(no subject)
Loren, 78, 235 C.A.
Today we have finally reached the very summit of the vast mesa of Nipple, which rises majestically out of the red-clay foothills of the Areola country. Areola is a sloping land, sitting directly atop a strangely curving kingdom which rises gently out of the flatlands we were previously travelling through. When one stands atop Nipple and peers westward to the utter limit of his binoculars, one may make out in the distance the faint form of the Twin Nipple, a mesa which sits atop a similar landscape to our Areola and is as near to identical as two vastly separated geographical features may be. We have a geologist in our party, a Mr. Rockburn, who peered and muttered and scribbled in his notebook, and later told us about the current going theories as to how such a geological wonder might have come to pass.
Standing on Nipple, the highest point in the region, stretching away on my left hand I can see the flat, bony plains of Chest, which we have just labored through, and which terminates in the distance at the Collarbone cliffs, of which I wrote much of previously in this journal. To my right hand, the vast desert expanse of Torso, which merges imperceptibly to the still desert-bound Belly (though on the maps the geographic boundary is fairly indistinct). If I were to employ the binoculars again on a clear day, seeking to penetrate the faint mirages and heat hazes visible even from the wind-blown heights of Nipple, I can faintly make out a smudge on the horizon, which may be the fabled pit of Bellybutton, which is said to be wider and deeper than even Nipple is wide and tall. It is said that savage tribes once made their homes in the cool shadows of Bellybutton, constructing their crude houses out of the disparate building materials that the anthropologists have collectively termed 'Lint.'
What lies beyond the Bellybutton I cannot say definitively - no traveller has gone beyond that point in nigh on 500 years and we have only wild rumors and speculations. Our scientists, Messrs. Rockburn and Perkins, think it is likely that we may find the legendarily wild Pubic Forests, and our intrepid reporter, Miss Kathy Hobbins, has contributed to their intelligence with stories of wondrously strange beasts and perhaps even a Lost Tribe or two. Though since she gathered these tales via interviews with grizzled old mercenaries from dubious ports of origin, who are known to be a superstitious lot, I would not give too much credit to the rumors.
Loren, 81, 235 C.A.
We have descended from Nipple and are proceeding through the other side of Areola, giving allowance to our scientists to catalogue as they please, and Miss Hobbins to get her photographs. Already the weather grows warm again.
Loren, 96, 235 C.A.
Trapped and killed more of the 'skin mites,' and cooked them for dinner. Though we have not lacked for food, I find myself growing weary of their chitinous meat.
Today we have finally reached the very summit of the vast mesa of Nipple, which rises majestically out of the red-clay foothills of the Areola country. Areola is a sloping land, sitting directly atop a strangely curving kingdom which rises gently out of the flatlands we were previously travelling through. When one stands atop Nipple and peers westward to the utter limit of his binoculars, one may make out in the distance the faint form of the Twin Nipple, a mesa which sits atop a similar landscape to our Areola and is as near to identical as two vastly separated geographical features may be. We have a geologist in our party, a Mr. Rockburn, who peered and muttered and scribbled in his notebook, and later told us about the current going theories as to how such a geological wonder might have come to pass.
Standing on Nipple, the highest point in the region, stretching away on my left hand I can see the flat, bony plains of Chest, which we have just labored through, and which terminates in the distance at the Collarbone cliffs, of which I wrote much of previously in this journal. To my right hand, the vast desert expanse of Torso, which merges imperceptibly to the still desert-bound Belly (though on the maps the geographic boundary is fairly indistinct). If I were to employ the binoculars again on a clear day, seeking to penetrate the faint mirages and heat hazes visible even from the wind-blown heights of Nipple, I can faintly make out a smudge on the horizon, which may be the fabled pit of Bellybutton, which is said to be wider and deeper than even Nipple is wide and tall. It is said that savage tribes once made their homes in the cool shadows of Bellybutton, constructing their crude houses out of the disparate building materials that the anthropologists have collectively termed 'Lint.'
What lies beyond the Bellybutton I cannot say definitively - no traveller has gone beyond that point in nigh on 500 years and we have only wild rumors and speculations. Our scientists, Messrs. Rockburn and Perkins, think it is likely that we may find the legendarily wild Pubic Forests, and our intrepid reporter, Miss Kathy Hobbins, has contributed to their intelligence with stories of wondrously strange beasts and perhaps even a Lost Tribe or two. Though since she gathered these tales via interviews with grizzled old mercenaries from dubious ports of origin, who are known to be a superstitious lot, I would not give too much credit to the rumors.
Loren, 81, 235 C.A.
We have descended from Nipple and are proceeding through the other side of Areola, giving allowance to our scientists to catalogue as they please, and Miss Hobbins to get her photographs. Already the weather grows warm again.
Loren, 96, 235 C.A.
Trapped and killed more of the 'skin mites,' and cooked them for dinner. Though we have not lacked for food, I find myself growing weary of their chitinous meat.