Trapped in a land of foul pagan effigies and bloodthirsty animals, Lord Professor Wilson Chapstick III continues to fight for his survival. Close the tent flap, pull up the covers of your sleeping bags, and prepare for the next chapter in our (probably) true story. Things are about to get grim…
Finding a suitable place to make camp is proving difficult. After my tussle with those wolves I feel like I must be extra careful in where I decide to set up permanently. Nowhere around here feels quite right, and I seem to have scavenged most of the available supplies during the last week.
What I have managed to find however, is the most peculiar hole in the ground. It almost seems to have an organic quality to it. I must investigate furth-
*Illegible scrawling marks the page.*
Well then, that should teach me not to walk and write at the same time. It seems I may have misjudged the distance, and fell right into the damnable thing! It’s spat me back out, though I do not know where – this is not the same place where I went in. Still, it may get me further away from any potential wolf attacks, and I’ll be one of those preposterous evolutionary monkeys if you think I’m jumping back in that hole. Now, let’s go for an explore!
This is astounding, spectacular, a marvel of the Sciences! Just a short walk from where the hole spat me out, through some trees, I came across a squat wooden structure. You will never believe what built it! You remember those pig totems, and pig heads speared outside the altar? They’re not pigs, not entirely anyway.
The brute came rushing at me as I approached, grunting in broken English, that I should go away. I tried to reason with it, but my carefully measured speech and introductions just seemed to make it more mad. As it bore down on me, I reached into my pack, and drew out the last of my provisions – a bit of cooked rabbit and some seeds – and waved them at the beast. He stopped almost immediately, his anger instantaneously replaced with a greedy happiness. Without stopping his open-mouthed chewing, the pigman laughed and proclaimed me his best friend, and that he will follow me. I get the feeling I have no choice in the matter, though having someone that knows the land will definitely be helpful.
A few more hours scavenging sees the sun set, and my new travelling companion seemed restless at the idea of being out in the dark. I don’t think I blame him. So, I set us up a quick fire, and promised to keep an eye out for the ‘spookies’. My promise seemed to satisfy him – even as I write this, he snores loudly beside the fire, though that may prove a better deterrent to any unwanted guests than my meagre flames.
Finding food is definitely the priority for today. Not only have I given the last of my supplies to Mr Piggles (I cannot simply refer to it as…well, ‘it’, you see), but it seems he also expects me to continue providing for him, complaining loudly that he is hungry. Well, you’re not the only one old chap…
The day’s exploration yielded a few tasty morsels scavenged from bushes and the ground, so starvation won’t be a worry for tonight. No, what will be a worry is something I saw on the edge of a lake. Next to a circular scorch mark (possibly the sight of a large fire pit), a shifting shape caught my eye. It seemed like something was standing there, watching me. Trying to focus on it only made it harder to see, and by the time I reached where it had been standing, there was nothing to be found. I asked Mr Piggles if he too had seen anything, but he just laughed and shouted something about loving his new best friend. I don’t think he was looking at me when he said it, though.
Keep it together, Chapstick old bean…
After we hastened away from the lake, we came across another peculiar landscape – a field of boulders, glistening with gold seams, and covered in thick spider webs. The only way forward was through, it seemed, and I warned Mr Piggles and Chester (I’m talking to my suitcase now?) to watch their step. We carefully picked our way across for hours, taking measures to ensure we didn’t disturb the webs or their weavers, until we finally reached the other side.
Now, we’ve set up camp just on the edge of the nearest forest, and we’re waiti-
*More scrawls, and a splash of blood.*
The spiders! They must come from the boulder fields at night to hunt in the forest, and I was too busy writing to notice them! Six of the blighters, each as big as a man, all hair and teeth. Cries from Mr Piggles woke me from my narrative stupor, and I watch him collapse under the weight of our attackers. I snatch up my spear and try to rescue him from the beasts.
Unfortunately, I was too late to help. In the middle of six dead spiders lies Mr Piggles, the poor creature. I have no tools to bury him, so I scavenge what I can and decide to move on. I can’t stay any longer in this cursed place, I must find safer ground to set up a proper camp.
I’ll remember you fondly, Mr Piggles…