SOTN PBEM Nostromo - Player Journals
I Arrive
Soulless Swamp Scares Skittish Savage, 'Square-Jaw' Stands Solo
Bloody Battle Buries Daring's Band, 'Square-Jaw' Only One Left Standing
Dash LOST and Alone in Land Unknown!
The Daring Way Feature Column of The Fog Town Gazette I Arrive. By Dash 'Square Jaw' Daring. My fellow faithful readers, as you all know, I, Dash Daring, your beloved reporter, am writing to you from the sun-heavy land of mysterious Africa. Strange bird-cries fill the room of my port town bungalow as I write this article. Strange smells mix with dry wind. Strange eyes peer at my American suit. I awaited for my guide to purchase the animals I will need so I may leave this town called Dunban and begin my adventure in ernest. In the months to follow I will report to you all my daring exploits, exclusively, here in the pages of your own copy of the Fog Town Gazette. Pack your pipe well; send the better half and young ones out to market. Out to a play. Out to a picnic. But dear God man, keep them out of the house! You will not want to be disturbed as you let my word-painting seep upon your mind's eye. This column is not for the delicate, oh faithful reader. If you can't stomach raw life at it brutal core, I suggest you turn to the society section or the book reviews. These articles are for real men. This column, this Africa. 'Why Africa?' you asked. Because that's were you miserable cretins voted to send me in that dreadful Christmas contest my screwy rum-breath editor Connelly cooked up as a circulation stunt; a dozy of an idea. 'Send Dash Anywhere!' 'Every subscriber gets one vote!' Phewy! This is the thanks you bums give me after all those ripping stories I've been covering over the years to spice up your humdrum lives? Wasn't I the first to tell you all about the crazy little game all the well-to-do's are playing in New York, the Stock Market? And when the first U.S. mayor to used to a indoor toilet used it, you were there, thanks to the daring journalistic expertise of this young wild eyed reporter. Well, okay, I kept my eyes closed and nosed plugged for that one, but I got you the story!!! And when Lafayette came back to visit America wasn't I the one who got him all nice and drunk (and at considerable cost to my own pocketbook and own head the next day) just so my faithful readers could have the inside story of the America Revolution? And do you thank me by sending me to Paris, where the wine flows as freely as the women? Oh no! You send me to Africa. Africa! Where you can't get a decent scotch and water for all the tea in China. You send me to find Dr. Livingston. You send me to find King Solomon's Mine. You send to find a lost city of gold. You send me to find your own dark heart. So here I am in Africa. As soon as you step off the boat you know it is true... Africa is hot. Don't let them Brits, who have been here before, in their little white suits and funny-looking hats fool you about the lovely weather. Mad dogs, Englishmen, noon day sun. All hot. It's hot. Hotter then something that is really hot and exists in the years around 1820 to 1830. That's how hot it is. Why it's hot enough to boil a monkey's bum. Picture this faithful reader: As soon as I get my expedition all loaded up, I going to head out Northwest (Direction 6, the natives call it) at a reckless pace. I'll go as far as I can in one 'turn' (which I believe is the African word for day). I'm in port now, so the natives are all friendly and civilized. But when I run into any real natives, let me tell you what Old Dash is going do. Old Dash is going to walk right up to their chief, nice and friendly like, and wow him with our technology. They'll be subscribing to the Fog Town Gazette themselves in no time. That'll put a smile on Connelly's face. If they are a large tribe, I give them, 6 gifts to win them over. Any other sizes tribe, I'll give them 2 gifts. When we get hungry we will hunt for food. Only if we don't find anything to eat will I use the canned goods Connelly's gray-haired mom packed for me. So think of me gentle reader as you climb into your warm bed tonight and sit by your wood burning stove. Dash Daring's bed will be a pile of rocks, my warmth won't come a stove, oh no... it will be the breath of loins that blanket me a lullaby tonight. That's the way it's got to be. That's the Daring Way. The Daring Way Feature Column of The Fog Town Gazette Soulless Swamp Scares Skittish Savage, 'Square-Jaw' Stands Solo. By Dash 'Square Jaw' Daring. Well dear reader, fate already as already tried to sock old Dash in the eye, but I took the force full blow and am still standing on this patch of land good for only charring one's throat to thirsty thoughts of rum or a tart's kisses. My helpers have been little more than a drain on the good pocketbook of Fog Town Gazette's purse-strings. Oh my band of misbegotten n'er-do-wells seemed worthy enough in port, but once we started moving, you would have thought they were the visitors in this continent of the strange not I. My hired hands complain more then Old Man Connelly when I try to get him to pick up my month long bar tab as a business expense. Cries of 'Are we there yet?', 'It's too hot!', 'Batunobe is on my side of the path!', drown out the coos of the birds over head as I traveled north. Worse of all the complainers was my so-called 'guide'; he's a mulely looking cuss whose appearance seems to make him more at home in the Bowery than the coast of Africa. I should have known that something was up when he ask me if I was ever been bit by a dead bee. In port he talked long into the night (as the rest of my crew loaded the horses with our provision). He talked about how he knew Africa so well that he could find the back of his hand in the dark with his eyes close. I tried to tell him that was not much of an accomplishment. The guide just smiled, closed his eyes, waited a few seconds then quickly tapped the back of his hand with his other hand's fingers then he smiled wide and said something like 'See!'. Over and over he did this 'trick' until I agree to hire him. Oh faithful reader how I wish I had not do such a thing. Early then next morning, I headed out into the beckoning jungle, following a crude map I had purchased from a crazy sea captain, who approached me the night before babbling about a white ape-man. I paid no attention to his talk but his map looked sane enough. If only the map had covered more ground. Towards the end of the day we had reached the point where the map no longer shown the way. I looked to my guide. He smiled, closed his eyes, tapped the back of his hand, opened his eyes and pointed the direction for us to go. He led us right into a swamp. We had to beat a haste retreat,nearly lost a horse in the process, and got a boots full of swamp-water so rank grown men would pull thier own heads off rather than to sniff one sniff of it. Once we reached the mountains we had just left, we made camp for the night. When I awoke the guide was gone. >From the way the natives were talking amongst themselves I could not make out if the guide snuck off on his own to save face, or if one if the askaris had 'handled' the situation. It matters not. Oh faithful reader, I know what you are thinking. You are saying that I should return to port to hire a new guide. You are pleading with me not to go into this uncharted area alone. Maybe a lesser man would turn back. But I shall play out this hand fate has dealt me. It will take more than a lily-livered guide to make Dash 'Square Jaw' Daring turn tail. No, I will press on alone using my innate sense of direction to guide me, to lead me, to show me safe passage from swamps and snakes. My innate sense is all I need. That and this bottle of rye I just found in my knapsack. That's the way it's got to be. That's the Daring way. The Daring Way Feature Column of The Fog Town Gazette Bloody Battle Buries Daring's Band, 'Square-Jaw' Only One Left Standing. By Dash 'Square Jaw' Daring. Ambushed! That's how a hundred hands sprung up all round me. Brave I stood and thought those around me would do the same. Alas, dear reader, my hope was greater than reality. A coward's lot I drew. The only fighting technique my hired-hands seem to have mastered was the art of falling on other people's spears. Connelly's gray-haired mother could fight better than the lot of them while she was cooking a pot roast with one hand and wringing a dust rag in the other. Before I knew it I was alone. Alone in this unknown land. And while others would turn tail and limp back to the safety of the civilized world, I Dash Daring will stay. I will push on with nothing by my pen by my side until I uncover the secrets beneath this African sun. And you will read every word. Why? That's the way it's got to be. That's the Daring way. The Daring Way Feature Column of The Fog Town Gazette Dash LOST and Alone in Land Unknown! By Dash 'Square Jaw' Daring. Oh dear reader, how I wish I was safe in that old Bowery district of NYC or Whitechapel of London. Places where a man can get all blinky-eyed with rum and rye and still manage to curb-stumble his way to a warm bed of his own or a none-too-picking lady. In this land of fly-thick air not one drink of the good stuff has past my lips and still I blunder through waist high grass like a pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey 4 year old. I know not where I am. Still I'll press on. Before my crew all up and died on me, they spoke of 'the Giant Question Mark of the Hex to the North'. I don't know what it means, but it sounds like there's adventure to be had. So that's where this lonesome traveler is headed. Just me and my horse. That's the way it's got to be. That's the Daring way.