collier at the clamps, of Kuttenberg
“I spend my days choking on thick smoke in the woods, turning good timber into black rock. I just want a quiet drink.”
Things Hermann had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
The eve of the Ascension, at None
The muster for the town watch is coming on Corpus Christi. If Jan and William Mailer do not return the padded jack and iron cap I lent them, the bailiff will fine me. By Saint Barbara, I will see them both beaten for pawning my gear for dice.
Nota scribaeThe man rubbed his soot-stained chin for a long time before speaking.
The Tuesday after Easter, at Vespers
Easter is gone and Lene has not brought my fifteen groschen. She pledged that bolt of fine linen, so it is mine to trade. A man needs ale more than a housekeeper needs a fancy dress. Town folk are too demanding.
The feast of Saint Benedict, at Sext
Thomas is a tightwad and young Fritz needs to learn how to throw a punch. Master Franz sits in the warm guildhall taking all the clean silver from the mint, leaving us with nothing but copper and ash. Bloody hell.
The second Sunday of Lent, at Prime
I looked at my empty purse this morning. Else would have scolded me for drinking my wages, but without her good bread, there is only bad ale and soot. Up in heaven there are no charcoal clamps.
She was a stern woman, but she baked a fine loaf. God rest her.
Nota scribaeThe dictation was interrupted while the man coughed up black phlegm.
Candlemas, at Compline
I bought a thick padded jack and a solid iron cap for the levy, spending the absolute last of the silver I saved with Else. Lent them to Jan and William so they would not look like beggars at the muster. I am a fool.
We thank you for the kit, friend. We looked like proper soldiers.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
We needed ale money, Hermann. The captain won't care.
Stop whining. We will get it out of pawn after the harvest.