A little explanation for this story:
In Poisonroot, Victor accidentally signed away the rights to his stories and J. R., a travelling bard/minstrel/teller of tall tales, would romanticise them and sell them to the masses. This is one such story.
Essentially, this is in-world fanfic for my own character :D
And now...
Victor the Victor in
VICTOR AND THE HYDRA OF LAKE FERRUCO
Read MorePart 4: Canopy
26th day of Maia, 1456 AA
Undaunted by the possibility of whatever made that nest, I pressed onwards and write this now from a point which is perhaps my limit, the highest I can hope to climb. It is now so cold that the water in my bottle, which I have thankfully been able to fill via rainfall, snowmelt and finding small pools nestled in the bark, is freezing solid. Little chunks of ice come to my mouth whenever I take a sip, and it cannot be long before it completely freezes.
The wonders have not ceased, though, and they warm the glow in my heart. Several new insect varieties have been observed over the last day, all of them relatively tame. I suppose, never having seen a human before, they have no preconceptions about danger from me.
Read MorePart 3 (cont): Branch
14th day of Maia, 1456 AA
The air is getting steadily colder the higher up I go. I am now over five miles up, far too far to be looking down too often. I did chance a look, kneeling down on a broad branch and crawling as close to a sharp edge as I dared. Five miles isn’t much; standing on a hill on a clear day I can see for much further. When that distance is beneath you, the effect is startling.
I have made very little in the way of discoveries in the last few days, but I am nearing the clouds. Tomorrow, or the day after, I will pass through them and see what few had seen clearly, and none up close.
Read MorePart 3: Branch
8th day of Maia, 1456 AA
I write this from what I have dubbed the Foothills of the Arbour. There’s no official name for this, or any of the areas I will be visiting; I suppose we have always been conditioned by our teachings to view the Arbour as a whole being rather than as individual parts. Certainly, were this a mountain, the lowest slopes would be the foothills, and so I name it thus.
Read MorePart 2: Trunk
20th day of Fendas, 1456 AA
Four days on the road have done wonders for me; alas, I fear that my diary-writing has taken the toll for my efforts. As a researcher and a scientist I must make sure that I keep better records from here on out.
The countryside between Downshire and Daron is truly beautiful; rolling hills with a bracing wind coming down off of them, and the occasional small copse of trees. It’s mostly pasture land, supplying animals for bigger towns like Dotton and Eastwatch, and the forts that sit on the foothills of the Eastern Mountains. I passed a few people on the road, mostly traders; one offered me what I thought was a fair exchange when he brought out a comfortable-looking robe, bright gold thread winking all over it.
Read MorePart 1: Root.
Taken from the collected diaries of Father Pieter Brennan, recovered from the ruins of the Library of Leaves, Octas 1507 AA.
14th day of Fendas, 1456 AA
I had a visitor today. The High Father himself, would you believe, our blessed leader Father Loris. He wished to speak with me in private on a matter of great import. Well, of course I agreed. We adjourned to the cloister and, over a tray of tea and cake brought by one of the acolytes, he laid out his plan.
Read More