Dobromir's journal

(...) Da’s chewing my head off about going to the lighthouse, about the fire needing tending. Thing is, don't give a ploughin’ rat’s arse, frankly! What am I, some golem, fit for naught but climbing up there four times a day to drop off wood and pour oil?

I’d much rather learn how to work a forge in town or at some gnomish foundry. Grandpa Amzvary was a smith, weren't he? Even forged witcher blades, so who's to say none o' his talent trickled down to me? (...)