The Gilderoy Expedition

by PaulAsaran

Margrave Gilderoy, Date Unknown, w/Notes IV

From the private logbook of Lord Margrave Gilderoy of Fletcherstown.

Well, something clearly happened! Exactly what it means is anyone’s guess.

The entire camp was awoken last night by a cracking sound so loud I thought maybe lightning had struck! Upon stepping out of my tent I discovered the crack. It’s centered at the hole made by the acidic brew. It’s only a couple inches wide, but the purity of the ice makes it as obvious as can be. A quick measurement puts it around one-hundred-sixty feet in length.

Is this the acid’s doing? Common sense would say so, and it is the opinion formed by the others. They don’t know what I suspect, and I am not inclined to tell them.

It was one of the zebras, Mr. O—whom I name that way because writing it out is all but impossible, to say nothing for pronouncing it!—who first pointed out the whistling, and now we all can hear it. This is likely the same sound that the diamond dogs were complaining about yesterday, only now it is exposed through the crack. What in the world could be causing such a low, mournful sound?

We have the materials. Tomorrow I’ll brew a bit more of the acid and pour it down the glacier’s new throat. Perhaps we won’t have to excavate after all.

Cptn. Decadent Dawn, Notes:

Whistling? I cannot recall any whistling. I will have to share this with my fellow officers and see if they heard anything.

This Lord Gilderoy would win no accolades for his nonexistent sense of self-preservation. By Luna, old bird, you have got a crack forming in the ice atop which your very camp is settled! At least move everyone to a safe distance! But apparently Lord Gilderoy lacked even that much situational awareness, as indicated by where we found his abandoned camp. My mind goes to great lengths in search of an excuse for how this woefully unprepared, narrow-minded catbird ever earned the trust of such learned institutions that they would not ban him from participating in practicing archeology, to say nothing for actually leading an expedition.

Perhaps the call of that wretched evil known as money is explanation enough. Which begs a further inquiry: how, exactly, can Gilderoy put forward the financial assets necessary to further such goals?

Comments

[Jade Dawn]

It was one of the zebras, Mr. O—whom I name that way because writing it out is all but impossible, to say nothing for pronouncing it!—who first pointed out the whistling, and now we all can hear it. This is likely the same sound that the diamond dogs were complaining about yesterday, only now it is exposed through the crack. What in the world could be causing such a low, mournful sound?

Tekeli-li!