hired hand at the tavern, of Miskowitz
“I chop wood, clear slops, and drink to forget the summer. Bloody hell, what a life.”
Things Humphrey had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Ascension, at Vespers
The bailiff says I must show up to the muster with my own kit by Whitsun. Sakra, I have nothing to wear. If I get flogged because I am empty-handed, I hope the master still pays me.
Nota scribaeHe rubbed his face so hard his nose bled onto the ledger.
the Friday after Easter, at None
Andreas sits there wiping his hands on his apron, counting his pennies for that widow Katherine's orchard. Not a single copper to spare for a mate facing ruin. Selfish old miser.
My pennies are for apple trees, not your endless ale slate.
the second Wednesday of Lent, at Prime
Hedvika is still shouting about that padded jack. I was freezing on the march home! I had to pawn it to a merchant to clear my ale slate. I do not have her forty groschen.
I paid a dying mercenary good coin for that jack! You thieving whoreson!
Please, let us not shout so loudly in the taproom.
Nota scribaeHe picked at his fingernails the entire time he spoke.
St Gregory's day, at Sext
My hands are raw from splitting logs since before dawn. The carters in the taproom shout like stuck pigs. I just want my copper pennies and a quiet corner to drink them in.
Less complaining and more chopping, lad, if you want your wages.
Candlemas, at Compline
If the master did not force me, I would never look at Ellen Coleman. She sent Maurice for two casks of wine, right into the Hungarian lancers. He is dead in the dirt because of her.
I did not know the riders were coming! It was a terrible mistake, Humphrey.
We all lost someone that bloody day. Stop blaming her for the war.
Nota scribaeHe was terribly drunk and wept when he said the man's name.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I told you to save your coin instead of drinking it away.
Shut your mouth, you selfish old man.