Day 1Not half a day into our journey and the wastes reveal the truth behind one legend. It does indeed rain blood here. The sharp metallic scent is unmistakable to my sensitive nose. Though, a detail eludes me. There are some subtleties that hint at an animal source, but I can’t pinpoint it. Not elven, goblin, or any beast I am familiar with.
Regardless, it’s quite unpleasant to stand in. We’ll all need a long bath once we get past this.
The sun is low in the sky, and we have reached a river. The water is cold, but I am glad to wash away the coating of unnatural gore. Following this river should lead us out of the wastes. I Would guess we are about halfway through them now. Unfortunately, that means we will need to spend a night here.
A little further on, the river runs red with the strange red blood. I am suddenly suspicious of how clean it was where we crossed. And somewhat concerned with the drink I took from it.
As night begins to fall, the blood rain returns. Except now it is cold enough that the blood falls as odd frozen chunks. Not quite snowflakes, too thick and slushy.
We had just finished hunting some vultures for dinner. I tossed an errant bone near Disa, and without warning she sprang at me with a knife. Must have been waiting for her chance. Either thought the distraction and low light would be enough of an advantage, or the bone was the last straw and she couldn’t wait for a better opportunity. Foolish. Ithra quickly removes her ability to fight. I offer one chance at surrender, then finish it. At least we might sleep better now without wondering if she’ll try to slit our throats.
We decide to make camp there. I construct a funeral pyre for the elf. More dignity than she deserves, but the body could attract scavengers.
Day 2The night passes without further incident. We set off again, heading northwest.
The day starts poorly. The blood rain returns. I try to hunt more vultures, but one flies off with my good knife still stuck in it.
Around midmorning we encounter a goblin patrol group. Archers in service to the demon lord who rules these wastes. Not friendly. One fires a bolt that skims my ear. We reverse course and quickly get out of range.
We must skirt around one of their dark fortresses to escape the wastes. Have to be careful here, there are bound to be many more patrols ahead.
Watching the black tower loom out of the horizon, I realize I have made a mistake in our path. The goblin fortifications here press right up against the mountains. There’s little chance of us making it through unseen. We’re hemmed in by smaller pits. Going around will take many hours. Instead, I make the decision to cross the mountains here where they are relatively small.
The low mountains here are flush with verdant grasses and wildflowers. For one such as I, who has spent his life bordered by lifeless stone and dead wastes, it is truly an amazing sight. The rock underneath is black and glossy, offering a stunning contrast. I recognize it as obsidian, known to be exceptional for cutting tools. Unfortunately, I can’t find any chunks the right size to work with here.
We reach a shallow mountain stream and follow it on its winding downward path. At the foot of the mountains I see something that sends shivers of ancestral recognition through me. Trees! Actual trees! I have heard the elven prisoners describe such thing, but never thought they could be so large nor so majestic! No desert scrub or hardy mountain plant can compare. Even the fungal forests of the deep caverns do not capture such serenity! If this is commonplace, I am beginning to see why outsiders call our cave “The Brutal Gloom.” As if waiting for its cue, a light shower begins. Not blood, but clean, cool rain. It cleanses us of the gore and grime from our trek through the wastes. I feel reborn.
I pause here for some time to collect some of the bountiful berries growing here. I also fashion an axe from a tree branch and some local stone. Not obsidian, sadly, but it should serve as a decent replacement for my lost knife.
We encounter another group of goblin soldiers in the wilderness. Apparently, they rule these lands as well. I take the risk to see if they are willing to talk. One responds eagerly, but his threatening advancement belies his peaceful intentions. I kite him along so we have the numerical advantage.
He’s cocky, thinks we’re a couple of clueless peasants. Ithra takes a wound from the goblin’s lash, but her sacrifice allows me to circle around the aggressor. My axe chips against his copper armour, but the force behind the blow makes it through. The goblin squeals in pain, realizing his mistake too late. His friends can’t help him now.
By the end of it, both my axe and Ithra’s knife lie shattered on the ground, but the goblin is dead. I grab everything he had of use. We depart before his friends can figure out what happened.
The goblin spoke of some reclaimed pits nearby. There will likely be a lot of activity around them. We’ll need to be cautious. We stop for a while so I can replace my axe. I give Ithra the dead goblin's equipment. She confesses to me that she always dreamed of being a warrior. Perhaps this is the chance she has been waiting for.
We lay down to rest. A cougar ambushes us in the middle of the night. Grogginess slows me. Fortunately, Ithra kept watch and knows how to handle it.
The rest of the night passes peacefully.
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Topic: Museum III, adventure succession game (DF 0.47.05) (Read 407640 times)