A handful of sunsets gone…

Met a wandering merchant today. Tried to barter with the few trinkets I managed to take from the vault. Got a couple of rations, a map of the wasteland, and some tales. He spoke of far-off towns, of places where folks like me, touched by the miasma, find solace. Perhaps there’s hope yet.

The nights are the hardest. The silence, the stillness, they bring forth memories of the vault. I catch myself practicing my monologues, refining the tales of the Rusted Edge Virtuoso. A small comfort in these desolate times.

There’s talk of raiders to the west. Best to avoid that path. I’ve marked a route eastward, towards a settlement named “Mirehold.” Here’s to hoping they’re kind to a ghoul with a missing beard.

Brogar