Dear readers, it has been some time (several moons, I fear) since last I told you of my tales of Cowell, Kahruvel and my mysterious backpack. I have been distracted with a multitude of other events and tales, all more up-to-date than my retelling of how I came to be a strange half-gazelle creature and find myself exploring this strange new world in search of artefacts that would prevent a great war from erupting. I fear I have lost my way and for that, I apologise.
In the spirit of making amends, what follows is a quick recap for old and new alike to renew my tale afresh before I continue in its telling. Many things have happened to me since I found the backpack in Kahruvel and my dithering only serves to prevent me from telling you about them.
So, and with all speed, let me start back at the beginning.
Nigh on a year ago I had taken myself off for a trek through the beautiful forest of Kahruvel when I came across a backpack I presumed lost by a fellow walker. Finding no one near and having no one answer my calls, I resolved to return the pack to the Cowell lighthouse where the forest’s guardian, one Salazar Jack, could look to contacting the owner. Alas, as soon as I donned the backpack it rendered me unconscious and I fell into a troubled state resembling dream-laden sleep where I imagined I was being remoulded and reformed by powers beyond my understanding. I awoke transformed from fully human to half gazelle, terrified and confused!
I ran as fast as my legs would bear me (which, being half gazelle, turned out to be impressively fast) for Cowell village only to find it empty bar a strange old man who proclaimed himself a shaman and said he knew what had happened to me. He claimed I had been chosen and, using a potent narcotic, allowed me to enter a strange other-world where I met powerful forces of nature called The Elders as well as the capricious and playful sprit known as The Elemental that, it appeared, was my backpack. They told me that the land know as The Grid by Linden Labs was much older than people knew and a great civilisation once thrived beneath its sun only to be destroyed in a terrible battle of powers known as The Last Great Shamanic War. It seemed that the great power invested in a few by the very nature of this world had riven a once noble order of shamen into to two opposing camps where one sought to protect the land and people whilst the others sought to control and dominate. The war escalated until the world was all but destroyed and the secrets of the shamen were lost forever. Or so it was believed. Now it seemed that some had begun to unearth those secrets and they were doing so in order to once again launch an assault on the world. For my part, I had been chosen (or I had chosen, depending on your point of view it seemed) to find the lost secrets, the keys, before the forces of greed and twisted desire reached them. My first steps, it transpired, were to be deeper in to the village and then back into the forest in order to seek out truths as to the antiquity and nature of this world.
I began to find many of the archaeological finds unearthed by Salazar and his family – the repeating pattern of eight, the strange standing stones that rippled with energy only I could see, the queer feeling that I was walking over land I knew but at the same time could never have known. Eventually I found myself atop a ruined tower looking out to sea where my next step, once I had eaten and rested, was to head over to a wooden lookout platform I had seen clinging precariously to the side of a hill in the next cove…
And that, dear readers, brings me up-to-date. I shall recount the tale of my journey to the lookout and how it led me to wander the streets of Nova Albion City soon…
HeadBurro Antfarm, Backpacking Burro.
p.s. To read more of the events mentioned above, simply start at the beginning of the blog here.