Unanchored

I do not know if it is some after effect of the wound I am still trying to recover from or something else entirely which has infected me. I seem to be overcome with a sense of malaise of such great strength that I find myself unable to shake it. Perhaps it is the endless sprawl of the Mainland terrain which seems to blur with no structure or organization to it? Perhaps it is the lack of contact as I seem to be moving through an area that is devoid of population but not of structures?

The wound on my neck refuses to heal completely. My fever comes and goes but I seem able to sense its rise and take appropriate action. My appetite has not changed nor has my skin color become more pale. It is almost as if my body continues to fight some vague and fleeting infection. But, luckily, I have not been consumed to drink blood or have an aversion to sunlight.
My ship, sitting in an anchored pocket just outside of this world's horizon, reported an encounter with fierce void winds over the past few days. This led me to taking more time then usual answering to its calls for instruction via crystal. Luckily, the storm winds have been reduced and the ship has settled itself with no casualties or damage. Of this, I am thankful.

I have found little in my constant and interrupted travel northward. Much, county after county, is the same. I did just today encounter a large and well constructed treehouse. Since my time with the sylvans, I have carried a great appreciation for tree houses and their symbiotic relationship to the arboreal structure which supports them. This one seemed well maintained and healthy.

Directly near it was a towering and narrow structure. I would call it a tower except it seemed to extend upwards into the clouds, almost like a stone support pole. If so, I could not see what it supported. Perhaps a hundred feet up its smooth stone surface an area had been constructed a landing which offered a several pillowed seats, a good view of the surrounding area and a delightful hooka. Though I did not partake of the hooka, the platform gave me a good chance to consider the ongoing Expedition.


For one, I missed Caledon a great deal. The constant roll of the Mainland landscape was beginning to take its toll on me. Compared to the well organized architecture and theme of Caledon, the Mainland seems to sprawl with little or no organization to it. The Mainland, if anything, appears to be a free-for-all of jumbled buildings and structures. Occasionally, one finds something that requires deeper notice. Unfortunately, this infections seems to burn a kind of depression into my thoughts, a pull of exhaustion and thick darkness which I have to battle with daily. Because of this, I cannot seem to find anything which perks my interest. So, I continue northward in hopes that I find something truly prodigious.

Perhaps I should acknowledge that my initial quest of travelling only by foot or the occasional use of crystal should be ammended somehow? It is true that much time is being spent navigating around the invisible walls and through areas that seem disjointed and abandoned. Yet, it is only by traveling on the ground that such small areas of interest have been discovered. I find I am caught with little reason to pick one over the other.

Damn, this odd blood infection which seems to cloud my mind and my senses. I blame it as the villain to my malaise. My crew is somewhat worried for me but they know me. They know it will do them little good to coddle me. There has been no word from anyone I have contacted and I wonder if I am to be afflicted with this for the rest of my days. I also wonder if, at some point, my body will lose the battle with the infection and what will happen then? Will I die? Will I become one of the undead? I would say its not a particularly pleasant way to end an expedition.

For now, I will press onward in hopes of something beneficial happening. I do not know what awaits me over the horizon of tomorrow. There is only one way to find out.