Day 2, Year Unknown
Yesterday I was able to take a
reasonably thorough stock of all the necessary repairs I would have to make to
The Brubu’s Servant. By no means is it a
short task, as much of the ship lay in near ruin. Top of the list was a clear demand for some
properly shaped timbers to replace the planks that either were pounded by the
cannon balls rolling around on deck, or were splintered on the uncontrolled
landing.
With that in mind, I headed out
in the pre-twilight hours of the morning to take stock of the trees on the
island. While trekking through the deep deciduous
forest, which seems to be slightly out of place somehow, I came across a most
pleasant, and yet disturbing site. Off
in the distance, in the predawn light I could just make out what appeared to be
an illuminated clearing with a sole individual of some height standing
perfectly still.
Not fully able to make out any
details at range, I carefully pushed my way through the thick underbrush and
fragrant wildflowers still dripping with the morning’s dew. As I approached, it became clear that in the
center of the clearing a low flat table topped a wide semi-ornate stone foundation,
flanked by a candelabrum and guarded by a silent statue. An etherial light shown down from
above and a slight stirring of the wind caused the tree boughs and low grass to
seemingly dance about. With my skin all
a tingle, my mind buzzing with misgivings and dreadful intuitions, I crept
forward very slowly.
I paused as I reached the edge of the
clearing, took a very deep breath trying to still my nerves and found the air weighed
down with sweet scents of exotic flowers in bloom when not stirred by the
ever-present sea breeze. Yet my delicate
sensiblites were not satisfied that was all the breeze carried. With the rythmic sounds of crashing waves on
a nearby cliff face in my ears I took another long, slow breath and discovered
the slightest hint of musk. Not unlike a
fine perfume, intermingling with and almost masked completely by the fragrent
blooms, it was difficult to make any type of judgement as to its origins.
Finding that my
senses could not provide any more clues to this site from without, I stepped
into the clearing and approched the … altar?
I suppose it did bear stiking resemblence to several different styles of
religious places of sacrifice. However, the
stones showed niether a drop of blood nor the tell-tale marks of cleaning which
usually accompanies ritural cleansings of sacred sites.
That is not to say
that the place was excessively soiled, but it did not appear to have been
overly used (with the notable execption of the still burning candelstick, I
must have scared some acolyte off with my less-than-subtle ingression). Coupled with the distance from the nearest
habitation, the undisturbed nature of this place leads me to believe that this
is not the primary religion on the island, but perhaps the secret meeting place
of some kind of cult or secret society.
I bent down to
examine the stonework, thinking that the iconagraphy might give me some insight
as to the maker, orign, purpose and potential age of the altar. It appears to be two English-styled
sea-wyverns pair around a flower, most likely a cornflower also known as a blue
bottle, but it is a little tricky to confirm that deduction without the proper
heraldic guide. The styling is
reasonably sophisticated and the work is well executed, leading me to believe
that this is, at oldest 17th century, but it could be as recent as
contemporary, 19th Century times.
Having no immediate
mental flashes connecting this altar with any known religion or cult, I
contented myself to simply cataloging it, marking the place in my mind for
future study. Perhaps I might just be
lucky enough to catch a glimpse of the mysterious cultists in the act of some
ancient incantation if I set up a blind somewhere near… Just added “scout for blind locations” to my
list. I hope I remember what that means
tomorrow.
After backing away
from the odd “holy” site, I continued my task of examining each tree to see if
it would be of suitable size for such purposes as felling, hewing and planking
for the reconstruction of the airship.
Shortly after sunrise I spotted the most unusual flowering plant
spreading its roots in a single beam of light that penetrated the forest
canopy.
Having become wary
of plants when last I was in Howling Valley, when a particulary carnivorious
one nearly swalowed me whole! Also, I
was accutely reminded when I stumbled upon an entire patch of similarly hungry
little plants being cultivated underneath the Orwell castle. Needless to say, I approched very cautiously.
This particular
flower was of a genus I had never seen, and after carefully examining the
ground for any runners or vines growing out from it, I approched within range
of its enchanting aroma. I was nearly
overcome with wild passionate emotions.
Whatever mix of
chemicals this flower produced, the effect of its effervescense was remarkable.
I suspect that survival of the fittest
demanded some robust solution to the cross-pollinization issues of such a
small, closed off island, and the natually selected solution for this species
was to use the sexual drives of all types of passersby. Its fumes so entangled my mind that I was
helplessly drawn right to the edge… and held there for, well, I honestly don’t
know how long I stood gazing deep into its bubbling petals.
I’m not sure
exactly when I regained my composure, nor what path I had wandered down in my “fit
of hystaria”, but I do know the exact moment that one misstep lead me closer to
my goals than further away.
Whatever beast or
man laid this snare, whatever his intended game was, I found myself seeing this
island from a wholly different angle.
Astoundingly well crafted, I was suspended a good two, maybe three
meters from the ground by the most simplistic looking vine-rope leg trap.
Thinking it would
be an easy exercise to free myself with my boot knife, I ambled up as best I
could and began slicing away layer after layer of dense, wet vine. The more I cut away, the tighter it seemed to
constrict.
That is when the
worst of my troubles began. The cut vines
began seeping out the most slippery substance, which would seem to aid efforts
to removing them. That was not the case
at all! The tension of the already
constricted rope made it next to impossible for a single drop to lubricate the
approprate locations. Instead, it ran
swiftly down the blade of my knife, all over my hands and half-way up my elbows
before the unthinkable happened.
The slick surfaces
of my knife slid effortlessly through my fingers and I watched helplessly as it
tumbled to the ground, far out of reach.
My only hope was to wait long enough for some kind stranger to cut me down
from my dangling debacle.
After what seemed
to be hours of hanging there, contemplating the obvious mistakes that had led
me down the path to that exact moment, I nearly missed one of the greatest
discoveries I have made since arriving to this island. My acceptance of my situation had all but gotten
the best of me, but when I began to wonder what manner of strong man might come
along, I remembered the beasts that I had seen wondering about.
With no more hesitation, I resumed my efforts
to free myself through a combination of struggling and attempts to wrestle the ropes
off my leg, which drained all my reserves of energy time and time again. On one such attempt I arched my back to gain
enough momentium for a last attempt before another restful time cursing my own
stupidity for not carrying two knives.
As I did so, I caught sight of the most wonderfully shaped trunk I had
ever seen.
It was exaclty what I need, except
it was still standing, not measured in board feet.
With renewed vigor,
I hoisted myself back upright and feverishly ripped at my bindings until little
by litte, I worked the toe of my boot free, letting some of that wonderfully
slick sap inbetween rope and leather.
Within minutes I freed myself, never discovering who laid that trap and
I skipped off toward my new favorite biological thing on the entire island, a
perfectly shaped tree.
Now some might
claim that such a large tree is a bit like knocking on a dollhouse door with a
steampowered wrecking ball, but I disagree.
You can never have too much wood.
There are
countless uses for it. Far too many to recount
here. Why, just imagine how many
toothpicks one could make with such a massive specimen!
Glint might never want for convenient devices to remove
unsightly articles stuck in their teeth ever again.
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