"Ralph!" I heard the old giant, Omar, shouting from the bar. "Ralph!"

No matter how many times I told him my name, he insisted on calling me “Ralph”. I didn’t know why but after the first week, I gave up trying.

“Yes, Omar?” I poked my head out from my nook.

The shelves here stretched far above any normal buildings limits. In truth, though I climb the shelves every day to fetch drinks for the patrons, I have never found the top. But I did find a neat little nook where I set up a sort of resting place. It’s here, under candle light, that I wrote this journal.

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“We are going to have new guests soon. A new door just opened.” He said in his usual slow way.

“OK! Be down in a second!” I shouted down.

My debt is almost paid. Another day or so and I’m free to go. I had my armor refitted and a new sword made, and even enchanted, by an impressive dwarven blacksmith who tends to agree to things when he’s slobbering drunk.

I heard a door open and someone in the tavern shout, “Thren, they’ve got flying ponies, man! No, it’s a drink thing! Just a drink!”

Jormon must be doing his Galloping Ale trick, again.

This will be my last entry. I have everything packed and I’m ready to go when my debt is paid. I will be keeping a journal of my next journey, when I set out to find my lord’s resting place. I will find a way to bring him back and together we will rebuild our Order. For the Lady.

Until next time, -Lord Fredrick Alfenshpiel aka “Ralph”.