Tuesday 12 September 2000: Attack of the killer elk

Elisabeth: Today we saw one grave of an ancient warrior*, two banana slugs, three other humans, four elk, five fell black creatures*, and twenty-three orc warriors*. Yes, you read that correctly: four dastardly elk with nasty sharp pointy antlers.

Jon: On our quest to find my grandfather's grave* and his magical blade, we marched eight miles, starting in Fern Canyon up the unfriendly Friendship trail, and then across the elk-infested Western ridge and Coastal trail. We found my forefather's grave*, but not his sword, and each of us sustained wounds on our person*. At last, bloodied* but unbowed, we reached the lush green undergrowth by the sea and were nearly home along the flat coastal trail when...

... we saw IT. The fell steed of the dread Rathlann* himself, unnatural spawn of darkness and foe of al the living and the just.

We barely escaped the ingenious ambush, cutting back to the bridge, then down the overgrown gorge to the trickle below. Pushing through thick thorns and marching on slippery rocks, we forced our way to the sea, and rejoined the trail just beyond where the blood-sucking monster grazed.

But we were not out of its evil grasp yet, oh no! On our short leg back we met up with no less than three of his murderous ilk, and narrowly escaped with our lives.

That night, tired from our adventures, the elven guide* and the human lord* cursed the lack of a good camera, and her protestations to the contrary, did not get washed away while watching the sun set on the shore.

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Disclaimer: some elements of this travelogue are fictional and not meant for those unable to distinguish well between realities. Void where prohibited. Member FDIC. Some restrictions may apply. May be a choking hazard for children under the age of three.