this was an elvish attempt to spare their own over-valued lives, but I have learned that the halflings are also involved up to their necks. Whoever is in charge, they are doing a piss poor job of leading and organizing this horde. Even the Severed Hands showed more preparedness when raiding. In any case, it feels like we are being led to the slaughter, and it’s not just me that feels this way. The entire horde is on edge and tempers run short.
Jamlain would have been pleased I think – I actually tried to reason with a human, despite his big mouth. Arrogance and stupidity in one person – how convenient! My only hope is that I have a chance to avenge myself upon him before he is killed by his own foolishness.