Waking up on this cursed slave galley, with the weight of numerous tankards of mead still clouding my mind...I think I have made a grave error in judgment following those Alkarkon whores once they left the Stone Monkey.
By the growth of my beard, I guess two nights have passed since that encounter. I assume I am to be sold at the next port. The shackles are a bit too thick for me to break without the use of a weapon, so I'll sit for a while. Maybe my head will clear before an opportunity arises.
By Crom... this place smells of weakness and servitude!
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