Aluudon [DF]

Thriggle's Log: 1st Granite, 251, Early Spring - Not My Fault

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Dear diary,

It's not my fault.

After our wagon left the mountain halls we found ourselves under open skies in the human territory of our neighbors. I found their strange surface-homes somewhat disturbing, like blisters on the land.

Dwarven trade caravans are not unheard of in these lands, but we took care to keep contact with the humans to a minimum. At the time I feared that if our purpose were discovered, those mercantile humans would find some way to exploit us... already they claim ownership of most of our homeland peninsula, though they use only the crust, and demand outrageous tribute for mining licenses. Must we who inhabit the earth rent it from those who fear to set foot in a cave?!

In any case, we left the paved human trails behind as we entered the wooded isthmus that connects our continent to the lands of the north. Our maps from this point forward were based third-hand hearsay and tidbits collected from the human merchants. We knew only that far enough to the north, there were mountains. Mountains with riches perhaps guarded by green-skinned monsters...

"They're called Boglins," Doctor Palamedes stated, "Not goobers."

Schazer and Leafsword had been talking about how they would handle the monsters if we should encounter them. While Schazer insisted that a crossbow-bolt to the skull would be sufficient, Leafsword disagreed, saying that the goobers all have metal helmets, and that they only die when you slice off their arms at the joints.

I had been half-listening to the conversation, holding the reins of the wagon, and so did not immediately notice as the forest gave way to a foggy wetland. Only when I wondered at a light piercing through the mist did I realize that the sun had been obscured by fog and that our wagon wheels now sloshed through mud and puddles.

I pulled the yaks to a halt as the light approached. A human materialized from the fog, holding a lantern aloft.



"Who goes there?" The conversation about goober boglins ceased immediately.

"Oh, uh... We are humble merchants," I said. Then, thinking the human might be a bandit, quickly amended: "er, -erchent-aries. Mercenaries, I mean. Yep, mighty warriors! You wouldn't want to mess with us, no sir. Step aside, step aside!"



The human peered at us. "Don't you kids know better than to be playing around here at night?"

"Kids?"

"Didn't your parents tell you not play in the Swamp of Bewildering? It's dangerous out here! You might get attacked by bogeymen!"

"Bogeymen?"

"Yeah, or bitten up by rats and flies and mosquitos!"

"Rats?" said Schazer.
"Flies?" said Leafsword.
"Mosquitos?" said Masterblade.

"Yeah, now go on back. Take those ponies back home--your folks must be worried sick. Why, you're almost a half-day's journey from the road by now!"

Well at least our cover wasn't blown. And in any case, the human was right--we didn't want to be traveling through a swamp. So we followed his directions, leaving the marsh behind and following a gravel-paved trail heading north.

We passed farms and fields as we crossed the hilly prairies. Purple Walrus called my attention to the fact that the landscape stretched forever in all directions... with not a mountain in sight. I consulted our crude map, but this far from Lashedwebs I was beginning to doubt their accuracy...



We should have reached the mountain of riches by now. For that matter, we should have encountered the boglins in their swamp.

We struck camp in a rocky outcropping that night, but I slept uneasily. The others knew we should have reached the mountain by now.

The next day we came within sight of a human hamlet, and Palamedes had an idea. We had Leafsword carry Tripps on his shoulders and threw a cloak over them. Tripps did her best human impression ("Roofing and sobriety, amirite?") and sauntered into town for more information.



They were gone a long while. When they returned to camp, they said the humans had confirmed that, indeed, a mountain range lay to the north, but that the Boglin fortresses were now to the south. Well, Leafsword said Boglin, but Tripps insisted that the monsters are in fact called Gogglins.

"Did they say how far the mountains are to the north?" I asked.

"Three days by goat," said Leafsword confidently.

"I thought it was by boat?" said Tripps.

"No, I definitely heard the human say by goat. You should get your ears checked, Tripps. I think they're too narrow."

This was encouraging. Even with a wagon in tow, our yaks had the stamina to match a goat's pace for three days. I didn't realize humans rode goats, but I added it to the list of strange things I know about humans.

The next day the grassland gave way to black sand and rock. And sand. And more sand.

"Maybe it was by boat after all," said Leafsword.

So like I said, diary. It's not my fault.

Piece by piece, our wagon fell apart as we attempted to traverse the rock and sand, every jagged bump splintering our axles and spokes, while the yaks slipped upon the sand and strained against the sinking wheels.

We did not make it very far into the sandy terrain before our wagon was entirely immobilized.



The sun beats down upon us and there are no mountains in sight; just a few black sand dunes. Our only hope of rescue is the supply caravan scheduled to restock our outpost, and pray that the supply caravan follows the same route we did. But that won't be till winter, and I'm not sure our supplies will last that long...

Purple Walrus tells me the geology here is interesting and it might be worth striking the earth, if only to survey the minerals of the area for future expeditions. It might be a good way to keep everyone's minds occupied. In any case, we need to get out of this sun, so we'll have to dig. But this situation really stinks.

It stinks like old boots.

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