Weathered Diary
Knowledge: Lore Scraps, The Lost Tribe.
13 Wintumber 4209
It's cold this time of year, though not as cold as the legends say. Perhaps Ashenfall's climate is warm and pleasant. Maybe the magic of this place keeps winter at bay?
There was a snowfall, heavy and solid, that trapped me in this place. I warmed myself by the fire and another joined me: the goblin, Globfinger. He's more pleasant than his name suggests. He came in out of the cold and, in the spirit of our people's alliance, I shared a warm meal with him.
We spoke of battles, as goblins always do. I wonder if they know of any activity other than conflict. If they do, they dare not speak of it. We regaled one another with tales of fights against the wildfolk - as goblin and human cut down the beasts.
Goblins may be uncouth, undisciplined and smelly, but they celebrate well. We laughed with one another and cheered on our clans. He told me he is glad that his god had beef to settle with the moon goddess, otherwise we would not have had such an enjoyable war.
He's right. I have enjoyed a righteous cause.
Perhaps, goblins aren't so bad.