Transporting supplies and a mob of over-eager, would-be gladiators to the arena near Dragonstar might not have been the smartest job I've ever taken on, but the profit for this run promises to be very good. It better be! For all the headaches and delays—not to mention having to constantly fend off the advances of a dozen drunken warriors—this run has been one problem after another.
Take, for example, the incident that occurred after we left the relative safety of Belkarth behind us. One of my wagon drivers, Gortho, must have joined our "passengers" for a few too many celebratory drinks around the campfire last night. He was practically asleep at the reins when he drove the wagon wheels over the gaping holes in the road. Now two wheels are cracked and an axel has broken, forcing us to set up this temporary waystation in the middle of nowhere.
The crafting stations are up and operational. Repairs are now underway on the wagon. Gortho feels terrible, but that's probably got more to do with his hangover than with any feelings of guilt over falling down on his job. I'm a bit worried about the strange Orcs that we've heard live in this forsaken wilderness. I'm not sure how defensible this spot actually is. But so far, we haven't seen hide nor hair of the creatures.
I wish the warriors would stop drinking and help us keep watch while repairs on the wagon continue. I have the uncomfortable feeling that someone or something has been watching us for the past hour. I'm sure it's nothing, but I'd feel better if these so-called warriors were actually in a condition to help us fight—if it comes down to that.
Iron Orcs! They appeared out of nowhere and surrounded us! Gods, look how many of them there are! I'll write more after we drive the marauders off. Provided I survive this battle.