Camped outside the village of Barovia, in a big ol' hollowed out tree trunk. Suits me bine, the dirt is soft on me back an don't smell half bad. That village stinks worse'n jus' about anythin' I smelled a'fore. I walked till I couldn't hardly smell it n'more and when the stinkin' stopped there were this big ol' tree trunk. Bun a place as any to settle into for a spell. Guess I'll be callin' this home fer now. Least till I can convince Talco t'go elsewhere.
He be a funny lil' fey but he's worth ten o' most normal people. An he don't stink like t'others. Funny thing about that feller, he don't speak a lick of Balok, or Vassi. Just the gibber-jabber some other pointy eard folk tol' me were "Elven". Now I nu claim to be no expert, but I think I puzzled out most'a what he says. Seem's t'me he talks a lot about food and pretty fey girls he sees, best I can figger.
Odd as he is, I can't bring m'self to leave the lil feller, he'd be helpless without me to translate fer him. And make sure he don't eat somethin' he shouldn't. So looks like I'll be here awhile. Fer the best, it's damn cold, nu bun fer travilin' far. And the game up this way is bun as any i've seen. Got me plenty of pelts to warm me by night. Only unu problem with m'new stump home. Iadule raccoons been sneekin' in t'steal m'food while I sleep! Them lil bandit-rats walk of paws o' air it seems their so quiet. Only get woken when their crunchin' my hard won food from a safe distance.
But ol' Horas aint never let a critter smaller than him get the better of him yet. This night I left out a mess o' fresh meat mixed with a special surprise.. Buncha sharp splinters and rocks, small enough to go unnoticed. Now alls I hafta do is go out tomorrow, and find me some dead bandit-tree-rats and make me a bun set of gloves fer the cold months ahead.
