Heart of Gold in a Dead Man's Chest
Posted: Thu Dec 21, 2023 10:31 pm
As Makar followed the next few clues and signs of tracks around the village, the clues he found eventually pointed out to the wilds, beyond even the meager and rustic civilization of Darbyton, so ravaged by pirate attack.
The sculpture of wood that he held in his hand, the one with a sigil of ‘Stash’ on it, began to resemble more and more, as he held it, and felt its impressions, less like a human figure. There was something distinctly inhuman about it, particuarly around its face. Almost, like the hair were not really hair but the coiling bodies of snakes, and the face had a cruel if crude tilt to it.
Regardless, he had that clue, and several markers to follow along the way, as he ventured into the woods. The disparate tracks and signs, the bits and bobs he found along the way, many of which held the sign of his mother for ‘warmer’, led him further into the wilds than perhaps he’d ever been comfortable to traverse. He was now farther away from Darbyton, than he’d have time to come back, before nightfall. And it seemed as if his curiosity had led him astray for long enough that he’d have no choice but to camp.
The howling and baying of canines could be heard in the distance. They seemed to be calling to others of their kind. The birds and insects continued to chirp their songs, so there was no great disturbance as far as he could tell. No great predator was betrayed by a sudden silence, or anything of the sort.
The moons came up from behind the treeline, as it grew colder in the night. There would be no making heads or tails of the signs in this gloom, so it might be best for Makar to bed down for the night, and make a safe camp.
Or he could continue blind through the darkness. There were any number of things he could do from here, but among them all in chief was possibly regret his curiosity had carried him this far out.
The sculpture of wood that he held in his hand, the one with a sigil of ‘Stash’ on it, began to resemble more and more, as he held it, and felt its impressions, less like a human figure. There was something distinctly inhuman about it, particuarly around its face. Almost, like the hair were not really hair but the coiling bodies of snakes, and the face had a cruel if crude tilt to it.
Regardless, he had that clue, and several markers to follow along the way, as he ventured into the woods. The disparate tracks and signs, the bits and bobs he found along the way, many of which held the sign of his mother for ‘warmer’, led him further into the wilds than perhaps he’d ever been comfortable to traverse. He was now farther away from Darbyton, than he’d have time to come back, before nightfall. And it seemed as if his curiosity had led him astray for long enough that he’d have no choice but to camp.
The howling and baying of canines could be heard in the distance. They seemed to be calling to others of their kind. The birds and insects continued to chirp their songs, so there was no great disturbance as far as he could tell. No great predator was betrayed by a sudden silence, or anything of the sort.
The moons came up from behind the treeline, as it grew colder in the night. There would be no making heads or tails of the signs in this gloom, so it might be best for Makar to bed down for the night, and make a safe camp.
Or he could continue blind through the darkness. There were any number of things he could do from here, but among them all in chief was possibly regret his curiosity had carried him this far out.