'The Winter festival is nearly upon us and the Guardian had a meeting outside the Citadel to remind us of the rules this year. No magic was top of the list but he managed to bang on about everyone taking responsibility. Not sure what for mind you, some folk haven't got an idea what it means, some don't care and the rest of us is getting on as best as we can.
I hovered around the fringes, keeping me eye open for them as wanted my services. I sold a few potions and got a few orders so not a wasted day. Myra Button wanted me to look at her grandson. Scrawny thing he is. They've always had trouble birthing boys. The girls arrive pink and plump and bawling, the boys never seem to thrive. I gave her a couple of politices to slap on his chest and muttered a few reviving words over him. Bugger this 'no magic' thing, that little mite needed some help. He may rally, who knows.
I'm off for a few beers in the local tavern tonight. Some singing too if we're lucky. There are some fine minstrels in Lunecaster this year and I hope to hear them. We don't have much music round my way but the festival usually brings out the best entertainment.
I hope we see some fireworks tomorrow, even if they'll miss the usual magical touch. Although I may throw in a spell under my breath. No promises mind, I'm a law abiding old woman.'
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