[By the time I wrote this entry, it was already June 11, seven days after the massacre.
After all, settling the survivors took time, and finding somewhere quiet enough to write was difficult.
Of course, everyone had their own role to play.
Specific matters, such as passing word to the Lord Alliance, were mostly left to the young lady of the Silver Shield Family and Hubble of House Hal, both of whom came from the Lord Alliance.
My job was to sing them a few tunes, helping them find whatever hope they could amid the lingering fear and look toward the future.
Even if that future was a bleak one—
Including the hundreds of guards stationed at the outpost, everyone connected to Kandelian had vanished. In a single night, a sizable city of nearly ten thousand people became a dead city.
So housing wasn't a problem. Food was what mattered.
Given the outpost's unusual circumstances, no one went outside to farm. All its food was brought in by caravans traveling the Road to Prison, funded collectively by the Lord Alliance to provide the bare minimum of food, clothing, shelter, and transportation.
Every household also received a monthly allowance equivalent to Dragon Gold City's minimum wage, though most of it usually went toward alcohol.
That made it difficult for them to stockpile any substantial food reserves at home.
Our only option was to pry open the outpost's granary.
But when we pushed open its doors, we couldn't find so much as a single ear of black rye.
I'd wager even Deepwell after a visit from adventurers had never been this clean. The last time I'd seen anything this empty was my wallet after I stepped off the ship at Black Reef Port.]
"Fucking bullshit! A granary capable of feeding ten thousand