I am 25 years old. I wanted to become a sniper, but since I'm a Troll, my employers always considered me much more fit for close range combat.
Gotta love those spurs. I am a private soldier, a Shadowrunner and I love cake. That and this journal are kinda private, though.
Monday, November 11
Intro. Stranded on Iceland.
I have to start a new journal. Since they shipped me to this wasteland, ruled and dividedby the Ásatrúarkirkjan,the usual company (run by an elf, of course) and the russian mob, I don't have my stuff with me. Just my dog, and a rental truck. This sucks. I have to make the best of it. Maybe the hills beyond the slums are still green...