Right now I've bedded down in a small hovel with my supplies, waiting for day. I have to get my bearings.
There is a desert where my home once was. It's ... it's wrong, is what it is. I know the mountains here, I know is landscape.
There is a desert where my home once was. It's ... it's wrong, is what it is. I know the mountains here, I know is landscape.
This cannot have been the work of just one man. I'm going to need to collect some more supplies for this. I had planned to replant the forest, to rebuild what I remember of my home.
With this, I'll be lucky if I manage to build an oasis.
It isn't a complete loss. There is some forest in the surrounding areas, and a small grassland surrounding a lake not far from here.
Was this entire journey a waste? I hope not.
I wandered the edges of the desert for a while, my mind churning. This couldn't be right, I took a wrong turn. I was in the wrong place.
And then I found my old doll. Little Steve. He's a bit smudged and ashy, slightly charred - but recognizable.
I never thought I'd see him again, after I dropped him that night.
More than that, though, I found an explanation for what's happened here.
A shrine to Net, a black scar on the land, rose up out of the sand, a horrible reminder of an old wound. I'm positive it stands where the main shrine to Terrae once stood. It makes an awful kind of sense.
Tomorrow I will work on destroying it - I don't feel comfortable with that portal active. I can hear ... things ... scuttling about, beyond.
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