Monday, June 9, 2014

Day Seven-Hundred-Sixteen: Welcome to Paradise

The... the Farsighted...? The hell does that mean?

I'm honestly not sure what happened in the desert. My last cogent memories are from sometime early on Friday. I think I was playing chess with Grylock... and he tried to cheat... and it was so damned hot, and... I think I tried to... he has such a spindly neck...

Yeah. I'm pretty sure the situation escalated drastically from there. I was so dehydrated and out of my head that the resulting battle doesn't stick out at all. I'm sure our combat was pretty pathetic, as we're all still alive. Though I do have a bruise on my cheek.

... butt cheek. I won't ask.

I woke up this morning with Traveller attempting to probe my nose with a length of pussy willow. I snapped the thing away and barked out a complaint, and it took me a few minutes to wonder why I was sitting in a bed, and not in the middle of a sand dune.

"Iko saved me again!" Traveller proclaimed, waving to the semi-spherical room where I'd spent the night. "He's such a nice dude. I like him. His beard is awesome."

Iko's name made me shoot up and out of bed. "This... is this his house...?"

Traveller nodded and gabbed, and I largely ignored him. I was more intent on scanning the room. It was surprisingly opulent for a desert-dweller: lots of fine silks, a ton of small, decorative statues, bookshelves covered in dusty tomes, a closet full of sleek wardrobe choices, several fancy hats... nothing, really, to indicate that the man was much more than, say, a wealthy trader, let alone a hardened desert-dweller. I'd kinda expected as much from a hermit.

Quitting the upstairs bedroom, I followed Traveller downstairs. Half of the group was already up and about, feasting on a sumptuous array of fresh fruits and vegetables. Traveller slid in beside Nagi to hit on her, and I seated myself between Plato and Jeffrey, who were eating cantaloupe at a circular table.

"Fellas," I said, noting the cut between Plato's eyes and the bandage on Jeffrey's neck. I pointed at the cantaloupe. "Tasty?"

"Bery," Jeffrey agreed, shoving another slice in his mouth. "Ith wike a dweam aftar a week uf jewky."

"Yeah, I'll... I'll say it's like a dream." Grabbing a slice of cantaloupe for myself, I peered through a window in Iko's small kitchen. Grylock was swimming in a small oasis a ways from the house. "So where's our host? I'd... like to say hello."

Plato shook his head, and Jeffrey expanded on the answer. "He's not here. We've searched the grounds. Breakfast was served, and there were plenty of fresh clothes and linens in the living room, but... yeah. If this is your Iko's house - "

Plato nodded his head vigorously, quacking affirmatives.

" - then he's buggered off somewhere." Jeffrey finished with a shrug, sliding the cantaloupe away to get at a plate of cherries. "Sorry, boss."

After a hearty breakfast, we continued the search. There isn't a hell of a lot to see, really: though opulent and comfortable, Iko's land is fairly small. It's built around a nice little desert oasis, mentioned earlier, with a plot of irrigated plants for food and a chair for basking in the sun, complete with fancy umbrella. There's no form of transportation I can see, so we have no idea how Iko managed to carry our large party out of the wastes. Maybe he's not the only person living here...?

Ultimately, after checking every book and investigating every nook and cranny of the place, we found only three things of real interest:

1.) A door, covered in runes. It seems to lead down from Iko's living room and into a basement. We can't get it open. Even Traveller couldn't pull the thing loose of its rusty hinges. That's a scary thought.

2.) A hole, dug into the ground outside the house. It leads... somewhere. We're hesitant to look, but, hells, I know we'll have to because of the third thing...

3.) The diary entry. At some point, presumably on Friday, Iko hijacked my diary. It more or less told us where we need to go.

Pleasant as this house may be, it creeps me the fuck out. I don't like this situation, not one bit, as it stinks of a trap. But... after coming all this way...


I hate holes. I really do. Some of my worst nightmares star holes.


Dragomir the Wanderer

1 comment:

  1. "Some" of Drag's worst nightmares star holes. That poor bastard just needs one good night's sleep.