《A History Buff Brought to Another World》 Chapter 1 Friday December 13, 2019 ¡°Oops my bad, dude. I must have mistook you for someone else.¡± Yeah. That¡¯s all the explanation Death left me after my life was inexplicably cut short. I was spending a cold dreary winter morning, the only kind upstate New York seems to have these days, reading from my cell phone. I lounged against the backboard of my unmade bed and perused the ebook version of Gibbons history of the Roman Empire. I had gotten to the point where Cicero denounced Catiline in front of the whole senate when my vision faded to white and I found myself standing alone in some sort of cavern. I noted a few things: First; I still held my phone. It¡¯s not that great. Like many other places, AT&T has no signal in purgatory. But, it was a start. Second; Thankfully, I wasn¡¯t standing there naked. It seems like I arrived with everything I left with, so to speak. Along with the before-mentioned cell phone, I still wore the same clothes I had when I left the mortal coil behind: plaid boxers, navy Bills t-shirt with a hole under one arm, and one (not two) sock. Eventually, Death showed up, gave his lame non-apology and asked me to wait for just one minute. Presumably, for time to go out and kill the correct Adam Wilkeson. That was eleven hours ago. O, How far Death, will you continue to trample on my patience? Good grief, I¡¯m taking a nap. ???? ¨C Not entirely sure how time works out here ¨C Second Log Entry On reflection, those reading my account might want more details on the appearance of the visible personification of death. Well, think of a Grim Repo-man and you¡¯ve more or less got it. Death is still a skeleton, as depicted in gothic artwork, but apparently traded in the black cowl and scythe for blue coveralls and a clipboard. Purgatory is a pretty weird place too. I previously described it as a wide cavern. And that¡¯s technically true, but it isn¡¯t like any cavern seen on Earth. There are no walls. Imagine the famous Hypostyle hall in ancient Karnak temple where there are 134 columns placed in a grid. Purgatory is like that except the columns are joined stalactite and stalagmite and they go on to infinity. The environment is downright eerie. There is a definite ambient light, but no visible source. I¡¯ve spent a good amount of time searching for shadows and haven¡¯t found a single one. The place is devoid of color and everything is slightly distorted like heat waves rising from pavement. Abigail, the junior Angel who finally found me wandering alone, explained that people didn¡¯t typically spend much time here. After all, purgatory is more of a waiting room than a long-term residence. Usually, most are sent off to their appropriate afterlife fairly quickly. Death must have just been really busy and forgot about me. Jerk. Basically, there was good news and bad: The bad news was, I¡¯m dead. I had only fifteen minutes for my soul to get back to my body before things became irreversible and Death never came back to fix me. So that¡¯s that. Abby was sincerely apologetic about the whole situation. She insisted, ¡°This sort of thing doesn¡¯t really happen very often.¡±Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. Rules being what they were, she also couldn¡¯t reveal precisely how much life I still had allotted. But whatever was left seemed substantial enough that she secured a slot for me to live in another mortal reality. That was the good news. I guess. Originally, I asked for a parallel version of Earth. I figured it would provide a good environment where my knowledge of the past could reap some benefit, but it turns out that was impossible. Abby said something about needing a relatively thin veil for her magic to recreate my body and stuff the soul back inside. Still, First impressions of my new home were pretty positive. Unlike the one I left, it was springtime in my new world. Abby dropped me off in a grassy meadow surrounded by tall and stately elms and maples. A stream of cold clear water ran nearby. Shaded in blue and purple, I saw a distant range of mountains. The angel wasn¡¯t so bad either. Now that we left the mirage-distorted cavern, I finally got a good look at her. Dare I say, she was kinda cute. No wings, because she was still only a junior angel, but she had a button nose with freckles and braided copper colored hair draped over one shoulder. Abby pointed out the direction of the nearest settlement and said she¡¯d check up on me now and again. With that, I was alone. I breathed deep, savored the fresh air and scent of berries on the wind. I had a new world to tame and explore. Day 1 Recall when the Angel showed me the way to the nearest settlement? Well, shortly after she left, I ventured out to meet my new neighbors. There were several pressing reasons to find them. Getting properly attired was high on my list of priorities. I still wore only boxers and a t-shirt. Abby cryptically told me that level of dress was fairly normal in this part of the world, but I still wanted to see if I could get something more suitable to the outdoors. Secondly I wanted some variety for food. Sure the meadow was pretty bountiful with bushes full of plump deep purple berries. They looked and tasted a bit like blackberries so I¡¯ll call them blackberries. Although, I vaguely remember back in my world, those wouldn¡¯t be in season during the spring. Whatever, they are both edible and delicious, but if I could trade for some source of protein that would be nice too. Lastly, I was simply curious. Everything about my situation was new and novel and meeting new people excited me. That more than any other reason pushed me to set off towards the settlement. Despite being barefoot, walking through the meadow was incredible. The cover of lush green grass and clover felt cool between my toes. It got harder to walk when I entered the forest, but the ground was still soft and there weren¡¯t many rocks or sticks so it wasn¡¯t too hard and I made good time. What I found deep in the woods wasn¡¯t at all what I expected. I caught glimpses of a low ridge of mossy granite through the trees and my trek brought me to the first cave. Cave was a somewhat generous description. Really, it was a simple depression eroded out of the rock from some long vanished stream. Mud, broken tree branches and other bits of brush were leaned against the rock face to complete the den¡¯s structure. I got a good look at one of the inhabitants by the entrance. He wore a hide loincloth and scratched behind one ear¡­ scratched with his leg. Did I mention my neighbors were Gnolls? Abby sure as heck didn¡¯t. Also known as dog men, they don¡¯t seem to get much taller than human children (Although it¡¯s hard to tell due to how they¡¯d always stoop over), they are dirty, furred with several variations of coat colors and patterns, and wolf-like snouts with fangs. Because I¡¯m na?ve and trusting, I walked out in the open and attempted to communicate. Within seconds, a dozen more of the critters surged out of the den and made chase. I bolted back into the forest and used some high tech weapons (sticks and rocks) to fend them off. Luckily, they didn¡¯t pursue me any farther and I made my way back to the meadow to take stock of the situation. My basic situation is, I¡¯m starting with nothing. My neighbors aren¡¯t going to offer any help. Since they are presumably nocturnal, there is a high probability that I¡¯ll be hunted and eaten when the sun sets. I have no shelter, only berries and water for sustenance. Also, I¡¯m still in my underwear. This is not going to end well. Chapter 2 Day 1 ¨C Part 2 So here is an overly simplified history of my people. 6000 years ago, an all powerful being said, ¡°Let there be light.¡± A few days later, the first man and woman were created. Yeah, kidding. The earliest generations of human ancestors ventured forth from the primeval forests with their bipedal gait and opposable thumbs something like four million years ago. While fascinating, I¡¯d like to skip 99.7% of that and get myself firmly into Neolithic territory in the next few days. I¡¯m confident for two reasons. First, I have the gift of hindsight. Second, I¡¯ve watched my fair share of wilderness survival programming. My goal for today is to shave off 2 million years of invention. For that, I need two things in particular. First up; Rediscover fire. People from Homo Erectus to Cub Scout Pack 420 have relied on its heat and utility. Unfortunately, Prometheus isn¡¯t around to steal some from Hephaestus¡¯ forge. Therefore, I determined to make it the old fashion way by rubbing two sticks together with the hope of getting a spark. I¡¯d seen it on TV after all. ¡°How hard could it be?¡± Congratulations if you answered, ¡°Pretty damn hard for a boy from the burbs.¡± Your reward is the satisfaction of being correct. It took me four hours, but with enough desperation and elbow grease I miraculously created smoke. Unfortunately, the bark fibers collected as kindling didn¡¯t catch and my spark went cold. I switched to dry grass and tried again. Another two hours later I finally got my campfire. The sun had already started descending by then, and fire is a very hungry beast. I needed the second basic tool with enough daylight to harvest some wood. The hand axe is our earliest known tool. The axe that first comes to mind with its metal head and wooden handle a couple million years beyond my means, so I¡¯ll settle on the caveman version. It¡¯s quite literally a ¡°hand¡± axe where a sharpened stone is held in the palm of one¡¯s hand. My vague idea mostly involves bashing rocks against each other and flaking bits off to make the sharp edge. Earlier, while I rested my tired hands from the failed attempt to create fire, I scoured the area and collected some candidate rocks for tool making experiments. I recalled that early humans used flint for their tools. Naturally, I sought some myself and I¡¯m not about to let minor matters such as not knowing what flint looks like stop me. My solution was to grab a variety of different types of stones. One of them had to work. I was committed enough that I even snuck to the cliffs by the Wolfman/Dogkin/whatever-they-are-called den for a selection of its rocks. With my small fire and a stack of dead branches, I started my first stone tool. The process involved hitting one rock against the other really hard. I called the rock that broke my axe, and the one that didn¡¯t my hammer. My first attempt ended up as decorative rock chips like you¡¯d see in gardens. The second, from a shiny black stone amongst those I collected a few hundred yards from a Dogkin licking its crotch, flaked easily and left behind a fine clean edge. Bingo, I finished it and used the last remnants of daylight to cut branches and saplings for my fire. Full disclosure, the axe I worked so hard for wasn¡¯t very good. The thin blade section was too delicate for chopping and it broke before separating the first branch. Darkness descended and I swear the Bronze Age can¡¯t come soon enough. If this is my last entry, I hope whatever ate me choked. Day 2 Well I survived the night. As expected, my next-door-predators hunted me but they didn¡¯t seem overly fond of fire. Eventually they moved on to easier prey after a few hours. Otherwise it was an utterly miserable night. I had to let my fire die down to embers for lack of wood to burn and hid up a tree until dawn. Still, on seeing that first sunrise, a sense of pride and accomplishment budded. Maybe I can actually do this.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. I haven¡¯t explained how I¡¯m recording all of this yet. Obviously, I wasn¡¯t brought to this new world with a pen and paper, so what am I using? The answer is the voice recorder on my Smartphone. Back when Death first spirited me off to purgatory, the charge on my phone was 47%. While dictating this log entry, it¡¯s still holding at 47%. Honestly, I have no idea why the battery hasn¡¯t completely died by now. A wizard did it or something. As an aside, I briefly pondered how to make the battery explode during the most frustrating periods of fire starting but ultimately decided against it. Mostly, because it sounded like a better way to injure or kill myself than to actually start a controlled fire and I didn¡¯t think hitting it with a rock would do anything other than irrevocably break the thing. Having a working phone sounds like a crazy cheat in my favor but isn¡¯t very useful in reality. Everything, even the compass, needs a persistent online connection. So I can¡¯t access any of my books, call anyone, nor open youtube and Wikipedia. Over the course of the harrowing night, while I shivered in the upper boughs of a tree, I had time to think about my failed axe. It¡¯s a case where my modern experience led me down the wrong path. You see, I¡¯ve used steel hatchets while camping and they are amazing tools. Hatchets are compact, incredibly strong and have tapered well defined edges. I fixated on getting a similar axe-like shape on my stone axe, but expended no thoughts about how axes functioned as machines. Case in point, consider the steel hatchet from earlier. It had an edge sharp enough to shave with, but the sharp edge only aides splitting the wood. However, the wedged shape can¡¯t be neglected otherwise I¡¯m chopping wood with a knife. Lesson learned, I picked up a new rock and started to chip away at it. Bit by bit stone came off until I ended with a hefty shark-tooth shaped rock with a smooth back that comfortably fit my palm. In subsequent field tests, this improved axe performed much better. I can¡¯t imagine cutting down anything bigger than saplings, but it chops through deadwood and branches admirably. It¡¯s also great at stripping twigs and scraping bark away from branches. By the early afternoon, my new camp had a couple relatively smooth wooden poles along with big pile of burnables. Right, I neglected to mention that I changed the location of my camp. Turns out, humans require water to survive. Crazy right? My old camp, while close to rocks and wood, was very far away from the stream. And frightening off predators was surprisingly thirsty work. In the morning I relocated to a promising spot next to the stream (Henceforth to be known as Adam¡¯s Creek) where it bends like a horseshoe around a tiny hillock. It felt pretty defensible too. An attacker would have to splash through the creek and climb a steep embankment to approach anywhere along three sides. I laid my firewood/stick-pile across the remaining open side to form a barrier. Despite the precautions, it still made me uneasy about being eating me while I slept. I stayed up most of the night sharpening one of the wooden poles by firelight. I really wanted a spear and that felt pointy stick was a good first attempt. Eventually, I¡¯ll unravel my sock to use the cotton as string to fix a proper spearhead, but that can wait. It¡¯s been a quiet night so far. Maybe I¡¯m finally safe. Day 3 I¡¯m currently in the upper boughs of a big tree. Can¡¯t leave, or else the creature below will rip me to shreds. One might ask how I got myself into this mess. Well it wouldn¡¯t have happened back in my old world because I¡¯m fairly certain centipedes don¡¯t grow eight feet long there. Short answer, the local wildlife here are ridiculous; something I should have considered when nature called. My morning started normal. I went off to pick blackberries. The bushes are looking a bit bare and that¡¯s concerning, but one problem at a time. After breakfast, I explored deeper into the forest to harvest wood and left with my rock axe and spear. The urge to pee hit, and I wasn¡¯t inclined to water the saplings destined for firewood. Like an idiot, I set aside my spear and sought a bigger more suitable tree. The centipede approached while my back was turned. Fortunately its creepy-crawly little legs are noisy which alerted me with enough time to climb my toilet before being pounced. It¡¯s a bit of a standoff. I¡¯m just out of reach of the wriggling mass of legs and crimson carapace but I¡¯m also not sure how to climb down without being devoured. Chapter 3 Day 3 ¨C Part 2 So I fell out of my tree. However, falling is faster than climbing which made the tumble to the ground all part of my grand plan. You see, Centipedes have antennaewhich can detect distant vibrations and the one stalking the base of my tree had antennae longer than my arm. I gave it some vibrations in the form of a wadded buffalo bills tee thrown at a nearby bush. The oversized arthropod investigated the unfortunate shrub by tackling it. I made my daring escape while it was distracted. Turns out 28 legs don¡¯t beat 2 in a straight footrace and I quickly got out reach. Don¡¯t get me wrong, in short bursts the creature was incredibly quick and agile but over distance I was faster. The disparity in speed got me thinking. I left my spear only a short ways away, and I¡¯ve played enough RPGs to be familiar with kiting and positioning. If I was careful, the centipede would never get close to me and I¡¯d bring it down with a flurry of spear jabs. I¡¯m convinced. I can do this. Time to become the hunter. Day 3 ¨C Part 3 Crap! What the hell kind of centipede has wings?! Day 3 ¨C Part 4 I¡¯ll be the first to admit, my battle prowess was somewhat mixed. While I spent the majority of the fight screaming and running in terror, it¡¯s really the results that matter. Adam one; Dracopede zero. So here is how the fight went down. After falling from the tree and running away. I psyched myself up past the point of reason and returned to the forest. The Dracopede was still there. I sprinted past it and brandished the spear. In retrospect, I¡¯m not sure why I expected the whittled spear tip to penetrate the red armored carapace. Thing¡¯s called an exoskeleton for a reason after all. Yeah, turns out its really thick and covered both the top and bottom. The sharpened wooden point did practically nothing. I had more success targeting the leg joints however. I planted my feet firmly to the ground, grasped the pole in two hands and swung to the clear the bases. That¡¯s when things went to hell. Translucent dragonfly wings spread from the creature¡¯s upper body and the Dracopede took to the air. Ungainly in flight but fast, I was completely outmatched. As my old pappy used to say if an alligator, U-Boat or giant flying centipede is on your tail, zigzag so they can¡¯t run ya down. And that¡¯s just what I did. Dodge, dip, duck, dive and dodge. The chase took me out of the forest and into the meadow. As the Dracopede closed in for the kill, I shifted direction and leapt backwards off to the side. It overshot me by inches and presented its wings in the middle of the strike zone. You had better believe I swung for the fences. Its wings clipped, my quarry crashed to the earth. From there I resumed the earlier tactic of poking it to maintain distance and sidestepping around and smacking it on the legs with my spear shaft. One by one, its legs went limp and hung useless to the side. Eventually the Dracopede curled into a ball. I went medieval on it for twenty minutes until it stopped moving. Cue fanfare. Day 4 Time for a detail I predict nobody wanted to know. Dracopede tastes like a mix between fish and chickpeas and had the consistency of crab. Even with my limited tools, butchering it wasn¡¯t as hard as I expected. My hand axe was sufficient to cut it along the leg segments. Once I removed the limbs, the armored top carapace simply slid off. For a creature eight feet long, I didn¡¯t get quite as much meat off as I expected. But, I had enough to gorge myself that night and I still had a little left over for a side project.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. In the morning, I roasted the remaining meat and went to the forest using a carapace segments as a platter. Once the granite ridge and Dogkin den came to sight, I set the meat on the ground just outside of tree cover. With my best imitation of their barking sounds, a dozen Dogkin stormed outside. I puffed up my chest and shoulder to act big. They approached cautiously. When they got within a dozen yards, I tapped the platter of food with my foot and pantomimed handing an item from one hand to another. The lead doggo, a female towering a full head higher than the others, seemed to understand. She barked at one of her smaller pack mates. That Dogkin dashed into the den and returned with a ragged fur pelt. I shook my head and spread my arms wider. With a yelp, it fetched a second fur. I nodded and pushed the meat towards them. The Alpha promptly dumped the Dracopede meat on the ground. She licked and caressed the red carapace while the rest of the pack crowded around to admire it. Apparently, they have higher food standards than I do. Anyways, Achievement Get! I completed my first trade in this crazy new world. I wasn¡¯t sure what I¡¯d get, but two small furs were fantastic. I¡¯m going to try to make shoes because my feet are looking pretty blistered and messed up right now. Day 5 Sigh, I discovered where the Dracopede came from. Some time between finishing my trade with the Dogkin and dozing off for the night, a thought came. Humanoid Canines aside, the ecosystem around my camp seemed analogous to what I expected in similar environments on Earth. I¡¯ve seen birds and fish as well as signs of game: scratched trees, trampled plants and the like. More relevantly, all the bugs and spiders are normal sized. So how exactly does an eight-foot flying armored centipede fit? Short answer, it doesn¡¯t. At the next sunrise I returned to the spot where the Dracopede tried to jump me. Now that I was searching for them, signs of the creature¡¯s rampage through the forest were brutally apparent. At places, underbrush was shredded. Within a few minutes, I passed the remains of a burrow. Probably the former home of a fox or a badger or some other woodland creature, it tore the earth wide open and flung debris thirty feet away. The destruction was so complete; who knows what it once was. I followed the carnage another half hour until the forest changed. My green and healthy forest lay on one side. There was nothing but skeletal dead trees on the other. My first tentative step into the deadwood was almost painful. The dirt across the line was downright frigid. It¡¯s springtime; the sun is shining bright and clear. Cold dirt is the last thing I¡¯d expect. In fact, when I stretched my arm over the divide, the sun left barely any warmth on my fingers while the rest of my body sweated. That isn¡¯t natural. I¡¯m not sure why I pressed on. I want to say my natural curiosity, which often as of late drove me into dangerous situations. But, I really can¡¯t shake the feeling that something out there spurred me along. Whichever it was, I ventured deeper into the deadwood. I didn¡¯t go far before I was unable to continue. Ahead the barren forest vanished. The earth by my feet lay open as a dark gaping maw. Best guess is the sinkhole stretched the diameter of a football field. The sides were completely smooth with no apparent way to walk deeper into the pit. On the bright side, there was no apparent way for anything to walk out either. Maybe it¡¯s some trick of the wind, but I swear whenever I went near the rim there was a faint whisper in the air. I decided I¡¯d seen enough. But as I turned away, an out-of-place object caught my attention. It was a wheel. Nearby I located its companion which was a wheelbarrow turned on its side. For the longest time I had wondered if I was dropped off somewhere in the Stone Age, but this was confirmation that civilization existed somewhere. Unfortunately, based off the state of the artifacts in front of me, that civilization wasn¡¯t coming back anytime soon. I played archeologist for an hour and pieced together what seemed like a reasonable course of events. At some point in the past decade, small human like creatures camped at the rim of the sinkhole. Defying anything resembling sense and reason, they excavated a way inside. Looking carefully, I found stone steps descending around the edge and disappearing down in the darkness. I found bone fragments from donkeys or ponies, but no trace of the would-be miners. They were probably killed somewhere down the sinkhole and their camp fell into disrepair. Eager to leave that evil place, I dropped whatever small items I recovered into the wheelbarrow and went back the way I came. There were many useful things, but this whole day has been utterly draining. I¡¯ll look them over later. Chapter 4 Day 7 What has two thumbs and is sitting naked in the rain? Today was the second day of the downpour. My campfire was the first casualty. Attempts were made to shelter whatever coals remained in the wheelbarrow. To that end I fashioned a roof from Dracopede carapace to keep them nice and dry. The design would have worked, if the weather had cleared up in a reasonable amount of time. The second, more troubling problem, was the blackberries. The rain spoiled most on the branches. Wind and water knocked the rest off the bushes and flushed them down the creek. By the way, If Adam¡¯s Creek rises another six inches the runoff going to wash my camp (me included) away to parts unknown. Still. There should be some sort of limit to sulking and feeling miserable. Sure I have difficulties, but it¡¯s not all bad news. Today marks the first week since my arrival and I suppose I needed the shower. While my phone wasn¡¯t exactly waterproof back on Earth, It wasn¡¯t damaged in the slightest when I left it out in the rain. Plot holes amirite. I¡¯m not sure how valuable information like that is, but it¡¯s nice to know I¡¯m still able to share all my troubles with you fine people. Between reinventing prehistoric technologies through trial and error and battling monstrous bugs my daily grind was so preoccupied that proper long term planning got sidelined. With nothing else to do right now, it seems like a great time to catch up. Especially after finding that abandoned camp by the sinkhole. Originally there was a tent, three bedrolls and crates of provisions. If only I found those intact. However by the time I got there, they¡¯d all mostly rotted away with little remaining but splinters and scraps of cloth showing various levels of decay. Still, the salvageable items remaining were all pretty great. The tools were the biggest prizes: dagger, axe head, mattock, and shovel. After years of exposure to the elements, there was more than a little rust. But hey, rust means they were originally iron. That made them an upgrade from rocks. Sadly, the axe doesn¡¯t have a handle and the wooden bits on the other tools are at the end of their durability. Some repairs are needed but I¡¯ll take it. The next thing, believe me I¡¯m excited about it, was the earthen cookpot. It¡¯s exquisitely ornate with a bird motif. It¡¯s the sort of item museums would display to the public with a little brass plaque explaining all the neat features. Worked in clay in the shape of a common domestic fowl, there is a beak shaped spout on the front, talons on the bottom as a stand, and wings worked onto either side on which it can be hung over a wood fire. It is unglazed with charring and discoloration along the lower portions. That shows it was a functional rather than ritual object and likely the centerpiece of a well-to-do kitchen. Lastly I picked up various small personal items. Here¡¯s a list 2 whetstones 3 pewter mugs Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. 3 pewter plates 2 clay pipes 8 rusty horseshoes 90 silver coins The technology and material seems mostly medieval, but the coins were considerably more sophisticated. They are tarnished to all hell, but the intricate designs were still clear and elaborate. Some sort of runic inscription covered one face and a squat bearded figure adorned the other. Interestingly, they also had reeded edges. That¡¯s what the grooves along the outside of quarters and dimes are called. That made shaving the edges of coins for their precious metal easily apparent. Isaac Newton came up with the familiar modern implementation of the idea. Clearly, someone out in this world was more serious about their currency than their eating utensils. The unexpected rainstorm also drove home the fact that I¡¯ve been negligent in improving my shelter over the past week. Sure, my technology level sucked, but it wouldn¡¯t have preventing me from building a roof to protect my fire and firewood if I prioritized it. I¡¯ll need to do better. Luckily, the clouds off in the distance have a lighter tone so perhaps the weather will improve. Day 8 I had guests over this morning. The rain stopped just after sunset. Everything was still too wet so a fire was impossible. That made for another miserable night and I woke up cranky and bedraggled. Then, who should I see at first light but a half dozen Dogkin prowling my way. With my new dagger and Dracopede-slaying spear, I prepared to defend what was left of my camp. That wasn¡¯t necessary. The pack stopped and sat on their haunches a stone throw away while the Alpha approached alone. She barked and gesticulated with her clawed hands (paws?). I ran with the assumption that she wanted more of the red carapace so I removed six segments from the wheelbarrow and lay them on the soggy grass. The Alpha barked and yipped. Her companions laid out some items opposite: A skinned rabbit carcass, assorted furs, spool of twine. That last one got me thinking. I set a seventh bit of carapace on the ground, and made sewing motions. The Dogkin¡¯s leader cocked her head to one side, and then turned to the second largest other member of the pack. He had black stripes along the snout and their conversation looked a lot like an argument with quite a bit of growling and baring of teeth. Eventually the second Dogkin ran off towards their den and returned a few minutes later with bone needles. Satisfied, the Dogkin took possession of the Dracopede carapace and left. I made dinner. Day 8 ¨C Part 2 The rest of the day was spent putting my camp back to order. Restarting the fire was rough. I had to shave sticks with my rusty dagger in order to get it to burn. I also had trouble finding tinder dry enough to catch sparks. The only thing that came to mind was the Dogkin twine. I cut off an inch and unraveled it into tiny fibers. Next, I tested the recently acquired various metal implements to see which ones produced sparks when I struck them against the black stone that was my original failed axe. I expected the dagger would produce the best sparks, but it turned out the horseshoes won. It had been over two days since my last meal, and now was a good time to make use of the cookpot. The wing shaped handles had holes for twine, which I hung from a triangular frame made of forked branches. In went the rabbit and I let it cook the rest of the day as I pondered how to fix the broken axe from the sinkhole. Day 8 ¨C Part 3 For all the gourmands out there, boiling without herbs or spicesmust sound like a culinary travesty and the absolute worst way to prepare rabbit. Don¡¯t care. Compared to burnt Dracopede it was delicious. Afterwards, there were still a few hours left to find a suitable sapling for an axe handle. Despite being days past, the sinkhole still gave me the creeps. I avoided it and explored the forest in the opposite direction. Maybe this is just paranoia, but how exactly did I end up at the border of the deadwood? Chapter 5 Day 9 It¡¯s official. I¡¯ve lost my mind. After last night, I tried really hard to convince myself to stay in the meadow. I face enough perils in my daily life without risking that dark and gloomy place. But, It was impossible. At this point there¡¯s no doubt my attraction to the sinkhole didn¡¯t originate within my own curiosity. Every idle moment, my thoughts were drawn that way and more than once I found myself unconsciously walking towards the deadwood. The lack of light will be the main complication I¡¯ll face when I go down there. The sinkhole is very deep and when I was last there, the sun had already dropped low in the horizon. At that time of day, shadows completely obscured the interior. Likely, there will be only a few hours when the sun is in the right position to provide enough light. That¡¯s why I¡¯m going down sometime around noon, give or take a little because solar physics are complicated. I can¡¯t afford to chicken out and I really don¡¯t want to stay in that creepy place any longer than I have to. So, while I have the light, I must be brave and determined. Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once. Damn, If only heroism was that simple. That¡¯s not to say I¡¯m jumping in without a plan. The last people who explored it are currently lying dead somewhere down there and I¡¯m not eager to join them. At first light, I packed the wheelbarrow with my meager possessions including coals to start a new fire and left for the abandoned camp. I wasn¡¯t sure how long it would take and figured it would best to be prepared for an overnight stay. There were tons of dead trees around and with the live coals I got a fire blazing in record time. It cheered me that I now had a little colony away from home for refuge. Although, I¡¯m hoping when problems arise it¡¯ll be an abandoned colony more like Vinland than Roanoke. Ok, I¡¯m aware that the comparison kind of falls apart when considering the murderous feud involved with one of the expeditions to the former, but bear with me. My point is I¡¯d much rather be capable of packing up and leaving if things don¡¯t go my way than to simply disappear without a trace. In addition the darkness, the earth around the sinkhole is still cold to the touch. However, this time, I am trying out my latest acquisition. I used my traded fur and cord to fashion a pair of shoes. They are not much to look at. Actually, I needed to stuff them full of grass to get a good fit, so it looks like I¡¯m wearing a taco on each foot, but I won¡¯t need to risk frostbite whenever I tread on the icy ground. Day 9 ¨C Part 2 Well, the first part of my plan worked. Although; I shouldn¡¯t rush to celebrate. Once the sun illuminated the entirety of the sinkhole, I finally got a good look at just how in over my head I was. Positives first. Subterranean water dissolving underground layers of strata is typically what causes sinkholes, so there was a substantial possibility that everything below would have been flooded and I¡¯d need to grow gills to explore further. I was reasonably sure that wasn¡¯t the case due to the sophisticated tests (dropping stones and listening for a splash) I performed while waiting for the sun to get into position. Still it was nice to get confirmation on the matter. The second positive was there weren¡¯t Dracopedes or other dangerous creature on the prowl. Now for the negatives. I knew the sinkhole went deep, but better lighting proved it was far deeper than I¡¯d have thought possible. Multiple hours of complete sunlight now seems hopelessly optimistic and I¡¯ll need to cut my exploration time in half or risk being caught in the dark. Also, I didn¡¯t expect Stonehenge down there. Ok it¡¯s not literally the same, but what else would one call a circular post and lintel monument constructed from massive slabs balanced atop one another. There were also troubling implications on why it was sunk into a pit rather than built on high ground like it¡¯s Earth analog, but I didn¡¯t want to dwell on those. I need to admire the stairs that descended along the rim down the sinkhole. I was ho-hum about them the other day. But they showed far more care and skill than I credited at the time. They went the extra effort to lay timber planks over the cut rock and fastened them in place with heavy iron stakes. I learned while descending that it made a huge difference. I stumbled on the slippery and uneven rock by the edge, but I had no trouble maintaining my footing on the stairs.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. The quality of the stairs and the other things I found below forced me to revise my analysis on the group of miners. My previous assumption was they had brought digging tools simply to carve steps down to the bottom. Nope. There was some serious excavation happening on the sinkhole floor. Stonehenge appeared mostly undisturbed, but they dug out a vertical shaft just outside the circle which descended god knows how deep underground. I won¡¯t be able to go any farther until I fashion some sort of lamp or torches. I¡¯m going to check out the center of the stone ring and get out while I still have some light. Day 9 ¨C Part 3 Revising my opinion of the miners one more time. Those guys are sick! Day 9 ¨C Part 4 I knew something was wrong the second I set foot within the inner section of standing stones. The whispers from several days ago returned louder and with more intensity. A raspy female voice groaned. It oozed pain and despair and with her next breath added rage and promises of vengeance. Raw emotion echoed all around and weighed me down like an oppressive fog. It took a while to make any kind of sense out of the figure surrounded by multiple layers of concentric stone circles. At first glace, I thought it was a stunted tree. The gnarled gray exterior was certainly bark-like and it was covered with twigs and dead shriveled leaves. But, a gleaming red eye cracked opened when I approached within a dozen paces. I froze. The creature in front of me, a dryad, stirred and thrashed on the ground. A sudden and crippling wave of terror and anxiety nearly bowled me over. The yearnings coalesced into words that permeated the air. ¡°Help me¡­ Release me...¡± That¡¯s when I noticed the stakes. The same that held the steps together, the ones I admired so much earlier, were hammered through her chest and driven deep into the earth. I crept forward and knelt beside her. I drew my dagger and stabbed the hard-packed ground next to the restrained dryad. Despite my care, I accidently brushed the flat of the dagger over her arm. She recoiled from the touch as her wooden flesh smoked. Cold iron has a special place in folklore and possesses supernatural qualities over magical creatures. She was in enough pain from the three iron spikes without adding my carelessness so I put away the dagger and dug with only my hands. Soon, I removed enough of the earth around the stake. I reached underneath and wiggled the first stake loose. The dryad¡¯s field of frenzied longing lessened as I removed it. Relieved, I pulled out the last two to completely free her. By then, the shadows within the sinkhole had started to lengthen and I didn¡¯t want to leave her alone in the dark. After years of being trapped here, she seemed neither fit nor healthy. Dryads are often depicted as rosy-cheeked young women frolicking through the forest. That wouldn¡¯t have accurately described this miserable creature. Her appearance was more lifeless and emaciated. Look up a recent picture of Ramses III. She looked more like that. I carried her out before the shadows covered us in darkness. She didn¡¯t measure thirty inches tall so it wasn¡¯t difficult. Camp Vinland was abandoned the second I loaded the dryad in the wheelbarrow and got her comfortable. After booking it back to the meadow, I restarted my campfire and lay her nearby to warm up. Stupid me. Dryads and open flames don¡¯t mix so she understandably freaked out and I had to endure the overwhelming aura of panic until I moved her farther away. The first foray into the sinkhole seemed like a success. I¡¯ll need to go back in the morning. Hopefully, not because of the irrational drive which brought me there today, but rather because I left behind the shovel and mattock. I had no choice. It was either leave them or have iron implements share the same wheelbarrow as an injured dryad. Day 10 Sometimes people are cruel for no particular reason, but that¡¯s not usually the case. Even something heinous like nailing a living creature to the ground in the center of magic circle probably had some messed up purpose behind it. Well, I think I broke the magic circle. The dryad was still fast asleep the next morning. I left her and returned to camp Vinland to recover my tools. It had been mere hours since I left, but the deadwood was now almost unrecognizable. Spiders. Lots and Lots of spiders claimed the area overnight. They were big ones the size of my clenched fist and had purple bodies and yellow leg joints. I swung my spear to break any webs in my path and carefully made my way to the sinkhole. The bright red of a Dracopede caught my eye as I approached camp Vinland. It was nine feet long, which marked it as bigger than the one that almost killed me. I didn¡¯t need to fight it because it was stuck in a web so large that it stretched from one end of the sinkhole to the other. I didn¡¯t stick around to see how big the spider was. Instead, I grabbed the tools and got the hell out of there. Hmm, what are the odds that the miners used a living dryad to seal away some malevolent force so they could dig in the area? Chapter 6 Day 10 ¨C Part 2 On returning from the deadwood, I plopped down by the fire and thought up excuses for how this all wasn¡¯t really my fault. Obviously, the miners who nailed the dryad to the sacred circle were really to blame. Honestly, I shouldn¡¯t even be here. At home, I¡¯d be waiting to hear back on my applications to Cornell and Syracuse. You know, planning my entire future adult life. But no! Bad luck dictated that I couldn¡¯t just live like a normal person. Thankfully, I was roused from such counterproductive musing by a rustle in the woods. A doe bounded from the underbrush and bolted across the meadow. That should have tipped me off but at the time my thoughts were more like, ¡°I¡¯m hungry. I wonder what venison tastes like.¡± A few minutes later a trio of deer followed the same path. Then more came. After the fiftieth dashed away from the forest accompanied by countless birds, rodents, and other woodland critters a sinking thought finally formed in my gut. I left camp and entered the forest to see what the animals knew that I didn¡¯t. Surprise doofus! The Deadwood was spreading. Jet-black horned ants, each as big as a housecat, streamed out from the direction of the sinkhole. The ants latched their mandibles on a bush or a tree where the insect dissolved away into smoke. Best I can describe it; the attacked tree would then explosively die. In a split-second it¡¯s leaves changed from green and healthy to dead and withered. The enervated foliage fell en masse and emptied the branches. The roots of the dead tree passed the curse into the ground and all the smaller plants on the floor also died. The purple and yellow spiders followed and led a new wave of shadow ants to extend the attack. I think it¡¯s written somewhere in the book of Job to ¡°Let no good deed go unpunished.¡± I unleashed something truly awful, but it¡¯s funny how I blindly assumed it couldn¡¯t get any worse. Boy, ain¡¯t I smart. Day 10 ¨C Part 3 Things that will kill me (by imminence) I leveled my spear towards the nearest ant and charged. My aim was true and the blow evaporated the ant into smoke. I struck out at a second and a third and destroyed them both. They were weak and the slightest bit of damage was more than enough to kill these creatures, but then I looked around. Dead trees and cursed ground extended past me on both sides. I scrambled back to avoid getting surrounded and new ants overran the little patch of forest I struggled to defend. That cycle was repeated many times over the course of the afternoon with the same degree of success. Most of the ground between the deadwood and the Dogkin lair was lost. Still, I felt responsible for this mess so I fought on despite how futile things seemed. Off to one side, an Oak shuddered and died in an explosion of dead leaves. An uncontrollable Rage flared within me. In front, the ants stumbled and wandered as if drunk. Confused, they attacked each other or walked the wrong way. The raw fury and hatred boiled inside me. My jaw clenched and my blood ran hot. How dare those interlopers come here and harm the beautiful trees. They all had to die. Die quick; Die now! With the ants¡¯ progress unexpectedly stalled, I took time to calm myself. The strong emotions I¡¯d been feeling couldn¡¯t possibly be genuine. Sure, adrenaline coursed through me, but why had I been so I utterly enraged?This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it I looked behind. Teeth bared, the injured dryad teetered on unsteady legs. She grasped onto a tree trunk for support and stretched out a free hand. Motes of light danced over her palm and fingertips. Ahead, all the shadow ants staggered over the boundary between the forest and the cursed ground. They¡¯d promptly turned around and either ripped into whatever was behind them, or fled back into the deadwood. The dryad¡¯s fight or flight spell thingy felt like the just the kind of break I needed to save my home until a wailing shriek pierced the chaos of the ant on ant massacre. The cursed soil by the border split apart. Earth and dead flora compacted and formed a gaping mouth with lips and teeth. Its jaws spread wide and an arm reached out between the lips and brandished a globe of fire. I stabbed the arm, but my spear passed harmlessly through as if I were attacking a mirage. The hand flung the fireball at my companion. The tree supporting her took the brunt of the missile¡¯s impact. The oak shattered into splinters and the force propelled her backwards where she collapsed in a heap. The spell broken, the shadow ants returned to their senses. They swarmed and renewed their work with a vengeance. I was completely powerless to prevent more ground from being lost and only had enough time to scoop up my fallen ally and carried her back. Day 10 ¨C Part 4 Barks and howls in the distance signaled the Dogkin entering the fight. Before I left to join them, I tried to leave the dryad at camp, but she held onto my back and refused to let me leave without her. Blistering anger still radiated from her tiny form. We hurried to the Dogkin den. The curse had come within sight of it and the pack had come out ready for war. The Alpha and Stripes, the big male that was second in charge, were at the front both wearing elaborate bone armor. I noted their chest pieces were made from the segments of Dracopede I¡¯d been trading. Neat. A new figure I¡¯d never seen before stood just behind the front line. He wore a mask fashioned from a bull¡¯s skull and a cape of clinking bones. Two more bone-caped Dogkin stood beside him and handed flaming pine cones which he threw like shamanistic grenades. As they landed, they flared up in columns of fire that engulfed everything around them. I misjudged the Dogkin. In the past, I¡¯d never seen them utilize fire so I assumed they didn¡¯t know how. I should give them more credit in the future. With my spear I joined them and stabbed as many of the ants as I could. Together we fought them to a standstill. The familiar scream came and the demonic mouth opened up and prepared another fireball. This time I was ready. Well, It was an educated guess that turned out brilliantly. My spear was ineffective, but what about cold iron. I unwound a braided cord from around my waist. I had tied a horseshoe at each end and whirled the makeshift flail over my head. It was a neat little weapon inspired from a ¡°historical document¡± called Shanghai Noon. Turns out fireballs can get interrupted with explosive consequences. I threw a horseshoe at the conjuring hand and its spell detonated leaving only a smoldering crater. A second mouth and hand emerged on the other side of the battlefield and I dispatched it the same way. The shadow ants started wigging out again as the dryad worked her magic. That¡¯s when things utterly fell apart. The earth rumbled and a great fissure rent the forest floor apart. An armored figure mounted atop a spider the size of an elephant emerged. The creature brandished a heavy javelin, which it raised over its head and threw. The javelin morphed into lightning as it left the gauntleted fingers. It slammed into the Dogkin Alpha¡¯s chest and ricocheted into three others. All four collapsed and lay still. Stripes, now the new Alpha, gave a meaningful look to the shaman. The fighting line disintegrated as the two led the pack away. Only myself, the dryad and four younger Dogkin remained. And that is how we lost the battle. The deadwood spread over the rest of the forest. It continued through the meadow until it reached Adam¡¯s creek where it halted. I¡¯m not sure if it was simply content with the territory seized or had trouble crossing the running water. I suppose surviving without further casualties is kind of like a victory, but it¡¯s a bitter one and I¡¯m too weary to think anymore. Chapter 7 Day 12 A full two days have passed since we lost our fight with the denizens of the sinkhole. I probably should have kept updating my account of events during the last couple days, but our collective morale seemed somewhere between an Iraqi tank crew driving the Highway of Death and a century waiting their turn at Cannae. Amongst the five of us who remained, I guess I¡¯m in charge. The quartet of Dogkin so far made no attempt to rejoin their pack. My main guess why is they are probably the offspring of the fallen Alpha. Now that Stripes is in charge, they aren¡¯t welcome there anymore. I regret to say, it seems like the dryad died shortly after the finale of our battle. It hurts considering that this whole mess started when I tried to free her from the sinkhole. Admittedly, I know nothing of the physiology of magical creatures but she wasn¡¯t in the best shape when the fight started and must have expended too much of her strength in our efforts to slow the cursed land. As we fled, I found her facedown, unresponsive and cold. It felt wrong to just leave her. Dryads are creatures of the forest, so she would have wanted me to lay her to rest amongst the trees. I carried her out of the meadow and found a sheltered thicket. There was something tomb-like about the canopy of evergreens and brambles. I laid our fallen companion on her back and led the other survivors on our search for safety. Safety was harder to find than expected. After abandoning us when the spider knight killed the old Alpha, Stripes established a new den in the forest farther out to the west. Out of all the Dogkin, he liked me the least and that sentiment remained as strong as ever. We inadvertently crossed into his territory and he let me know precisely how welcome I was. One moment, we wearily trudged through heavy underbrush and in the next I dodged rocks and the shaman¡¯s stupid exploding pinecones. None of us had any fight left so we ran. If Stripe¡¯s pack wasn¡¯t still terrified of the presence beyond the meadow, we¡¯d probably be dead. With the north and east blocked off by the Deadwood and Stripes being petty and unreasonable, the only way remaining was due south. In the end that way didn¡¯t work out either. Do you know what a Shwark is? I made up the name just now so probably not. Anyways, travel south and you¡¯ll hit a gigantic swamp. And in that swamp unfeasibly large predatory fish swam between the inundated trees. Care to take a guess to the meaning now? I¡¯m ten billion percent sure that I¡¯m also responsible for the shwarks. The vegetation doesn¡¯t kinda dead and the big yellow and purple spiders are all over that place too. It does add a bit of evidence to a theory I¡¯d been working on.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. We mostly followed the path of the stream south. I was curious if we¡¯d find a point where the opposite bank wasn¡¯t cursed (we didn¡¯t). I had a good look at the water. It seemed¡­fine. Fish still swam in the stream and the water ran completely clear. It only fouled up once the stream emptied into the swamp and grew stagnant. Maybe the curse couldn¡¯t easily cross flowing water? It was something to think about. Day 13 After a full night¡¯s sleep, I decided to go back and search for some defendable location in the meadow. Here¡¯s the logic behind that seemingly crazy scheme. If the shadow ants or whatever crossed the creek to take the rest of the land, we¡¯d simply slip away through the western forest while Stripes was preoccupied defending his territory. If the curse couldn¡¯t or didn¡¯t cross the stream, our side of the meadow was still a green and hospitable site to eke a living. In any case, unless we wanted to swim with shwarks or go to war with Stripes, escape wasn¡¯t a choice. The Dogkin started the morning demoralized and it took a bit of effort to wake them. Whenever I tried to shake one awake, they would whine and lie back down. I¡¯m not going to blame them. The pack that had been the center of their lives had tossed them out, and it left them listless and without purpose. However, I¡¯m not resigned to that fate. And while I¡¯m still able to get up, so will they. With a lot of perseverance and whistling I got all of them moving. It didn¡¯t take long until we reached my old home at the bend on Adam¡¯s creek. It¡¯s not the idyllic place that it was a few days ago, but water was still key and it¡¯s still the most defendable point near the stream. It was a hard decision, but we reestablished camp there. I have a confession to make. The Dogkin clearly have a spoken language and I totally intended to learn their names in that language. But bark-speak was completely incomprehensible and necessity forced me to call them something. Its not culturally sensitive, but I gave them new names. Red was the only female. She¡¯s got red fur. Bandit has black mask-patterned fur over his face. Cheeks¡¯ face was broad with very long fur over his cheeks. You can guess where Socks came from. And yes, I realized afterwards I¡¯d given them all pet names instead of something more dignified. Sorry guys; what¡¯s done is done. Once we got to our new camp, we played charades. More accurately, I played charades and hoped they¡¯d understand the tasks I assigned each of them. I wanted Red and Bandit to try and hunt something. They seemed to understand and disappeared into the woods. For round two, I assigned Socks and Cheeks to help me collect firewood. The three of us split up. An hour later I had a good collection of fallen sticks when I noticed something odd. I¡¯m pretty familiar with this area, and some of the trees seemed to have moved. It wasn¡¯t a trick of the light, it¡¯s like they uprooted and went to a spot where there wasn¡¯t a tree before. I had a strong suspicion on the reason. I went to the thicket where I left the dryad. She was where I left her except she now lay inside a ring of oaks curled under a sunbeam. Confirmed, I know nothing of the physiology of magical creatures. Chapter 8 Day 13 ¨C Part 2 I was relieved that dryad wasn¡¯t dead and genuinely curious about her. But she didn¡¯t wake up and I still needed to collect wood for the fire. Besides, It¡¯s generally considered creepy to sit around and watch people while they sleep so I left to gather more sticks. I figured I could always check on her later. Once I had enough fuel for the night, there was still extra time. I spent it combing the meadow for dandelions. I got the idea from my Aunt. She lived a hippie lifestyle out in West Virginia with her horses and collection of spirit crystals. In between spouting the benefits of clear quartz and fluorite for my upcoming exams, she had also been a natural foods fanatic. Not natural as in organic. More like if she couldn¡¯t visit food while it was still alive, it had no place on her table. For instance most of us throw away our dandelions but she added into her food for as long as I could remember. Truth be told though, I was never a fan of Aunt Debbie¡¯s salads but at least I know they¡¯re edible. Ever since the berries disappeared, I¡¯d been thinking about foraging plants to add a bit more to my diet. The problem is that almost nothing growing around me seems remotely food-like. That will take some time to get accustomed to. My views are still pretty heavily biased from my former life. Funny how there¡¯s virtually nothing is natural about the produce section in your average supermarket. Our entire food chain has been tinkered and adjusted for millennia, which gave us fun facts like cabbage and broccoli being the same species of plant. The strawberry as we know it hasn¡¯t existed for longer than two hundred years. They first came when botanists crossed a North American weed with a South American one. Think you can find a seedless banana or watermelon in the wild? At the moment, I¡¯ll start small with the dandelions and experiment some more later. As an aside, I don¡¯t know what I expected when I sent Red and Bandit to hunt. Ok in fairness, I thought they¡¯d bring back rabbits or similar types of game that the pack had previously traded with me. You know how people assume that the Japanese frequently eat Sushi and are surprised when one casually mentions how they hadn¡¯t eaten it in a couple years. It¡¯s sort of like that. Except Sushi, in this metaphor, was any type of meat that I¡¯d consider edible and mice are what the Dogkin actually brought me. How does one eat mice? When encountering unfamiliar food, it helps to observe the locals and try to copy. In that regard, my companions weren¡¯t any help. They just popped them in their mouths whole and started chewing. It¡¯s fair to say I struggled a bit and made a mess trying to skin mice and eating weeds. I wonder if the Dogkin are having second thoughts about putting me in charge? Day 14 Over the night I had a really strange dream. At first I didn¡¯t think it too remarkable as I¡¯ve had dreams in this new life before and never thought to record them in the past. But this one was different. Back in New York, there was a farmers market in an overgrown lot next to the interstate. When she wasn¡¯t busy working, my mother drove almost an hour to get the freshest produce straight from the farms. She took me there fairly often. Well, in this dream she asked me to go with my sister Felia and pick something for a summer barbeque.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. So how is that weird? I don¡¯t have a sister named Felia. And if I did, I doubt she¡¯d be two and a half feet tall with moss-green hair and red eyes. Long story short, we picked some fruits and vegetables out and Felia made me promised to share in the future. Then she warned me that rain was coming. The sky darkened and we ran off to shelter where I woke. Dawn hadn¡¯t come yet, but a faint orange glow from the imminent sunrise hovered just over the horizon. At first, I didn¡¯t think much beyond, ¡°that was an interesting dream. Must be more hungry than I realized.¡± Like every other morning, the first thing I did was crawl over to the stream. I drank my fill and checked the progress of the cursed ground. It remained unchanged in the same place where it was last night and the water still seemed as healthy as ever. At that point the dream still bothered me. It felt more real than any I¡¯ve ever had before and more urgent. Typically dreams fade from my memory quickly. But I still remembered tiny details clearly. Things like the exact varieties of the fruit and vegetables we selected and precisely how much I paid the farmer ($11.25). It wasn¡¯t just a weird dream, and the warning given at the end must have been important. I left camp armed with a dagger and strode into the woods. The dryad, I suspect named Felia, was easy to find. The anger she radiated functioned like a beacon and drew me in the direction where it felt stronger. Soon enough I saw the destination, a fire, located deep within the forest. It had been fed throughout the night and still burned bright in the low pre-morning light. A cowled and cloaked figure stood watch hunched over the campfire. As I crept closer, I noted several more individuals sleeping on the ground. Two of them were Dogkin. The poor things weren¡¯t there willingly, but hogtied and chained to a tree. The sentry stood and walked a circuit around its camp. The creature seemed like some sort of goblin. Firelight illuminated a lean wiry body with long fangs and grey-green skin. I held my breath, crouched lower into the undergrowth and let him pass. Movement on one of the upper branches drew my attention to a diminutive figure seated along the bough. Felia cupped her hands against the truck and leaned close as if whispering. Her glowing red eyes darted my way and she made a slight motion with her hand towards the sentry. A lot happened in a short time, so it¡¯s hard to describe exactly what happened next. The tree groaned like a heavy weight leaned against it. Roots rose free from the earth and covered the two goblins that had been sleeping next to the tree. They shrieked and struggled against the roots restraining them. Alarmed, the sentry pulled a burning brand from the fire and stalked over assist his companions. I brandished the dagger and stepped forward. The remaining creature didn¡¯t wait for me to demand its surrender. Instead he tossed the flaming stick into the tree¡¯s branches and ran away. The brand scorched a few leaves, but I hurried and grabbed it before it did any considerable damage. With my dagger I cut the ropes that tied up the Dogkin. The second they were free, the ungrateful little scamps ran off without saying thanks or anything. The dryad slid down the trunk and glowered hatefully down at the trapped goblins. I¡¯m not entirely sure what to do about them. I eventually dug the out and brought them back to camp. But, caring for prisoners is a giant bother that I can¡¯t afford right now. Maybe I should have let them go. But then again, if they came here to cause trouble I couldn¡¯t allow that either. Felia looked like her vote was to kill them, maybe she¡¯s right. I also really hope letting that one get away wasn¡¯t a huge error, but fortune hasn¡¯t been great for me lately.