Finally, I think we might be getting somewhere after all this time. Too bad getting to this point has been dismaying, stressful, deadly, and tedious...
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I didn't want to get roped back into this mess, I really didn't - but fate has a strange way of calling your name again after it's already been answered once.
We have taken a most grievous blow for not asking the proper questions. Mr. Singh the tea-monger is not all that he appears to be, it seems...
Never have I felt so at home, and yet so far away from it at the same time. I sense great danger is coming for us, and my instincts are rarely wrong. Someone is not whom they seem, and our dealings in this foreign land have led me only to question everything, and accept nothing at face value.
My home country is beautiful, yes, but also incredibly dangerous. Perhaps more dangerous than any of the others may know, even outside of the threat of the Bloody Tongue Cult...
This country is very far from my homeland, but I find similarities here that make my longing far more bearable. I also find many more differences, ones which astonish me and frighten my new friends.
Why the Hell is it that everything that can possibly go wrong always goes wrong on my damn plane?!
As if traveling in the dark was not enough with the threat of being caught by those flying things and human cultists, we were up to our knees in something I can roughly describe as metaphorical guano, and politely describe as abject danger. Then again, it is not every day that one must team up with an alien time-traveler that wields an electric gun in order to destroy an evil lair straight from the pages of an action novella lurking in an ancient city underneath the Great Sandy Desert.
In the belly of the beast. It's a Biblical phrase, one you hear way too bloody often if you ask me. You want to know what being in the literal belly of the beast feels like, though, you could damn well do worse than being down where we were, in a cavern city more ancient and massive than any dinosaur - a place I am intricately, and strangely, all too familiar with...
Hell of a day this has been, and I'm not just talking about your typical Outback dangers...
Great Sandy Desert? More like Great Big Pain in My Arse, if I'd have named the bloody place. Sand in your shoes, mud in your face. Hot as Hell, and that's during the dry season. But it's not the dry season, is it? No, that'd be much too easy on us. It's the bloody wet season.
As if things couldn't get much worse. Lucas has kindly told me that the phrase "Buckley's Chance" is Aussie slang meaning, roughly, to have absolutely no chance at all. To be, as the Americans put it, "Up Shit Creek without a paddle". To be entirely luckless. I'm fairly sure none of that has anything to do with the ghosts of murder victims, but I guess there's a first time for everything.
From one tiny mining town to another... I'm beginning to sense a theme about the Land Down Under.
If there's one thing more primal than a fear of the dark or the unknown, it's a fear of fire. Merciless, pitiless, and all-consuming fire...
Then again, I'd argue our last night digging deeply into the injustice that occurred in Yirrimburra is probably a very close second, especially since none of us could control our own dreams... Yirrimburra really is not all that it seems, is it? And to think I once believed that this was a nice town!
First off, no, I don't bloody know what the hell happened to me over the past few days. Second of all, apparently trouble likes to follow this lot, because Lucas' uncle just kicked the bucket and none of us know what did it. Third, I'm making this whole thing quick, because my head is pounding like a 'roo jumped all over it and I just know there's something weird going on.
Darwin, Australia. Boy, am I ever glad to be somewhere that speaks my language for once, someplace I actually feel like I belong, someplace not as dreary and dirty as Shanghai's streets!
Grey Dragon Island... how it loomed sinister and smoky on the horizon as the sun peered over it like a great red eye, watching us all. It might have been beautiful, a tropical paradise... if we hadn't known better. If we didn't know, or see, what was under its placid surface. If we were naive.
There is never a dull moment in this group, is there? First we encounter cultists worshiping a dark aspect of Chaos Itself, then we encounter bizarre starfish-like beings and ghouls, and now this.
I feel like I've just escaped a car crash right now - dizzy from how fast things are moving and how quickly tides have shifted. But even still, I did not expect to go from being secure in my position at the top of the underground in Shanghai to aboard a "borrowed" ship sailing towards my rival's base of operations, with a group of Communists and four people I barely know.
Still, it's not the craziest thing I've seen or weathered, not by a long shot. It has been a rough night. My sleep is troubled by flashes of the horrors we saw at the Manor... and I was not the only one so affected by that forsaken place, either, not by any stretch of the imagination. I had known these experiences would change me. I did not, however, expect it to change Laurent so... viscerally as well as mentally.
Isn't this about the third or fourth time we've all gotten our asses kidnapped by now? Because I'm beginning to get some serious deja vu here...
More and more often, I am beginning to find myself torn between my lust for adventure and my concern for my safety. There's definitely something not right about Ho Fong, despite how long I've known the man - and this dinner invitation only proves that. Not only that, but accepting it proves we're all either idiots, insane, or both.
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About The Blog
Welcome to Musings 2.0, my personal blog here on WordFlow! Here, you can find out what I'm doing now and where I'm going next, as well as get my thoughts on the Cthulhu Mythos, assorted sundry writing topics, and various scientific topics. Archives
January 2019
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