We have officially arrived at Pendle Harbor; sadly, I am unable to appreciate this milestone, due in part to Gunk’s drunken snores. In truth, however, I must admit that I am partially to blame for my lack of proper rest. This was due to the fact that I and Morus spoke late into the night, discussing all manner of subjects. Beginning with tales of Big Maw and his rampaging hunger. While discussions of the Electric Cloud Rays that danced amidst the stormy clouds and the shadows of the airship went on throughout the night. Truly, the tiefling man has seen his fair share of tales, although if his company with Duh Famly speaks any volumes, I’m sure his hands are blackened from his misdeeds.
Whatever the matter, I and Gunk now sit in the nearby Retching Wretch alehouse, Gunk nursing his hangover while I sip upon the establishment’s “Wretchs' Ale.” Despite its name, it is quite sweet, with a sour aftertaste. Whether the aftertaste is an intentional feature or a sign of foul ingredients, I cannot say. I choose to believe this is a feature and plan on looking no further than this.
But enough of my ramblings. Despite my haggard demeanor and attitude, I have been charting a suitable journey across the Badlands of Pendle Harbor. While unfamiliar with the area, I believe my knowledge of the fauna should prove suitable enough. As such, I have deduced that traveling by day may be unwise. Ignoring the obvious risk of heatstroke, a surprising number of creatures within these lands are diurnal, being far more active during the daylight hours.
Not only would we have to be wary of what resides below, such as Spike Worms and feral Yawpers, but also what hides in the rocky outcrops of the Badlands. All manner of creatures hide within these nooks and crannies, from the fascinating Ruchleon to the bizarre Belchers. As for the twilight hours, they are equally unfavorable; they may be rare and hardly seen, but even these low chances of a Tessergon encounter are inviting the risk. And while Mammoth Scarabs may be active at all times of the day, simply lying in wait beneath the rocky terrain, they are much more sluggish in the cool night air. All this to say, I believe it wise to nurse ourselves through the day here in the alehouse and set out at twilight's end.
All that is left is to inquire about my companion's thoughts on the matter. Although, judging by the way he is dryly retching into his tankard, I doubt he will have any qualms with my plan.
Humber Dumblfeet, exhausted naturalist
Stein - 15th of Endux - 2,790 - Entry 2
*hastily scrawled*
Bugger me, and to my shitting bastard of a plan I s’pose! ALUKAH!! Who’s ever heard of such a thing!? Hogwash!!! We’re leaving now, I shitting GUESS!!
Stein - 15th of Endux - 2,790 - Entry 3
Upon further reflection, I have come to the conclusion that, despite my initial… Reservations. Mr. Trollsbanes advice, along with his offer of transport, has been much appreciated. What’s more, Mr. Trollsbane has proved very enlightening in expanding my understandings of Pendle’s Badlands. But I get ahead of myself and feel it prudent to begin where my first entry ends.
After discussing my plans with my companion Gunk, who had finally managed to control his wretches at this point, we found ourselves in agreement. Not only in the validity of my proposal, but enthusiastic at the prospect of taking a much-needed break. In fact, I still maintain that at the time, and with the available knowledge we had at hand, my plan of action was the most effective and safest means of travel at our disposal. Of course, knowing what I do now, I now know we were far more ill-suited for night travel than I had assumed…
But it was at this point, more precisely after Gunk’s agreement, that one “Kazzuk Trollsbane” made his presence known. A rather put-together Dwarven man, I immediately deduced Mr. Trollsbane to be in the mercantile business, what with his finely threaded red tunic and leathered overcoat. Of course, especially at the time, I possessed a much more dour mood than usual. And as the smoke wafted from the pipe betwixt his lips, I found him quite repugnant at the time. And so, as he interjected his disapproval of our plan, I was ashamed to admit that I allowed my disgruntled sentiments to show pon my face.
Surely noticing this, Mr. Trollsbane elaborated on his stance. Informing us that, while avoiding much of The Badlands denizens, the truth of the matter is that traveling by night is just as much of a risk, if not more so. Also informing us that I had failed to consider the “Alukah,” a creature I had previously never heard of. Explaining that, after my admittedly haughty proclamations of there being no such beast, they are large and deadly bloodsucking monstrosities. Only emerging at night and gathering in groups, the night air becomes filled with their curdling screeches as they descend on unaware denizens and travelers of the night.
Regarding my scant understanding of these creatures, Mr. Trollsbane did expound that they had not, in times past, posed such a formidable threat. Furthermore, it's important to clarify that, in the past, they showed a significantly greater fear of flame. Yet, as the sands of time did flow, they grew increasingly audacious. Ultimately abandoning their fear of fire, they appeared to be attracted to it, recognizing that such flames signify potential feasts in the form of travelers. Furthermore, their name appears to have infiltrated the local consciousness, evolving into a "boogeyman" that no one desires to mention.
Once more rather haughtily, I questioned the dwarf as to what he would have us do then, while also pressing as to who he might be. With a flourish and a twinkle in his eye, Mr. Trollsbane declared, “I am Kazzuk Trollsbane, a humble Dwarven tradesman hailing from the bustling realm of Varn Dolarr, on an adventurous journey through the enchanting lands of Jotunheim!” In all honesty, if I had not been in such a foul mood, I would have been enthralled by the over-the-top enthusiasm he displayed during his introduction. Sadly, I was not, and found his display tedious and irritating. Yet, regardless of the circumstances, he would proceed to explain that he is presently engaged in the rather treacherous task of handing off a caravan of supplies to the city of Burninggem. More precisely, he is to rendezvous with a group of their Carnosaur riders at the Great Lake of Dridburg.
Mr. Trollsbane, perhaps sensing our growing impatience, quickly surmised that our goals aligned. As we required transport to Burninggem, and he required able-bodied guards to aid in safely transporting the supplies through the Badlands. And so, in exchange for Gunk’s protecting of the caravan, Mr. Trollsbane would give us free passage across the Badlands.
I of course knew this to be our best chance at making decent time through what I’d assumed to be an arduous trek through unforgiving terrain, while also guaranteeing safe passage. But at the time my state of mind was rather, shall I say, sour in nature. That being the case, I had initially intended on outright refusing his offer. Luckily Gunk, in his half dazed state, mindlessly agreed.
And thusly, here I sit amidst food stuffs and basic amenities, with nothing but the sound of Gunk’s snoring and the rolling wheels of the wagons to keep me company. Perhaps I should make my way to the front where Mr. Trollsbane is currently steering.
Humber Dumblfeet, humbled naturalist
Stein - 15th of Endux - 2,790 - Entry 4
In my last entry, I had summarized my near blunder of rejecting Mr. Trollsbane’s remarkably generous offer of passage in exchange for Gunk’s protection. Truly, once Gunk awakens from his hangover-induced slumber, I must thank him for preventing my hasty refusal. I say this as I have learned a wonderful deal from Mr. Trollsbane in regard to both The Badlands, its fauna and even Bellasaurs! More precisely, his Bellasaur Frok, the Volatile Rampart that draws his wagon, which I had initially mistaken as a common Ceratops.
As Bellasaurs are a rather rare breed of dinosaur, I do feel a slight elaboration to be prudent. As I had already well known, "Bellasaur" is a catchall term that describes any individual dinosaur with an elusive nature and highly specialized morphology. More precisely, a dinosaur that has evolved traits that amplify, exaggerate, or add some physical feature that is used in either offensive or defensive means. Of course, this is the original definition, and a painfully vague one at that. I, however, with the assistance of Mr. Trollsbane, have penned a new definition.
“A Bellasaur is any dinosaur with unusually prominent defensive or aggressive structures that deviate from the morphological norms of its associated closest species. These morphological alterations manifest as highly specialized traits resembling "weapons" and "armor," characterized by sharp edges for cutting, pointed tips for stabbing, and blunted ridges or surfaces for crushing or striking.” For instance, Mr. Trollsbanes’ Bellasaur Frok may resemble a ceratopsian, but, being a Volatile Rampart, it would assumedly possess the inherent capability to assimilate any ingested mineral onto its altered frill. Creating an almost impenetrable "shield" like structure.
After formulating this new definition, I and Mr. Trollsbane spoke animatedly, voices echoing through the bleak and barren grounds of the Badlands; he told me of how he’d come to acquire Frok. Explaining that she was born with some form of defect that disallowed her from changing her armors composition like other Ramparts; stuck with her crystalline structure and unable to change. He also spoke of the Badlands themselves, elaborating on how they came to be. Apparently being created due to the brine and salt deposits spread throughout the land, as the currents from the Ocean of Storms all seem to converge here. With the churned-up brine being deposited on the Badlands shores, then are spread throughout the lands by the absurd winds of the ageless storms that plague the Ocean of Storms.
Afterwards, we conversed about legends and the fauna, and as Mr. Trollsbane frequently traveled between the two landmasses, I quickly discovered that his knowledge was on par with my own. Matching my own understanding of Jotunheims fauna in many aspects—even surpassing it in some areas—he was particularly knowledgeable about the Badlands of Pendle Harbor. In truth, I could easily novelize the entirety of what he and I discussed this night, but most notably we spoke at length of the Alukah, Tessergon, and Rucheleons. I shall exclude the Alukah for now, as I plan on personally researching this previously unbeknownst phenomena, for if I had not heard of them, one may rest assured others have not. And if the roughly hewn inhabitants of these treacherous lands do not wish educate others, then I will gladly accept the responsibility!
But returning to our conversatio, Mr. Trollsbane first spoke of the Tessergon, describing it as an absurd combination of a giant bipedal hippo and lizard, with four ungainly arms. Mr. Trollsbane further described the Tessergon's ability to tear through Dwarven armor like butter, and its teeth being capable of penetrating even the thickest hides. But when I commented on our favorable fortune for their rarity, to my surprise, Mr. Trollsbane gave a hearty laugh. Explaining that their elusiveness was no coincidence, claiming it to be due to their sheer incompetence.
Apparently, Tessergon are remarkably slow-witted, simply charging at animals or eating whatever is foolish enough to wander its way. Due to this, they are rather unsuccessful creatures, only surviving in small numbers as they do, thanks in no small part to their ability to overtake any prey they do happen upon. Additionally, apart from seeking mates, they never leave their territories and will often simply deplete their resources and starve. Even now, I can’t help but ponder upon the pressures that must have come together to form such an ill-suited beast. Truly, anywhere else, the Tessergon would find itself dominating ecosystems, but it is instead has been reserved as a mighty beast barely scraping by in a hostile land it is ill-suited to reside in.
Apart from Tessergons and Alukah, however, we also discussed a particular interest of mine, that being the Rucheleon. We spoke of how, within the rugged formations of badlands and savannas, Rucheleons held an intriguing but perilous presence in the sweltering, arid regions of the Badlands southern territories. If one is unaware, the Rucheleons present an intriguing amalgamation of frilled lizards and lions, exhibiting a diurnal proclivity akin to that of their reptilian counterparts. While still maintaining the pride-like grouping of common lions, composed mostly of frilless females being led by a sole frilled male.
Yet another creature of the Badlands that I shall soon have to do a proper research expedition for, I found myself feverishly taking notes as Mr. Trollsbane spoke, while also excitedly offering the scant theories and insights I had gathered from papers and observations.
Finally, for the legends we spoke of, I found myself taking a particular interest in a legend Mr. Trollsbane had heard regarding a Tyrannosaur within the Badlands named the “White Death”. Named as such due to its scales having been blanched white from the years being spent within the saltiest and most uninhabitable portions of the Badlands, whose roar was said to bewilder and frighten all but the most resolute. I, of course, do not believe in such nonsense. I did, however, privately theorize that perhaps an albino Tyrannosaur had wandered to this place; most assuredly it died from a plethora of issues, but had perhaps left such a long-lasting mark with the people that to this day its name still holds. If one were to scour these Badlands, I am sure one would very likely find the mummified remains of a remarkably large albino Tyrannosaur.
Truly a remarkable individual, I found myself hesitant to end our conversations but did so all the same, truly only excusing myself to take further notes, draft articles, and further write within my journal. I'll need to seek the dwarf's wisdom on future topics, but as my writings draw to a close, I sense the darkness of slumber once more engulfing my thoughts and impairing my judgment. Having been assured we have nearly arrived, I believe I shall attempt to rest myself while the opportunity yet still presents itself.
Humber Dumblfeet, ever-learning naturalist
Stein - 15th of Endux - 2,790 - Entry 5
Shortly after I succumbed to the gentle embrace of slumber, the carriage abruptly halted, rousing myself and Gunk. Upon the regaining our senses, we both disembarked from the carriage, greeted by the expansive vista of the Great Lake of Dridburg. Even now, as I inscribe my thoughts within the modest confines of this tent, I find myself inexplicably drawn to the tranquil beauty that surrounds me.
Exiting the carriage, we found ourselves gazing at an expansive lake and its meandering rivers that appeared to extend infinitely into the horizons, delineating a stark contrast between the rugged terrain and the surrounding ecosystem. To the lakes west, one encounters Dridburg, a charming tableau of pastoral fields and verdant woodlands. Meanwhile, to the lakes south, the vast deserts of Burninggem loom ominously, presenting a fierce juxtaposition to both the craggy desolation of the Badlands and the verdant splendor of Dridburg.
But whilst I and Gunk were taken aback, Mr. Trollsbane and his modest entourage seemed indifferent to the picturesque allure of the lake, or perhaps instead merely being acclimated to its charms. Instead they set about the rather mundane task of establishing our encampment. With Mr. Trollsbane, in his characteristic boisterous manner, declared this to be our campsite as we bide our time for the impending arrival of Burninggem’s Carnosaur Riders. In a somewhat hurried fashion, Gunk and I took it upon ourselves to be of service by aiding in the unpacking of supplies and tents.
Later, as the sun's radiant glow waned, yielding to the encroaching shadows of night, curious assemblies gathered around flickering flames and nestled within their makeshift abodes. I had soon found myself in search of a certain dwarven merchant, keenly interested in continuing our talks. Unfortunately, my hopes for a deeper conversation with Mr. Trollsbane were short-lived, as I found he had already retired for the evening. Thus, left to the rather unremarkable company of Gunk, I resigned myself to his peculiar companionship instead. Yet, as our conversation meandered into the depths of the night, I discovered that my first assessment of my companion as a mere brutish dolt had begun to rapidly disintegrate, giving way to an entirely fresh admiration for the individual, or “Tortle,” as it were. Indeed, I unexpectedly discovered a certain fondness for his presence, cultivating an intriguing admiration for his vast expertise and experiences, along with the boisterous way in which he spoke.
Most notably, he spoke of his parents, devoting considerable attention to his father, Gryme, whom he spoke of with a notable reverence. Going on about how he found himself significantly influenced by the tales woven by his father. Who, on the biennial trips to Jotunheim with Gunk's mother Muk, would enthrall him with a multitude of escapades and complexities. Such as his father and mother’s near-death experience with a Behir, who had somehow managed to subdue and subjugate a Basilisk without being petrified. Managing to evade a rather untimely demise by subduing the basilisk in a headlock, whilst Muk incited the Behir into such a rage that it inadvertently met the basilisk's gaze, petrifying it.
And as I listened, I found that in spite of my usual skepticism of such stories, I was engrossed by Gunk's fervent and gleeful recountings of his father's stories. Bringing each one to a close by highlighting the qualities he believed his father had personified within the tale, while meticulously outlining his desires and attempts to replicate such behaviors in his own life. With the aforementioned tale having demonstrated his father's strength and ingenuity, with Gunk expressing his hope to one day tell his father a tale that would equal it.
Gunk also spoke in depth of his seven siblings, elucidating that within Tortle society, there exists a deeply entrenched belief that hatchlings must navigate their own paths. This arduous undertaking is thought to shape and equip them for their extensive lifespans, which can exceed a millennium. Thus, Tortles tend to abandon their clutches, depositing a multitude of eggs simultaneously, compensating for the elevated infant mortality rate.
With a bemused chuckle at my evident bewilderment at the notion, he went on to confidently assert that Tortles emerge into the world equipped with “all the tools they need,” further expounding that their hatchling form possesses an extraordinary adaptive biology. Implying that those fortunate enough to endure will emerge with an array of newly acquired skills, outlooks, and traits, alluding to the shell-like protrusions that had manifested upon his arms and legs. He also proudly noted that his specific clutch contained a rather impressive range of 20 to 30 eggs, thereby guaranteeing that a select few would endure the trials of existence. In this instance, that being himself and his seven siblings. As to regards to the rather substantial chasm in the approximation, he rather sheepishly confessed to me that he had forgotten the exact number.
By the end, I had hardly even noticed how late it had grown. Once more engrossed by the wildly different descriptions of his siblings. Take, for example, the inseparable twins, Smudge and Sludge, who, while equally captivated by the necrotic arts, employed entirely distinct techniques. Or his brother Mire, accompanied by his motley crew of brigands, navigating the ethereal expanse of the Floating Isles in their airborne vessel. Ultimately, however, the embrace of slumber soon enveloped us, and we each withdrew to our individual tents. And with this, I must conclude my writings and retire.
