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[nenjin]

(Or How I Became The World's Greatest Explorer)

Pictured: Me, explorin'

Table of Contents:
Expedition I: The Birth Of Glory
Expedition II: Tiger On The Water
Expedition III: By The Fires Of Mount Pepuqasioko

Preamble

What is this game?
The Curious Expedition, developed by Maschinen-Mensch! Alpha Version 0.29.1.0 "The End is Nigh."

What's it about?
It's a turn-based exploration Roguelike, with a dice-based combat system and Choose Your Own Adventure-style vignettes, done in the pixel art fashion. It's got the feel of a board game. You play an explorer of the 19th century and journey to distant lands in search of fame, fortune and anthropological and cartographical glory! You navigate across procedurally-generated jungles, wastelands and deserts meeting the locals, fighting off the wildlife (or the locals), exploring ruins, admiring (or looting...) their treasures and more. You race against other explorers over the course of several expeditions, always striving to be the first to discover the Golden Pyramid in your region. Graciously donate the priceless cultural relics of indigenous people to the British Museum and become the most famous, written-about and beloved explorer of all!

But woe betide any explorer who isn't prepared for the rigors of their quest for fame....and knowledge, I guess? Starvation, madness, death and maybe even worse await them.

Is this a historically accurate game?
In case the "Golden Pyramids" bit didn't answer this question already, no. Not unless Nikola Tesla spent a year or so of his life running around the Dark Continent with a sci-fi laser pistol, or Marie Curie had enough time between discovering radioactivity and winning Nobel Prizes to fight off a pack of hyenas in South America, or Charles Darwin's explorations consisted of chewing a shit ton of Coca Leaves and hanging out with a Shaman who cast actual magic at his enemies. (Well, maybe he did at that, I dunno, he WAS pretty badass.) This is a somewhat silly, fun game about adventure, exploration, cannibalism and dinosaurs.


Pictured: Not TECHNICALLY a pyramid. Also not golden. Still awesome though.

What can I expect from this Let's Play?
Hopefully a good story and enjoyable blow-by-blow of my playthrough. I've already played the game and taken all my screenshots. Each post will be one of my expeditions.

Are there Cliffs Notes, TLDR?
Actually, there is of a sorts. The game outputs a log to a website when you play your game. If you wanna read ahead, you can find it here.

Anything I should know about this playthrough?
A few things. One is that screen shots did not capture my cursor at any point. So it can sometimes be hard to tell what I'm indicating at. The info boxes that show on the screen and the brown color of the selected text should get you by. Secondly, this is a normal difficulty playthrough so excuse the bombast, it's all in character. Thirdly, this is an Early Access game on Steam that is due to release soon (hence the version name) but a couple bugs occurred for a pretty critical event which, had they actually worked as expected, would have drastically changed this playthrough. Not sure why they didn't occur, maybe there's some game element I'm missing still. I've played several games of this now but I'm still fairly new to it. So there is some potential buginess in my playthrough I think. And a couple stupid mistakes by me. When I interject with green text, it's to talk /OOC and mechanics. Lastly, some of the humor might get a little ethnocentric on rare occasion. It's all meant in jest.

Anything you'd like help with?
I'm all about period-correct dialog where I know it. So if something would blantantly not be called "X" in the 19th century, by all means, mention it.

Any recommended listening?
I think the game's OST is quite good and for the most part thematic.

[nenjin]

London, March 26th, 1862
My dearest Isabel,

I hope this letter finds you well. I know you are in Jakarta, and I hope the moist, fecund jungle air improves the state of your Congestive Cretenism.

I've enclosed a photograph of me, your husband, as a reminder of the exceptional choice you made when married such a powerful, dynamic figure as I, Richard Francis Burton.



That's my pouty look.



I'm writing you this missive with the most tremendous, life-altering news. The British Society of Explorers is erecting a statue of their most famous member. And it's been suggested to me that I, Richard Francis Burton, may be the one whose face adorns that statue!

It's a natural conclusion to make, after all. I've already tread on all of the world's continents, even the two icy ones where my genitals turned black from the cold. I speak nearly 30 languages, have an intimate and nuanced appreciation of foreign cultures and I'm told my wikipedia page, whatever that is, will one day provide thousands millions of students with the content of their college examination assignments. As if this were not enough to guarantee my likeness on that statue, I have a devastating mustache to wit.



But they've turned this inevitability into a game Isabel. Very well, I'll play their game. And I'll win Isabel, I'll win just like that time in Katmandu when I beat a Nepalese Snow Lion at a game of Bagh-Chal! I'll lead six of the most successful expeditions into the darkest, most unexplored reaches of the Earth and demonstrate that Richard Francis Burton is the greatest explorer that has ever lived!

I know of my competition and I feel not the least bit tremulous at their inclusion.

Isabella Bird. Some dilettante who became famous for thinking New South Wales was boring, and getting drunk and wearing a grass skirt with the natives of the Kingdom of Hawaiʻi.

Ada Lovelace. Something about making a box that thinks for a person? The very idea.

Frederick C. Selous. This is Selous, Isabel. "Oh look at me, I went to Africa and shot some elephants." If that's what it takes to get your face on this statue, I imagine half the British Empire is qualified.

Aleister Crowley. Quite a nice fellow from what I understand, actually.

They pose no real threat to my, frankly, inhuman skills. But as with anything I do, it should be done vigorously.

I shall assemble my expedition and materiel forthwith! Let no one say that Richard Francis Burton is late to rise to the challenge! I do not wish you to worry on behalf of my success Isabel. My enduring brilliance shall carry me through. Let the news of my victories across the wire lend fuel to your argent recovery!

Your magnificent husband,
Richard Francis Burton



Expedition I: The Birth Of Glory.

Journal Entry: London, March 31st, 1862
Have decided on location for first expedition. Learned of a remote spot off west coast of Africa. Locals call it "The Rich Jungle." Aptly named for one such as me. Rivals have already chosen sites for their own expeditions, but I rest assured knowing they lack my superior judgment.



Begun assembling the members of my trek. Of course I'm bringing Qeboseriz with me. Her sharp eyes have always kept me abreast of trouble in unfamiliar lands. Primitive superstitions and prohibitions do get on my nerves though, as does her continued refusal to wear a full shirt.


The dice represent her combat/adventure capabilities. Qeboseriz is a support character, and provides defense and assistance dice. She has 6 life, adds two to my expedition's carry capacity, and has the Area Knowledge and Scouting positive traits, and the negative trait Superstitious. Area knowledge means I can know what points of interest are in each area without seeing them. Scouting increases my viewing distance. Superstitious means the character gets upset when you violate religious taboos.

Also bringing Leftenant Christopher Waller. Service record is impeccable if you excuse the the drunkenness, and I do. Has guarded my illustrious backside against man and beast before. Think he's just the one to protect me on my inevitable march toward eternal glory.
 

Waller is a straight fighter, offering attack and "action" dice in combat. His class ability is that your expedition gains sanity from winning combats. Alcoholism, if I understand it right, means they're more likely to "crack" when the expedition's sanity is low if they've gained the "Angry" trait from not being boozed up for long enough.

To their talents I will of course be lending my own formidable skills.


Expedition leaders are effectively your heroes. They're generally tougher and get more dice than other characters. RFB's special ability is Polygot, which means I can automatically communicate with native villages without the need for an interpreter, don't reduce my standing with the natives by asking to sleep in their villages, and get more sanity back than normal when I do so. RFB is, in my mind, the starter explorer. With a choice ability, a balanced entourage and a diverse starting inventory he's got the fewest weaknesses of the explorers I've unlocked.  I will gain other abilities for RFB each time I complete an expedition.

Journal Entry: London, April 8th, 1862
Supplies and materiel have been assembled and I've just completed my inventory of them.



First, precious whisky. Just the thing to bolster failing spirits and wash away the memory of previous travails. It's a particularly old vintage too.

Torches, as mundane as they are, are useful when some of the greatest secrets and treasures lie hidden in the darkness below ground.

Rope is as ubiquitous as it is useful. Difficult environs like swamps can be forded, and rivers and streams made less arduous to cross.

Lastly, the humble spear. Many of my contemporaries might sneer at such a primitive weapon taking up space in our packs, but they would only display their ignorance and stupidity by doing so. A stout spear, wielded by a strong hand and guided by a skilled arm, can fell a mighty beast long before a firearm could kill them.

Journal Entry: London, April 9th 1862
Finally, the day is upon us.



While I had no intrinsic desire to let the man's problems interfere with the success of my expedition, I had to concede to myself that his wife, a native of the area, might prove useful in the future. I accepted his offer.

With no further distractions presenting themselves I ordered the Captain of the Distrade to make best speed for the heart of darkest Africa. May God grant me the success that is my due.



Journal Entry: Rich Jungle, July 18th, 1862
Richard Francis Burton has arrived. Slept soundly the night prior, woke to the call of Land Ho!



Couldn't see much more than the shoreline as we broke out the rowboats. Ordered the crew and expedition members to begin unloading gear as soon as we made the beach. Waller seems anxious. I scolded him for his timidity. Plotting our route inland now while they work.

Journal Entry: Rich Jungle, July 19th, 1862


Supplies unloaded with utmost efficiency. Rain has let up and the view is beautiful. Lush forests, plains and hills. Village where Sir Dair Ilimejd's wife lives is many days to the north of us. Several potential sites along the way.

There's no need to fool with ship storage at this time, since I'm carrying everything I own. Refill Water only applies to desert expeditions, where you need a constant supply of water to survive.

Journal Entry: Rich Jungle. Day 1. July 19th, 1862


Some sort of trader or caravan set up in the plains to the north of us, a few days trek from the ship. Should be an easy journey to get the others warmed up. Have no need or capability to trade at this time but never hurts to see what they're peddling. Time of the essence though, my superlative abilities tell me some of my rivals are already beginning their work. Porters are just finishing up now. It's time by God!

The black box to the right shows the time and sanity cost of traveling. Rougher terrain can both take longer to traverse and cost you more sanity to do so than easier terrain. Sanity is an abstraction of a lot of things: physical and mental health, food, water. When it hits zero and you continue to travel, bad things relating to all of those start happening. Even at low sanity, 10 to 20, when you camp and rest sometimes adverse events relating to your party will happen. So how you get around and how much sanity it costs you is a large part of what the game is about.

To the left is a slider that shows you how close your rivals are to discovering their own Golden Pyramid. 1st place gets the most fame, 2nd less, etc...Striking a balance between exploring the map and finding your Golden Pyramid is the tension underlying all the navigation gameplay. To the upper left is your compass which vaguely tries to show you the direction the Golden Pyramid lies in. It gets more accurate as you explore more of the map. The three tile markers to the top right are what possible sites reside in this region. Without a native/area knowledge character, those would just be black tiles and question marks.

Journal Entry: Rich Jungle. Day 3. July 22nd, 1862.
Arrived at Trader's tent. Exhilarating being back in nature again and demonstrating my mastery over it.





The color of his robes is as rich as the stench of his pack animals is potent. Do not begrudge him hiding his best wares; harder to steal what you don't know about.



Tantalizing merchandise none the less. Dynamite, Machetes, Coston Flares, even a Treasure Map. I have no time to chase such fancies. Although I do dearly wish we could have traded for some of his whiskey.

Trade is pure barter when you're out in the wilds.

Journal Entry: Rich Jungle. Day 3. July 22nd, 1862.


Heading west four days over open ground, to see what has been catching Qeboseriz's eye since we made land.

Journal Entry: Rich Jungle. Day 7. July 22nd, 1862.


Discovered large stone statue, easily visible across the plains.

You don't actually have to be standing on top of a site to explore it, only next to it. But you have to mouse over it to see its name so...you'll constantly see me looking as though I'm going to walk 1 day toward it. I'm not, generally. It's a waste of movement, but, because sites aren't usually meant to block movement, it's a thing.



Also decided Qeboseriz's keen spotting of this relic warranted a promotion. Waller stared on impassively but I could tell he was jealous. Unfortunately for him, I simply don't give a damn. We had a statue to investigate.

When you explore ALL sites in a region you gain a region point. This point can then be spent among your expedition members to level them up. Promoting them increases their HP, levels up their relevant class skill and for some expedition members, increases their dice pool. Your explorer only levels up from completing each expedition. Again it's that risk vs. reward thing. Leveled up expedition members are very useful but getting within visual range of every region site is not easy given the random generation and how gnarly the terrain can get.

Journal Entry: Rich Jungle. Day 7. July 22nd, 1862.


Fairly typical example of primitive spirit worship. Notable only for its size and the certain impression of dismay on its features. The offerings laid before it though...



Interested me greatly. The necklace was exceptional for its craftmenship (given where it originated of course) and I felt spoke volumes about the aesthetic and spatial sensibilities of the culture that produced it. The mangos simply looked refreshing and delicious given the monstrously hot conditions we labored in. Someone was saying something, but I couldn't really hear them over the sound of chisels chipping away at Italian Calacatta marble.



The necklace would make for a solidly philanthropic gift to the British Museum and the mangos a sweet treat in a strange land.

Regardless of whether there's anyone in your party that is superstitious or native, you always lose standing with the natives of the region you're in for stuff like this. So if you do a lot of bad in one region of the map, you can go to the next one over and be back to neutral.

Journal Entry: Rich Jungle. Day 7. July 22nd, 1862.


Planning how we will reach the village while the others rest. A true fool would willingly attempt to go straight through the mass of jungle to our north, with its biting insects, creeping vines and poison everything.



Though it is the more direct route the jungle levies a punishing tax on the human body, even one as singular as my own. A far more sensible, if slightly longer, route is to circle around the jungle and its guardian mountains to the west, where we may gain a more favorable vantage on the terrain ahead.

The game generally tries to plot you the most efficient route closest to your cursor. Sometimes you gotta get a little creative though, because the sanity hits are not trivial and there's a lot of map to explore.

Journal Entry: Rich Jungle. Day 15. July 30th, 1862.


*the pages are spattered with some kind of liquid that has long since dried, the ink writing having run a little* As I correctly speculated, an easier route to the village revealed itself. But we've also caught wind of a pack of hyenas in the jungle to our west, their strange noises echoing for miles around. We have little to fear from them though, their cowardly antics no match for our skill and vigor. Qeboseriz says she's seen several other land marks further to the west atop a mountain and a hill. I'll have to take her word for it, for her sight belittles even mine.

The trek to this point has been long while not exceptionally difficult. The expedition members continue to hold up well to the demands I place on them, fortified as they are with fresh mangos. They were so splendid we ate the whole lot. They were already spoiling quickly in the heat as it was.

I continue to eye my compass. Upon reaching this land it spun crazily, not settling on any direction at all. But by the time we'd left the trader it had begun pointing insistently westward. This detour to find Sir Dair Ilimejd's wife has been more costly than anticipated and I can only hope at this point that it will have been worth it. I don't sense my rivals are much further in their ventures than I yet. But I can feel the sands of time slipping through my fingers with every passing day.

We should arrive at the village of Sir Dair Ilimejd's wife within the next few days.

The compass varies between reliable and unreliable. It never really points so much as spins widely but consistently between two points on the compass. I would always just take the midline of that reading to establish where it was saying to go....usually with good results.

Journal Entry: Rich Jungle. Day 18. August 2nd, 1862.


Finally arrived at the village Sir Dair Ilimejd told us of. Met Tiqifikozu, his wife. Like the rest of the villagers she displays the evidence of her religious practices all about her. Inscribed beads, various animal parts like feathers and markings painted on her face with either charcoal or perhaps some other locally derived pigment. The air tinkles with the unnerving sound of chimes made from animal bones.

I missed a pic here, the actual travel to the village. I try to stay pretty consistent about documenting each leg of the trip.



In fact Tiqifikozu turned out be a shaman of some sort, considered special and held sacred by her people. Her acceptance of us quickly warmed them to us. Rather than letting Tiqifikozu translate for us, I immediately established the basic verb forms of her tribe and began conversing with them.



My immediate concern was for additional porters or pack animals, for it would take very few finds before the whole expedition became overburdened. I tried to convince the villagers to lend me one of their people as a guide, or a spare donkey perhaps. However they were unmoved. I chose to ignore Tiqifikozu's sarcasm, doubtless that her jealousy at not being needed as a translator was her motivation. I also considered trading with the villagers before I realized the only item I could trade them wasn't something they needed to see.

In truth I tried to avoid trading away anything that was worth anything as far as lewt goes when I could help it. You can happily loot the natives' relics and trade the items back to them, they haven't as of yet recognized them as their own. It can be a good way to stock up on supplies during the expedition but for a) many items gotten from the expedition expire with it and b) the goal is to get the lewt back to London and convert it to cash (for top notch supplies) or fame.

Incidentally, Villagers are a great source of free pack animals and guides if they like you enough and you have the room in your expedition. The cap is 5 trek members, including pack animals but not including quest characters (I think.) I have not yet seen a way to have more than 5. While the native guides do not permanently join your expedition, the pack animals are your's to keep. (I'm sure with the natives' blessings....)

Though I could feel time nipping at our heels, I've adventured enough in my life to know you never turn down an opportunity to rest in safety and (relative) comfort. The natives happily allowed us to stay the night.

Journal Entry: Rich Jungle. Day 18. August 2nd, 1862.


Nstivse hhadsm kknd ff alcl. Vvvrrr stttrng......



Journal Entry: Rich Jungle. Day 19. August 3rd, 1862.


After affects of their alcohol are murderous. Head feels like a water buffalo is sitting on it. Cheering villagers and screaming children make me want to burn jungle down. Can't get sight of women making the alcohol out of my mind; they chew up a plant and spit it into the jars we were drinking from.



Am plotting next leg of trip while Tiqifikozu says her goodbyes. Apparently village losing its spiritual protection. Irrelevant. The mention of Tiqifikozu's shrine is making my head clear.



It's deep within the jungle. Will be a difficult trek to make it there. Other sites we could visit along the way too. Too long of a trek to do it in one go anyways.

Because every step you take comes with a minimum of 1 day of travel and 5 sanity, you really have to plan your moves as actual treks. Starting and stopping a lot and not going very far is a great way to end up sanity broke and in last place. But if you go too far, too fast, you will end up sanity broke with nothing but your supplies to rely on. Every move is kind of a calculated risk.

Also I neglected to ever take a picture of Tiqifikozu's character pane. Whoops!



We'll make for the lake to the west, going through the plains to make best speed. Rivals are still moving slowly I believe. It feels good to be heading in the direction of the compass, finally. It points to where victory lies.

As you can see though, I don't always take my own advice. I should have moved another day ahead into the stream. All I did by stopping before it is add 1 day to our travels and lose 5 more sanity in the process.

Journal Entry: Rich Jungle. Day 27. August 11th, 1862.
We've come to edge of the lake and the jungle which hides the shrine we seek, and discovered an agonizingly beautiful waterfall feeding the lake. My companions looked upon it with longing written plain on their faces but I ruled against stopping to rest. We were fit and healthy and time was always against us. Nearly a month in this land and we've not caught a whiff of the Golden Pyramid yet. No, now is the time to apply ourselves directly and vigorously to the task at hand. Perhaps we may return to these falls after our trek to the shrine, to rest ourselves then.



Turns out my decision not to move all the way to the site was prescient. It likely influenced my decision not to rest as well. Had I moved the full distance, I'd be missing just enough sanity to care.

There's nothing for it. We'll have to attack the jungle directly to reach the shrine, damn the time or the discomfort. I must get the expedition moving again before they start trying to take their boots off and go swimming.

Journal Entry: Rich Jungle. Day 31. August 15th, 1862.
Four days. Four brutal days. Four days of being steamed alive in your clothes. Four days of infected cuts from vines which have no business being so sharp. Four days of sleeping on ground that never seems to stop moving. Four days of clouds of insects so black they blot out the light. But we've made it, finally.

A moment of levity was had when we heard the sound of a elephants through the jungle to our west. Waller asked with rather apparent alarm if they'd attack us. Qebosariz and Tiqifikozu simply laughed.



Missed a screen there plotting the route.

Journal Entry: Rich Jungle. Day 39. August 23rd, 1862.

"The consequences of a man's actions are irrelevant. Judge him only by whether he achieved his goals." - Richard Francis Burton.

This is the first chance I've had to write a journal entry since our desperate flight from the shrine of Tiqifikozu's people.

I shall try to recount what I can. But time is short.

We approached the shrine.



The trappings of tribal magic and marks of aversion where enough to spook Waller, but I have seen much under the great blue sky and was not to be frightened off. Tiqifikozu made her prayers and informed us she was ready to leave. I, however, was not. I bade my companions to enter the shrine with me.

We discovered the central chamber in all its toppled and crumbling majesty. The names and visages of this place's deities were long since decayed to obscurity. But upon a raised dais in the center of the chamber we found the altar, the focal point of the shrine's spiritual purpose.



My heart pounding as I climbed the steps, I fancied I could almost feel the weight of the gods' attentions on my shoulders. But as an enlightened man of the world I shook off such superstitious nonsense. I approached the altar and saw it lying there.



The most flawless reproduction of an eggplant ever seen on God's green earth, cast in solid gold. With its anthropological value, what it could say about the habits and behaviors of the people who made it was incalculable. However its value to my reputation when donated to the British Museum was a much more manageable number for me to bear.

Some ignorant folk may rail against my so callously appropriating the artifacts of another culture. They fail to recognize however the engine of progress of which I am just a lowly yet brilliant cog. This eggplant which sits in my pack next to me will be seen by millions over the course of history rather than languishing here in a forgotten temple, honoring gods no one remembers the name of. It will do more for the world, transmuted by my actions, than it ever would gathering dust in that shrine. In this, I have unshakable faith.

It makes what happened next damnably ironic though.



Within moments of our leaving the shrine had begun to sink into the ground, surrounded by an ever expanding lake, which swiftly became a rushing tide that uprooted trees and washed away all vegetation. We began our maddened escape as the land was consumed, running flank to flank with all manner of beasts of the jungle amongst us.



Across the plains we fled with the vengeful tides dogging our every step. It was as if wherever we walked a giant rift was cleft into the earth and the sea rushed in to fill it. Sometimes its advance would slow and we would slacken our pace, only to have it re-emerge from beneath our feet to send us sprinting across the grass for our very lives.

For days we ran much and slept little, always being attuned to the rushing sound of our gurgling doom.



I do not believe this to be some act of the gods' vengeance. Rather it must be some coincidental act of geology, the movement and the plates and such, that struck upon on our leaving the shrine.



Time as I said grows short though. My rivals I feel must still be sedately pursuing their expeditions, but the tides pursue us relentlessly. We've taken a small rest at the foot of some hills, upon which we can see a great natural hotsprings. Though our bodies cry out for true rest and replenishment, the thought of those same hills becoming an island and trapping us in this land fills my limbs with vigor still. We must go on, or all is lost. We shall drive to the west for it is the only option left to us. It will plunge us into yet another jungle but surely by then this freak occurrence of nature and geology will have abated? My only solace at this time is that our course roughly agrees with the urging of my compass.



Journal Entry: Rich Jungle. Day 43. August 23rd, 1862.
I shall never forget the sight of it. Leftenant Christopher Waller, leaping over a collapsing tree to snare a large and exotic butterfly in his pith helmet as it tried to fly to safety.



This bedeviled flood hounds us still. For nearly two weeks we've tried to stay ahead of its torrential wrath. The jungle seems powerless to resist it, as we listen to the trunks of trees thousands of years old snap and shatter like twigs against its might. I believe I've even seen entire mountains sink into its sapphire depths.

We've stopped for the moment. Had to really, the expedition is exhausted and on the verge of collapse. Little sleep and the constant threat of danger have all but sapped their will to continue. My will, however, remains ironclad. This situation calls for drastic action on my part.



Journal Entry: Rich Jungle. Day 43. August 23rd, 1862.
I've broken out the whiskey rations. Whatever it takes to keep them moving, it must be done. While they've begun drinking fine Scottish whiskey like its water and laughing in the face of approaching death, I've had a look around the small clearing we've found ourselves in. Inexplicably, I've found a nearly complete ship beached here, in the depths of the jungle. The mind conjures all manner of possibilities for how this happened, yet I do not have the time to ponder the question. Nor, sadly, to investigate the ship further. The risk is too great with the wrath of Poseidon bearing down on us.

In truth I could have explored and it wouldn't have jeopardized anything. Site investigations seem to take no actual time. Still, I was in the moment and it seemed the right call to make at the time. I also, in the rush of things, failed to show how I plotted the next course.

Journal Entry: Rich Jungle. Day 46. August 26th, 1862.
Sometimes, a man's choices are vindicated even in the depths of his torment. We have found it by Jove! There, its peak catching the light of the sun just above the jungle canopy! It can only be the Golden Pyramid!



I confess, as I drove the expedition south away from the landlocked wreck of the ship, I almost felt at a loss for what to do next. The bottle of whiskey shared around the expedition would not last and it was unknown how long we'd have to trek to find the Golden Pyramid, or how long we'd have to flee, mindlessly like the beasts of the jungle, from the unstoppable wall of water behind us. How long before we were simply washed against the flanks of the mountains to the west, battered and drowned?

But in the pit of my despair, the simple act of moving forward showed me our salvation and now it is within our grasp. Though we be drenched, terrified and debilitated, we will press on to glory!

We are still several days from the Golden Pyramid and even now I hear the telltale snapping of wood and rumbling of earth that tells me we must flee yet again. I shall, however, keep the rest of the whiskey under lock and key. We are now so close, and there may be another dark day ahead where we will need to call upon it.



Traveling while 'insane' is generally not a good idea, but it takes a few days for an insanity event to occur, so I figured the push to the GT and sparing myself the whiskey was worth it.

Journal Entry: Rich Jungle. Day 48. August 28th, 1862.
Glory....





Indeed.



The Speed Bonus is static, it's always 200 or less. The Golden Pyramid score goes up by 20 with every new pyramid you find. The report is a web page the game feeds data to that is a quick bullet point of events from your expedition. The link for this expedition's record is in the Preamble. Spoilers, obviously.



Every game you can see a zoomed out view of the map with a little expedition route tracker. Which, I found out, doesn't store data between saving and reloading the game. The info window that obscures it is also kind of irritating. Incidentally do not let the time played fool you at all. When I'm not documenting it every step of the way, I can clear Expedition I in 4 to 7 minutes depending on how the map rolls up. At worst I think the bigger maps take upwards of 20 to 30 minutes. Overall though, this is a fast game if you want it to be.

Journal Entry: London. December 4th, 1862.
My early and triumphant return to London was a celebrated affair, as you would expect. I'm gratified knowing that by the time the last of my rivals show up, they'll be lucky to draw more than a cart peddler and chimney sweep to their homecoming.

Leftenant Waller beamed with pride at the crowd's adulation, and mercifully had chosen to attend an official event sober for once.



Qebosariz seemed distinctly ill at ease in such a setting, and I'm led to believe her tit may have touched off something of a riot in the adjacent courtyard.

I was ceremoniously awarded the Medal of Excellent Calves, finally acknowledging publicly what most already knew in private.

Not the actual title of the medal, as they have none. I generally have gone for perks which affect movement, which is your biggest enemy in this game by far. There are plenty of others you won't get a peep at in this playthrough, like increased sanity, more accurate compass, so on and so forth.

Journal Entry: London, January 14th, 1863.
Now to the business I've been waiting for since I set foot back on British soil: news of my rivals' successes and failures, and deciding what to do with the artifacts I brought home.

Journal Entry: London, January 19th, 1863.
Humbling my opponents from the very first is not only rewarding, it's also expected. Even with my slapdash charting of the region my expedition is still the talk of London above all the others.



My preeminence, however right it feels, may still stand in jeopardy should I befall some true calamity on future expeditions. While it is tempting to simply donate all my finds, as one man who is not me once famously put it "You can't enjoy being famous if you're dead." Thus I will embark on a strategy of selling my finds at auction to the highest bidder, and outfit my future expeditions with the finest equipment and victuals! Let my rivals think I'm daft and soon to be eclipsed. When the trials of exploration have bled them white, I will still stand stalwart and then I will unleash my finds on the world!

The general strategy being: you have to survive to make good on your fame, so money > fame during the early game until you know what you're doing. From what I've seen the capability of the AI is all over the place. I've played against AI that routinely beat me in fame even when I finished every expedition in 1st place.

For now though we must abide by our meager beginnings. The Tribal Necklace fetched a good price at auction, mostly due to the goldsmithing I'm sure.



The sale of the Golden Eggplant drew many vociferous inquiries from the British Museum and others, but as I maintain here, enriching myself for the sake of future expeditions is my primary concern, not philanthropy. The business of enlightening the world is neither cheap nor safe.



I made an exception however for the beginnings of my butterfly collection, which I donated to the museum. Let me not only be known as a brilliant, dynamic explorer of note but also as someone who helped enrich the scientific and botanical knowledge of the rest of the world.

Also Butterflies don't tend to sell for much unless you have a complete collection. Gotta catch 'em all!

Journal Entry: London, January 27th, 1863.
Already I grow restless laying about our estates near London. Richard Francis Burton was not built to be, Richard Francis Burton was built to do. Even now I have begun seeking out my contacts, trying to locate the site of my next expedition. A promising lead has just come in, a trackless wilderness in central Asia known as the Grand Jungle....

Continued in Part II: Tiger On The Water.

[nenjin]

London, January 31st, 1863.
My desert rose Isabel,

Greetings and salutations to you in Guangzhou. I wish you God's speed in finding an apothecary that can help treat your Apoplectic Dyspepsia.

As you well know from the wire, my expedition to the Rich Jungle of Africa was a resounding success, though fraught with peril. It is a testament to me, frankly, that not even the unnatural forces of nature could stop me from my appointed task. I have bested my rivals with a speed that, as I dwell on it, fills me with an amazement at my own potential. As I write you whilst conducting my business in London, I can hear my name being shouted by the young Patterers on the streets outside.

But it's not enough Isabel. It's not enough to simply be better than them. I must set myself as a class apart from their grubbings in the primordial dirt. Only then will I have truly earned title of World's Greatest Explorer.

In order to do that, I must needs push myself and my next expedition even harder. Despite the terrors and the travails of the explorer's life, no risk must be completely out of the question. No sensibility of man or the aether should perforce stay my hand. Greatness is not achieved by such delicacies and restraint. I can ask nothing less of myself.

It shall bolster me greatly to know that you, my Manchurian plum dove, are cheering my efforts despite your infirmities. Fear not, I shall return to London draped in the mantle of victory and crowned with the laurels of greatness.

Your incandescent husband,
Richard Francis Burton

Expedition II: Tiger On The Water.

Journal Entry: London, February 2nd, 1863.
The destination is set and preparations are already underway for the trip. Asia, make yourself ready for Richard Francis Burton.



The Grand Jungle will indeed be the site of our next expedition. I choose it not because my rivals have already staked their claims across the globe elsewhere, but because my keen observation of the best regions for discovering antiquity is surpassed by none.

I do find it...curious that the same Golden Pyramid, identical in form, aesthetics and markings, can be found in dozens of places around the world despite the natural barriers of land, mountain and sea. It is not a matter for present consideration though as I have too many things to assure the perfection of. Perhaps, once the business of my immortal greatness has been assured, it is a topic I can study at greater length in the golden sunset of my days.

For now I must conclude my affairs in London and prepare to embark. In just a few short days the Burborassa will be ready to set sail.

I'm not sure anymore if the Grand Jungle is actually in Asia. The selection screen displays what you're hovering over, not what you have currently selected. But we're going to say it's in Asia, because we've already been to Africa.

Journal Entry: London, February 5th, 1863.
Woke to a morning bright, cold and full of promise. It is time to head to the harbor, today we sail for Asia!

Journal Entry: London, February 5th, 1863.


I admit I had quite forgotten about Tiqifikozu. Our estates are very large and I've been there and back to London many times since my return from Africa. Quite how she spent the last six months at my estate is unknown to me. I only delivered her to Sir Dair Ilimejd because I found sitting atop my carriage when I made to leave for the harbor.



In any event, their reunion was as touching as it was time-consuming. After doing a frankly disinterested job in explaining the delay to him he eventually agreed to reward me as promised, and I received a tidy sum that would help provision the expedition.

Unfortunately I was delayed yet again on my way to the quartermaster, this time by a corpulent and rather unsavory looking merchant. His languid interest in an idol from the region we were visiting struck me as curious, as though it concealed some great need. The idol's location in a native village also gave me reason for pause. I'm not unaccustomed to taking extreme measures for the sake of success but it's not my intention to unduly disturb every native people I encounter. Still, with the success of my expeditions now and in the future still not assured, I'm not inclined to refuse any potential source of income. I agreed to his proposal.

Journal Entry: London, February 5th, 1863.
Blood and hellfire, can a man not be about his business without being swarmed from all sides by mendicants?! It is, on reflection, the price of notoriety I suppose.



It was a group of them. A cook, a nun and an artist, each asking to yoke their fate to my own ascendant destiny. After suppressing my annoyance I realized that our expedition could benefit from more manpower and turned a critical eye upon all of them.

Isobelle Couillard. Pleasant and well-meaning all around, but I formed the distinct impression she couldn't cook worth a damn.



A decent support character. Ok HP, OK carrying capacity. Her ability lets you turn raw meat into delicious, sanity replenishing edibles. A solid choice for any party that plans on fighting animals.

Sister Josephine Almah. Her demeanor was cold and direct, for which I was at least partially grateful. However I've never found much efficacy in religion on my expeditions before. Words and belief may be of comfort to the condemned, but I need my companions focused on the here and now. Not the hereafter.



A less robust support character than the cook. She gets two class abilities which is pretty uncommon. One increases your max sanity, the other allows you to rest for free at Mission sites. To date, I have not yet seen a mission. And while extra sanity is nice, characters in this party need to be a bit tougher than 4 health.

Estelle-Eleanor Hugo. A self-proclaimed artist whose aloofness I found off putting and more than a little preposterous given her straw hat and baggy peasant clothing. She quickly informed me that she had no materiel and I would need to supply her. A broke artist, then. I gave her the barest of consideration.



Characters with blue dice are support characters of a different flavor. Their dice do next to nothing on their own but when paired with all the other dice augment their effects. Blue characters uniformly tend to have the lowest HP from what I've seen. The artist's ability allows them to turn blank canvases into paintings which you can sell back in London (or trade to natives with an appreciation for fine art I suppose.) The downside is that canvases take up inventory space and cost money, neither of which I'm wild about.

I made my decision quickly but incisively.



I'm unsure what kind of cuisine Vegan is but I assume it has to be better than hard tack. Ms. Couillard immediately came aboard and began carving out a niche for herself below decks.

Journal Entry: London, February 5th, 1863.
I lean here against the port rail of the Burborassa, for the ship is still not ready to sail despite the eternity of delays I experienced. The Leftenant is near the forecastle attempting to cajole one of the crew into a share of his rum rations. Qeboseriz leans against the mast, looking around sullenly. And I can just make out the sound of Ms. Couillard arguing with the ship's cook about roasting techniques through the deckboards.

I had managed, mercifully, to concluded my business with the quartermaster without any other interruptions.



I could not help but rub my hands together at the sight of so many supplies, imaging the potency they'd lend to our efforts.



As a jungle man myself, there is no finer tool than the venerable machete. Armed with this, a man can carve back the untamed wilds and give themselves room to conduct their business like a proper gentleman, instead of getting interminably tangled in the undergrowth like a buffoon.

Machetes don't just make it easier to move through jungle. They actually destroy jungle tiles and turn them into shrubland or something. With the right application they can turn a really problematic part of the map into just another high movement corridor.



A sudden, violent demise isn't the only danger of exploring the wilderness. The slow, shameful death by disease and infection is arguably a greater problem. Every body has its limits, even mine. Armed with modern medicines, a man stands a better chance at fending off the thousand killers of the wilds.

It appears to work that if you lose life, you gain the wound trait. Characters with the wound trait have a higher chance of getting the infection or fever trait the lower their current HPs are. Getting the infected or fever traits essentially means the character could die at any moment. Medkits not only remove all those traits, they heal the character's HP at the same time, instantly. If you're going to do any combat and you're not wiping out your enemy while taking no damage, you're going to need medkits if you want to keep your party alive over the long-term.



It is never unwise to prepare for trouble when exploring but, as much as I would approve of stuffing our packs with extra ammunition, other considerations force my hand. I must rely on my consummate skills and our trusty spears in the mean time.

Extra bullets like spears are consumable items you can use to add extra attack dice to a single round of combat, up to 3 dice. It allows you to do good burst damage and opens up some special attacks via specific dice combos. You can end fights very quickly or reduce the amount of damage you end up taking by using ammo and such aggressively. But you chew through supplies quickly playing that way. Alternatively, you can have an inventory filled up with ammo but never get into any fights. Since combat is more or less optional at best and situational at worst, ammo and weapons fall into the "nice to have if you have room for it" category for the well-rounded explorer.



As I completed my transaction I paused to look once more over the wares. Bars of chocolate were stocked in great quantities and I mused how frail the human psyche is that a simple mix of sugar and ground cacao could salvage the mind and soul when things are at their darkest, where a simple bar of chocolate might be the only thing between you and the human next to you being reduced to unmitigated savagery.

Chocolate is kind of the gold standard for "on the go" sanity replenishment. It's 10 Sanity for $10, compared to whiskey's 20 Sanity for $20...and alcoholism. To me though, whiskey still kind of wins out. It takes a lot of chocolate to sustain an expedition, whereas whiskey packs a bigger punch when used in the same amount.



I kept some of my funds on reserve, not out of greed but out of concerns for space. There's little sense to me in throwing away something you paid perfectly good money for unless the situation demands it.

I've generally learned that hoarding your money isn't a good idea. On the other hand, being able to throw stuff away to make room for loot is a reason not to have 10 of everything all the time. And it's not always unwise to keep some cash on hand in case your last expedition came away with little or no loot.

What the devil is taking so long. This is intolerable. I'm off to have a word with the Captain, for there is no victory to be had here in London and we have many months of sailing to get on with!


Animal Improvement is how pack animals level up, since they can't use region points. You pay money for better harnesses. We have no pack animals, so it does nothing for us at this time.

Journal Entry: The Burborassa, June 12th, 1863.
I have slept poorly these last few weeks, for my feet yearn to stamp the ground of Terra Firm. It is still quite dark out but I wish to be the first to see the light of a new day break across this land. We sighted it a day ago and in just a few hours we should be weighing anchor.



Journal Entry: Grand Jungle, Day 1, June 12th, 1863.


I roused my companions far earlier than they would have liked, but their complaints mean little in the shadow of my greatness. Their progress in unloading our supplies was desultory at first but has picked up considerably in the last half an hour or so. Satisfied we will soon be underway, I've turned my attention to the first leg of our trek.



The open grasslands before me mean any direction is liable to reveal more to us. Yet I spy something just at the edge of the jungle to the south. That will be our first destination I think. At last, we are on the move! And not a moment too soon. Some sense at the back of my skull tells me my rivals are already preceding apace.



Journal Entry: Grand Jungle, Day 6, June 12th, 1863.

Our trek across the plains was quick and uneventful. Wending our way through the stone forest, we've discovered another of those curious stone circles that natives of primitive cultures seem so apt to erect. I expected Qeboseriz to object when I began leading us toward it, but so far she has said nothing.



Before we set out though, I realized I had neglected an order of business for too long. As the other veteran explorer in my troop of three, the Leftenant was owed his due. I issued him a promotion with a short, dignified ceremony there in the stone forest, hoping to in turn express the honor inherent in being a member of this expedition to Ms. Couillard.



More levels for the guy who hasn't had to fight anything yet. There's another reason to promote him though. Each member of the expedition has a hidden loyalty stat toward you. Higher level guys have better loyalty and so are less likely to crack when sanity has gotten low.

Journal Entry: Grand Jungle, Day 6, June 12th, 1863.


Of course I immediately set myself to the task of aligning the various rotating and sliding pieces of the stones to form a rough but detailed map of a small plot of land to our east. A set of glyphs whose meaning I translated as "shrine" brought a smile to my lips, the other indicating a waterfall nearby as well.

I didn't reveal the region because I figured it was mostly already revealed.



This was not a fit of Qeboseriz's normal superstitious pique. I can tell that this time some line had been crossed. She's made no secret of her growing displeasure over the last year. While I value her skills and would be disappointed if she had cause to leave the expedition, I cannot allow her prohibitions and taboos dictate what kind of success I'm allowed to achieve. I've left the matter in her hands to decide.



I've put the argument with Qeboseriz from my mind and am focused on the next leg of our trek now. We'd spotted something astride the middle of a large lake to the south earlier and I've decided it would be good to investigate it before we swing east toward the waterfall and shrine.

Journal Entry: Grand Jungle, Day 11, June 12th, 1863.


We've discovered a village, riding atop platforms suspended from poles driven into the ground. The whole has the look of a village of boats tied together.

Journal Entry: Grand Jungle, Day 11, June 12th, 1863.


The warriors of this village look fearsome indeed, their flesh ritually scarred with marks to prove their toughness and intent. By his description, this must be the idol the corpulent merchant bade me find for him. The presence of these warriors greatly increases the danger such an act poses.



Journal Entry: Grand Jungle, Day 11, June 12th, 1863.
I've established the core linguistic patterns of these people with little trouble. Despite their warriors they seem peaceable and only somewhat suspicious of us.



Once again I tried to negotiate with the natives for the loan of a guide or pack animal. They were still too unsure of us though, and I have no intention of turning over our supplies to them for such a boon.

As I sit here with the sun slowly setting over the west, I'm filled with an unfamiliar emotion: uncertainty. The rewards for delivering this idol could be substantial, and so too could the penalty for getting caught. Is my greatness worth such a risk?

Journal Entry: Grand Jungle, Day 17, June 18th, 1863.
This is the first time since our night at the village on the water that I've had the leisure to pen my thoughts. The village idol sits atop our luggage, staring at me with its blank eyes and round features, without judgment. I shall recount the tale of how it came to us.



I'd quietly ordered the others to only unpack what was strictly necessary from our gear. Qeboseriz had narrowed her eyes at me suspiciously but I was beyond her condemnations in this. We gratefully accepted the natives' offer of rest, and were once again gifted with copious amounts of their local alcoholic beverage which, I was pleased to see, didn't use human saliva as the primary fermentation agent. I wonder if Leftenant Waller had even noticed when he guzzled the stuff by the quart. I doubt it. He embraced this libation with the greedy enthusiasm I've come to expect from him and the drink.



Based on my last experiences with native homebrew, I drank sparsely but made as though I enjoyed it greatly. Qeboseriz seemed on a mission to become inebriated and drank more than I've ever witnessed before. Within an hour she passed into insensibility.

Alcoholism is, of the negative traits you can have, fairly manageable. Although I'm sure having a crippling dependency on alcohol can only do good things for a character in Qeboseriz's state of mind.



With most of the village in a drunk stupor or sleep, I knew there would be no better chance to take the idol. Once committed, my mind was set. I roused Ms. Couillard and instructed her to distract the few upright guards still awake. Qeboseriz' snoring would be enough to dampen any noises I might make.

Each row of 6 dice comes from one of my characters, and each has a 1/3 chance of showing the face I need to succeed at this challenge.



With nary a peep of sound made I whisked the idol from its place at the center of the village, carefully wrapped it in a blanket and stowed it in one of our trunks. Then I woke Qeboseriz and the Leftenant, neither of whom roused quietly or easily, Qeboseriz being especially irritable and insensible by turns. With more noise than I'd have liked we packed our gear and slipped out of the village many hours before dawn.



I plotted our course as we moved away from the village at speed. We'd spotted some point of interest east of the village as we'd approached days ago, and I decided it was as good a direction to head as any. Initially I had wanted to cut straight through the strip of jungle blocking our way with machetes. But as we walked I revised my thoughts. Though it would be faster it would leave a clear sign to the villagers who, no doubt, were even now looking for our trail.



Instead I opted to circumnavigate the jungle altogether. It added several days to our trek but left little sign and saved our precious machetes for darker, woodier days ahead.



After many days of vigorous travel to put distance between ourselves and the village, we discovered our destination to be an abandoned camp site, likely that of Europeans.



Before we investigated however I decided Ms. Couillard's service in the village during the idol affair should be recognized, and I promoted her on the spot. She beamed with pride while Qeboseriz looked at me with unabashed loathing, which I ignored. I'd promoted Ms. Couillard on the basis of her cooking more than her bravery or cunning. Her meals aboard the Burborassa had been nothing short of dismal, even with a full galley. I hoped that through promotion her chances of cooking a halfway edible meal while roughing it in the wilderness would improve.

As it has been a hard bit of traveling, I've ordered the expedition to make camp here for the night.

A narrative justification for the fact I accidentally walked into the site and wasted a day.

Journal Entry: Grand Jungle, Day 18, June 19th, 1863.


Qeboseriz displayed her normal superstition around the dead of any race or culture, but I wasn't about to let the bones of a Frenchmen stop me from attempting to improve the expedition's lot.





My companions were all astir upon discovering the 'treasure map.' I scoffed, knowing full well it is what had brought this Frenchmen to a bad end. Regardless, we lacked a shovel to dig for buried treasure so the point was moot. I told them to leave it behind or burn it in the fire as fuel. What had caught my interest instead was of much more practical use: several sticks of TNT. I could see myself putting them to use before long.

Dynamite can be used to completely remove impassible mountain tiles. It can also be used to combat, to blow up enemies or yourself.



I've already turned to plotting the next leg. The land to the east is a sprawling mass of jungle cut by patches of open ground. I believe it's time to put our machetes to work and clear a path toward the shrine and waterfall. Along the way we shall check for a patch of butterflies I believe I've spotted a bit to the south. It shall be six days of constant labor, but, still less than it would be without the machetes.

Some items don't take up inventory space. Butterflies are one of them. It's hard to tell the difference without reading the item description though, and this one constantly screws me up.

Journal Entry: Grand Jungle, Day 24, June 25th, 1863.


*droplets of dried liquid dot the pages of the journal, and smears of green are rubbed into the edges of its pages* Our advance into the jungle has been slow but steady. The size and scope of it is far larger than I'd initially had imagined, and I continue to marvel at its sinewy, fertile strength. The living tissue of the forest is more than a match for man-forged steel, dulling the edges of machetes or chipping them and rendering them useless within a day. I would hate this jungle were it not so damnably admirable in its strength.

We shall cut our way north for two days more toward the sound of rushing water and the relief we spotted there what feels like ages ago.

Again I probably should have made this one trek. It was not cheap to get those butterflies at all. With the waterfall ahead it's not a big deal but, this is an example of where you can burn time, resources and sanity for relatively small gains.

Journal Entry: Grand Jungle, Day 26, June 27th, 1863.


Even I must admit to a profound sense of relief from the oppressive jungle air beneath the waterfall. It has been nearly a month without a proper rest for the expedition and I have no compunction about spending some time to do so now. I look forward to a period of uninterrupted convalescence beneath the fall's tumbling spray.

Journal Entry: Grand Jungle, Day 26, June 27th, 1863.


So much for uninterrupted rest. I do not know if these were actual spirits or merely natives attempting to have a laugh at our expense. Although I do confess I'm at a loss to explain their queerly glowing blue eyes or how they managed to drift several inches above the ground while they moved. In my heart of hearts though I knew: this time is for the living. I told them loudly that we'd see their cave and its monsters if I had the time to do so, for I was exceptionally busy with the business of becoming immortally famous. The 'spirits' floated there for a time looking at me, silent. I do not remember them leaving, except that suddenly I was staring at the empty night like an imbecile. I'm now for bed again, though the others talk excitedly among themselves.

Journal Entry: Grand Jungle, Day 31, July 1st, 1863.


I've surveyed the potential route to the 'spirits' den of unnatural monsters while we've rested these last several days, and determined it is not worth my time to travel there. Since we've arrived at the waterfall my compass has been guiding us ever eastward. And unless I miss my guess, I will find the Golden Pyramid somewhere beyond the hills whereon the shrine sits. To detour so widely to the south now would jeopardize the expedition's mission and I simply cannot abide that. The 'spirits' will need to find other recourse to their problems, perhaps their own people.


 
Instead we will circle around the mountains here to the north, bypassing the jungle around us and reaching the shrine by mostly open ground. It will be a long trip to ultimately go so short a distance. But sometimes the greatest explorations happen in steps, not bounds.

Journal Entry: Grand Jungle, Day 37, July 7th, 1863.


We have reached the foot of the hills where the shrine rests. Already beyond the hills I can see a great swamp spread out before me to the east. But I think a better vantage on the landscape could be had from atop the hills. The members of my expedition all groaned, some inwardly, some loudly, when I informed them of my decision. But the pain and effort shall surely be worth it.

Qeboseriz says there's a tiger in our vicinity but I am unconcerned with its presence at the moment.

Journal Entry: Grand Jungle, Day 38, July 3rd, 1863.


My calves made short work of the hills. And as I thought the view from the top is simply spectacular, and revealed the land to us for miles in every direction in all its splendor. There are two sites to the east of us that interest me. First in the large swamp directly on the other side of these hills, and then whatever it is that distorts the landscape of the vast jungle to the south east of us.

But first, we must examine this shrine we've been observing for weeks now.

Journal Entry: Grand Jungle, Day 38, July 3rd, 1863.
It is with some trepidation that the expedition approached the shrine, based on our last experiences. However I was not going to let some bad luck cast a pall of superstition over us all, and so I boldly made my way forward. Time, it seems, would put truth to my boldness.



It is a curious habit of the deeply religious to put their holiest of retreats in the most inaccessible places. As an explorer I'm prepared for these turns of events, and we had plenty of rope on hand to facilitate our ascent of the shrine tower.


The top of the tower was comprised wholly of the shrine's central chamber, familiar in so many little ways to others I've visited. Upon an altar we found treasure, legitimate treasure this time, not simply golden vegetables. A golden statue of a hunch-shouldered being inlaid with several gems and a roughly hammered golden jackal stared back at me with the promise of fame and fortune in their jeweled eyes. Qeboseriz had broken her silence to once again criticize my decisions but I simply ignored her; she could make her own decisions about what she could live with. I took both artifacts and stowed them safely in my pack.



Although I would have to sacrifice our unused dynamite to do so.



This time I was prepared for trouble as the shrine began to collapse in on itself. We fled quickly and descended to the hill below, gathering our gear and preparing to move rapidly and far.

But the calamity expected never materialized. Oh certainly, the shrine collapsed into a hole in the ground, all trace of it wiped out. I'm sure it was due to its lack of structural integrity and the shifting weight our expedition placed on it. But that affair was over within hours and we were left thoroughly enriched and none the more disturbed. Curses, indeed.

This is one of several instances this game where events like that failed to trigger correctly. I've seen them work in other games before and clearly they worked earlier in this game. I don't think it's a consequence of gameplay in any way, I think it's just a bug, that's totally in my favor. RFB ain't nutin' to fuck with.

As I look over the state of the expedition after our experience in the shrine, I see that we are again in ragged shape. My excellent calves may have spared me much of the pain of mounting this hill but the others have not been so fortunate. I've decided then that we shall return to the waterfall again to rest, before pushing east toward the swamp and jungle seen from the top of the hill.

Neglected to screen cap this move.

Journal Entry: Grand Jungle, Day 44, July 9th, 1863.


Our journey back to the falls has been brought to an abrupt halt by the arrival of the tiger that has been stalking this region since we first laid eyes on it. Its slowed, measured pace toward our position shows the confidence of a ruler, a king. I bear the beast no ill will. But if it wishes to challenge Richard Francis Burton for dominance, Richard Francis Burton will answer.

Journal Entry: Grand Jungle, Day 45, July 10th, 1863.


We've reached the base of the waterfall, and as we've closed with the tiger its posture has gotten more and more aggressive. It stares at us even now across the waters, head low and mouth agape. I will not cower from this beast but meet it in battle as it clearly desires!

I had a couple ulterior motives. For one, animals drop animal-based loot like skins, and more importantly, sanity-restoring meat for the cook. Secondly, I wanted the sanity from combat to reduce our resting time, as combat takes no time to complete. I got lucky with this fight though. A single tiger is bad enough. Two+ tigers is oh shit territory.

Journal Entry: Grand Jungle, Day 45, July 10th, 1863.
*blood spatters stain the pages of the journal.* Once again, man stands triumphant over nature.



The beast was huge, easily enough to overwhelm the average man or woman, its eyes cunning and intelligent. I knew we toyed with it at our own peril, and ordered Qeboseriz to hand me a spear.

The combat screen. Each member of your expedition contributes dice to the pool, then you roll the pool to see what you get. You can add additional attack dice with gear as I've done here with the spear. Combat is turn-based. After the player goes, the enemy rolls their dice and applies their attacks.



Our strategy, supported by my tactical brilliance, was sound and we spread ourselves out to attack the tiger.

The results of the first roll. Ammo and spears and weapons always come up with a usable die face, unlike character dice which can have blank faces.



We began from a position of defense using the spear's length to keep the tiger at bay. I plunged the spear head deep into the meat of its breast. It roared as its blood colored the waters red.

All combat happens via the dice. A single "sword" die is a single point of damage. As you combine in other dice the effect is additive to a point, and some combinations are especially effective. Like Spear Defense, which for just two dice gives you 4 damage and 3 defense. This is partly why the spear is superior to bullets, which are just an additional damage die in most cases. Maybe they do more damage when combined with an actual gun weapon.



I executed a brilliant riposte to further guard our tender bodies from the tiger's slashing claws.

Defense as far as I understand it nullifies damage from attack and is consumed in the process. I think it works as a pool of total damage absorption, rather than say absorbing up to X damage from a single attack. It will absorb damage from a number of attacks up to the defense value.



On the heels of that attack, we struck out at the beast yet again, its flanks now coated in its own blood. Leftenant Waller laughed with excitement as he had not seen combat of any kind in more than a year.



I sensed my companions were still holding back, and exhorted them to withhold nothing, for this beast, faced with its own death, would not hesitate.

You're allowed three total rolls for each round of combat. The first roll gives you your initial dice. You can then reroll as many dice as you want two more times. You can hold some dice by putting them in the "active" section of the window where you normally queue up your attack dice. In this way you can save or reroll all or part of your dice pool, hoping for the combinations that yield the best attacks. In this case I was able to squeeze out another point of damage. It also makes the point why balanced parties are stronger than less diverse parties. Attack dice are great and all, but you can get more damage and defense with fewer dice using varied combos. In fact, with just straight "red dice" characters, the only way your dice can be used is to deal a single point of damage for each red attack dice you roll.



But despite our best efforts the beast was no where near ready to die and savagely counterattacked.

Screen capping the enemy turn can be difficult as the dice disappear almost as soon as they're used to attack. The Curious Expedition does not have full Steam integration so the F12 screen cap button does not work, which is why it's taken me an average of 45 minutes per expedition to finish, because I have to manually copy/paste each screenshot.

Ahem. Anyways. Enemies roll dice and have combos just like you do. The difference is a) their single dice faces are tied to higher damage attacks than your's b) they usually have no blank faces and c) each single beast tougher than a hyena usually brings multiple dice to the party. Some enemies even bring extra guaranteed damage dice to the fight like players do. Remember when I said burst damage is really important? This is why. Slugging it out with an enemy is not a winning proposition over the long-term.

[nenjin]

The beast had correctly identified me as the greatest threat to its survival and set upon me with its fangs. Our defensive positioning warded off the first of its attacks but it was relentless, and its second struck deep, rending the flesh of my shoulder and sending blood running freely down my chest and arm. The pain was indescribable but rather than weakening me it drove me to assault the beast even more vigorously. The ferocity of the attack had however momentarily disrupted our well disciplined ranks and we were too flat footed to make a strong response.

Bleeding makes you lose a little HP per combat round.



I lashed out at the tiger with my boot, more out of rage than out of any deeper tactical thinking.

Kick is one of the basic combos that again tries to make the point that supported dice of almost any kind are away more effective than unsupported attack dice.



By now the beast was a mass of bleeding wounds and torn flesh, and I sensed in its eyes the recognition of its end coming, and its desire to cause as much harm as possible before it arrived. I shouted at my companions to reorganize themselves for another attack.

A re-roll gets me an additional attack dice but it's not enough to finish the tiger this round, leaving me defenseless against its counter attack. I was hoping to get the dice together for another kick.



In one last bestial flurry of claws and fangs the tiger attacked me again. Leftenant Waller, to his credit, attempted to block the beast's attack on me and earned bleeding lacerations for his effort. The beast then leapt past him and sank its fangs deep into my chest on the opposite side of the first wound. A lesser man would have already been calling for the priest due to such injuries, but I am not a lesser man.

Wounded, spent and beaten, the tiger fell to one more round of thrusts from our sabers, and moved no more.



Despite the ghastly state of my injuries, I saw smiles as I looked at the faces of my companions over the steaming corpse of the tiger. Even Qeboseriz. With my wounds still leaking my life blood into the waters around my feet, I ordered my companions to immediately begin skinning and gutting the tiger before the meat began to spoil.



I quickly surmised we couldn't make much use of the tiger's remains and this displeased me because I would have liked its pelt as a trophy. But I ordered Ms. Couillard to take its meat. I wanted to see how her culinary skills fared in the field. The results were...disappointing to say the least.

I missed the tiger looting screen here. Animals will typically always drop their skin, some meat and a few claws. All three trade very well to natives. Meat disappears from your inventory as soon as the expedition ends, so it's always better to cook it or trade it asap. Skins and claws are worth fame and money back in London, although the stacks need to be pretty large for them to have much value either way.

As you can see, it's possible to carry more items than you actually have slots for (assuming they aren't the ones that don't take up slots.). But it's a really bad idea to get overburdended. The penalties to movement in time and sanity make it prohibitive to do so. However it's ok to overload your inventory between events and clear up inventory space before you move, as I'm doing here with the tiger meat. I cook it, then eat it immediately and my inventory is hunky dory again. Actions like these take no time. Unfortunately I'll not always remember this inventory logic during this playthrough. For example, if I'd known what was going to happen next, I'd have happily overburdened myself.



The meat had the taste of the bottom of the campfire, much of the flesh no more than black paper crunching in our teeth. I tried to think of something complimentary to say but my face gave lie to it. I've never been very good at lying. Yet despite the meat having all the flavor of a burning house, somewhere under all that char was a whisper of a ghost of that essence which fuels all life, and it sustained us.



With the sun setting, glittering off the water like molten gold, we made camp at the falls and turned to the treatment of my wounds which were more extensive than I'd realized, engulfed as I was by the heat of combat.

As I said earlier I think it's ok to ignore injuries when the character has most of their HP, the odds are pretty good. But not when they're missing >50%.





The application of wholesome, modern medical techniques already has me feeling like I'm swiftly traveling down the road to recovery. We've observed Leftenant Waller's wounds and believe them to be superficial enough not to consume more of our precious medical supplies.

Journal Entry: Grand Jungle, Day 45, July 10th, 1863.
Several natives wandered into our camp as the moon had just started to rise.



My wounded state prompted me to an initial position of cautiousness as I began communicating with them, as banditry can occur anywhere in the world, in any culture. But when I observed their jaguar pelts I was reminded of them as a symbol of royalty or nobility to many cultures. So informed I decided to invite them to join us.



We talked into the night. They were especially impressed by my retelling of the encounter with the tiger and my wounds as proof of the tale.



We attempted to engage in a little trade but they had nothing I desire. Just some mangos, spears and curious whistles they said would lull animals and beasts to sleep.

Had I chosen to overburden myself, since I hadn't moved the expedition since the tiger fight, I would have happily traded some teeth and pelts for some more spears.



As is my habit I asked them if they wanted to join my expedition. Two of them enthusiastically endorsed the third of their group, who accepted somewhat beleagueredly.

With that we bid them goodnight and they departed, leaving their companion behind. I go to turn in. We will rest here for a few days as I heal. I will begin to plan the next leg of the trek. I stare now at the compass, ever pointing to the mystic east, and wonder what lies just over the horizon.

Journal Entry: Grand Jungle, Day 46, July 11th, 1863.


We've gotten to know the newest member of my grand expedition a little better. He goes by Bikaze, and he tells us he used to tend the sheep and goats in his village before he was given to the two men he was traveling with so he could 'learn to be a warrior.' I believe I've done the two traveling natives a favor by taking him off their hands, as his downtrodden and quiet disposition doesn't fill me with confidence as to his abilities. Never the less, we've taken him now and it falls to me to make sure he doesn't slow us down.

Animal handlers are nice if you actually have an animal. They further increase their storage capacity. However on their own, they're pretty weak support characters, with low HP and low storage capacity. All in all Bikaze brings little to the table.



Journal Entry: Grand Jungle, Day 50, July 15th, 1863.
It comes as no surprise to me that we have been in these lands nearly two months, for traversing the untamed wilds is no small task. I feel little of the urgency that drove me in the last expedition, for we have covered much ground in little time. Yet the weeks spent in this small valley between the waterfall and the hillside pit that used to be the shrine have begun to chaff, and I'm ready to move on. My injuries have healed enough for me to travel again, and I should be at full strength in no time.



I've decided we shall use the same route to the west and north of these mountains to break into the eastern-most region, again avoiding the morass of the jungle to our south. We must needs enter it soon, but not today. The swamps to the east will already be trial enough as it is. Hopefully they remain clear of malaria.

Journal Entry: Grand Jungle, Day 59, July 24th, 1863.
We've arrived at a quiet stretch of land filled with the titanic bones of what can only be elephants. While there is little chance of any archeological relics being here, ivory brings top prices in London, and is therefore worth investigating.



PS. Ms. Couillard also managed to "catch" a butterfly a few days ago, when it landed on her shoulder and she screamed and swatted it so hard she killed it. It will look alright, I suppose, pressed under glass.

PPS. Qeboseriz and Leftenant grown angry, sullen and pale over last few days. Must keep close eye on whiskey stores.



Journal Entry: Grand Jungle, Day 59, July 24th, 1863.
Instructed others to begin searching the area.





Certain Bikaze is only trying to impress Qeboseriz by saying such things.



Ivory found! A single tusk begins to pay handsomely for the cost of these expeditions.

Journal Entry: Grand Jungle, Day 59, July 24th, 1863.



I take stock as the others rest before the next leg of our trek. Our packs are laden with treasure, and my rivals crawl, slug-like I believe, toward their own goals. There is but one point of interest for miles around, nestled deep in the heart of the southern jungle, and my compass arrow aligns with it unerringly. Reaching it will take many days yet is easily within our capabilities. Victory I feel is quite near. This land has other secrets, other treasures that I could yet lead us to. Or even the cave the so-called 'spirits' told us of. But to do that would put in jeopardy what I think has been my most successful expedition yet. No, should I find the Golden Pyramid within the southern jungle, I think I should claim victory then and there and show my rivals how swiftly and successfully Richard Francis Burton achieves his goals.

Fact is, treking south through that jungle ain't happenin, nor is backtracking the way we came and getting at it by a less jungley route.

Journal Entry: Grand Jungle, Day 59, July 24th, 1863.
I've done it! Just as I predicted! There through the trees thicker than a man is tall, past the creepers hundreds of feet long, I see the glint of gold through the murk! Once again Richard Francis Burton has shown the world how you push back the veil of ignorance and put lines on the map!



Journal Entry: Grand Jungle, Day 59, July 24th, 1863.


For the briefest of moments I experience the sadness that accompanies the end of so grand a task. But just now, I'm suffused with the satisfaction of knowing total victory, and the rewards I will reap upon returning to London.



We lost track of Bikaze shortly after discovering the Golden Pyramid. I assume he wandered back into the jungle, possibly to return to his village. It is of no matter, for we will soon be turning for home, and the glorious reception that awaits me.

As mentioned, native characters recruited during the expedition map don't (maybe there's exceptions?) stay with your expedition after the end. S'ok, Bikaze was a bum.



In retrospect I probably could have made it to the cave the ghosts mentioned, and at least one other site, and still gotten first. But doing so would have cut into my pretty meager supplies, forced me to throw away stuff and might have cost me first place, or other kinds of grief. I was standing pretty strong by this point, and this was by far a safer call.



I got lucky on this map in that most sites fell on a lateral line with each other. Made for quick 'splorin. That and the shrine event bugging out.

Journal Entry: London, September 29th, 1863.


Hand sore from all the shaking. Many drinks raised in my name. Awarded Medal of Precipitous Breathing. Leftenant practically sweating whiskey. Couillard's face red as an apple. Qeboseriz absent from reception.

Think I've pretty much got sanity recovery covered by perks now. I passed up explosives proficiency and increased sight range I believe.

Journal Entry: London, October 20th, 1863.
I've heard that Ada Lovelace brought back some fascinating sculpture work from her expedition that has everyone talking about her almost as much as me. The wretch. Let her enjoy proximity to the sun for the moment, it is of course just an illusion I allow her to have.



Instead I've turned my attentions to my funds. The Golden Jackal fetched a splendid price from a well-to-do Dorchester man.

>< Game's windows are kind of irritating for screen shots. It brought 40.



The stone idol I kept, to give to the corpulent merchant when next I saw him.

The Golden Statue brought less than I expected given its grandeur. It went to a collector from the Colonies New World.

Pic missing, it brings 40 funds I believe. I like to think funds is some larger scale than just pounds. Like, a single torch isn't just a single torch but a bundle of torches per.

To the British Museum I gave more of my growing butterfly specimen collection, which I am told is becoming the talk of London's lepidopterologist community.



The tusk, to my delight, sold for more than anything to a businessman in the silverware industry.



It is with no small amount of pride that I declare this my most successful expedition yet, with even grander victories assuredly yet to come!

Journal Entry: London, November 1st, 1863.
Just ran into a friend from the East India Company days. Says he's read about my expeditions in the newspapers and he has a lead on a quality spot for my next, somewhere in the Philippines. Jungle of course. Says the crew of his ship called it "The Old Jungle." Due to meet him at an eatery in three quarters of an hour.

Continued in Part III: By The Fires of Mount Pepuqasioko.

[nenjin]

I have to take up an entire post to say this: the real life Richard Burton was a serious bad ass. His wikipedia page is worth a read.

-Was pro-native and anti-colonialism in the 19th century.
-Wrote "The Book of Swords" which is nothing but a history about swords and other weapons.
-Published the first western translation of The Kamasutra.
-Made a pilgrimage to Mecca in disguise.
-Liked to dress in disguise to fool fellow officers and soldiers into treating him like one of the locals.
-Actually did speak almost 30 languages.
-His list of professions is long and varied, from soldier to spy to explorer.

It's possible I'm not doing this man's badassery enough justice in my playthrough.

[nenjin]

London, December 22nd, 1863.



To my Afghani Tulip Isabel,

Greetings my dear. I hope you find the sun and and heat of Salamanca to be as suffusing and restorative as I do. Do make my regards to Don Diego Montalban as well, assuming your Hydrocephalic Eclampsia allows for it.

I confess no yuletide feelings as Christmas approaches. This prolonged cessation of adventure sits most ill with me, like a sickness that I damn well know the cure for. There are sleigh bells but all I can hear is the clink and clatter of pack harnesses. There are carols, but all I hear are the unusual chants and songs of the lost tribes of the world. Chestnuts roast on the fire here, but all I smell is the blackened, sizzling remains of Ms. Couillard's latest attempt at what she calls food. In short, I am a man in misery.

The captains of every ship give the same excuses.

"On Christmas? Have you no family of your own to keep your feet in Britain?"

"The ice alone makes the trip impossible, forget the 20 foot high walls of water and wind that can snap a mast like a toothpick."

"Do you have a deathwish?"

None of them truly understand Isabel, none of them. For me to sit here rotting in England for months is like asking a thoroughbred to stop in the middle of the greatest race of its life and get fat eating grain!

It is some comfort to me, knowing that my rivals are similarly restricted and still growing chill in my shadow. Selous and Crowley might as well just stop now and save themselves the expense, bloodshed and, frankly, embarrassment. Bird and Lovelace though, particularly Lovelace, they could still threaten my ascendancy.

In truth now that Richard Francis Burton is on the path there could be no rivals, no statue and I would still be roaming my estates like a caged tiger, angry at not being freed.

To this end I will search out any brave enough to sail at a moment's notice, and rot the ice and sea and the wind. The cost will be damnably high I'm sure, but any price will be worth it to get me out of this dreary, frigid land where the mysteries of old have all long since been devoured.

I do not wish to put you out with my ragings though Isabel, they are but a thing of the moment. And they will be remedied, as soon as I can find a captain with the will to grasp victory with me.

Your luminous husband,
Richard Francis Burton

Expedition III: By The Fires of Mount Pepuqasioko

London, December 28th, 1863.
Victory is mine, for I have secured a vessel to take us to the Philippines!



Every dingy pub, every fish-smelling eatery, every salt-soaked flop house in London, I visited them all and finally convinced Captain Bigglestone of the Grace Marie to make sail just after the new year. I've laid eyes on our transport, and there's nothing graceful or feminine about her. I will be lucky to even make it to the Philippines, what with her cracking hull, sodden yard arms and captain who smells like he has whiskey for blood.

But I am committed now, for even the chance to escape Britain and seize the march on my rivals must be acted upon!

London, December 31st, 1863.
Located Leftenant Wallers and Ms. Couillard. Qeboseriz still missing, checked all her usual haunts.

London, January 2nd, 1864.
A new day and a new year dawn with the promise of glory for Richard Francis Burton. Though the snow outside is thick and the wind biting, inside my spirit burns hotter than the scorching sun on the sands of Arabia.

London, January 2nd, 1864.
Ensconced in cabin now. Hands still quite chilled. Busy morning at the harbor.

Corpulent merchant found me quickly at harbor.



Surrendered idol. His glee left me feeling soiled.



His funds however did not.



Cannot turn down cause to help Her Majesty's army. Not from a colonel. Desertion an act of cowardice and dishonor. Konrad capture and expedition must be compatible.



I see and acknowledge you, Heart of Darkness reference.

Surrounded again on my way to quartermaster for outfitting. Two men, one quite large and one with a dog, and a woman.



The woman introduced herself as Banafsheh Shah in flawless Farsi. She eloquently spoke, despite the sleet pelting her face, about her abilities to work with natives tribes of the places I'd visit. I asked her if she could tell me what the quickest way to make a Hutu angry was. Her answer displayed her obvious ignorance. Though she may be a skilled translator, her skills were of little use when stood next to my advanced linguistics and formidable experience.

Blue character with the same ability as RFB. Shit carrying capacity and weak HP. Not what this expedition needs.

I'd barely finished dismissing Ms. Shah when an over eager man in a long coat, trailed by a yapping Scottish Terrier, pushed passed her and began babbling at me as though he were drowning and words were air. From what I could piece together, his name was Tim Timster, his dog was Louis, and he was a Journalist writing for some rag of little import. He wished to travel with my expedition to document it for posterity. I confess, the idea of amplifying the reach of my exploits appealed to me greatly. But I found the man and his dog singularly obnoxious and questioned whether I could spend half a a year in their company.



Journalists can be pretty useful, actually. They increase your fame gain at the end of your expedition by a %, that goes up with their level. They've got 2 carrying capacity and 6 HP. The reporter also comes with a second character attached (not pictured), the dog, which was zero carrying capacity, a pair of damage dice AND support dice, soso HP and no abilities. The make a decent combo if you can fit them both in.

The portly fellow, unlike the other two, kept a respectful distance. He introduced himself as James Sterling, and claimed to be a diplomat. It's my belief he's as much of a diplomat as I am a Tajik Princess. Also unlike the other two, he couldn't clearly articulate a set of skills to offer my expedition. Under most normal circumstances I'd have dismissed him immediately, maybe even violently. But there was something about the fellow, a certain cunning that belied surface appearances. I got the sense of a man who knew how to operate smoothly in different environs, and he carried his saber as though he knew how to use it.



In case you're wondering, yes, this character is based on Jim Sterling. For that reason, in terms of TCE's characters, he's kind of special. He's a red combat character with 2 carry weight and the barter ability. Barter usually only shows up on traders who are rather flimsy blue characters. This makes him pretty handy for parties that plan to fight, as they don't have to sacrifice combat dice and HP for the ability to trade. Barter is, essentially, free trading value that you can add to any transaction, and it improves as the character levels up.

Mr. Sterling was, by any estimation, a gamble but one that I felt might pay off. Mr. Timster seemed quite disappointed in my decision. Near to tears in fact. But I was happy to be rid of him and his dog. After sending Mr. Sterling on to the ship I met with the quartermaster.



Mr. Sterling gets his own custom lines too.



As I stood examining the quartermaster's stock, I reasoned that each expedition of mine must needs be of greater scope than the ones before. Simple trots around the unknown countryside for a month or so would no longer suffice. I decided to stock up on rations, necessary for keeping an expedition moving on through the long weeks and months. Beans sealed in cans will keep a body going, although just barely.

Since sanity is an amalgam of hunger, thirst, happiness and all that jazz, food cans represent the bottom of the barrel of sustenance. They're cheap, but you can only use them when sanity is below 30 I believe. Food cans are just enough to keep your expedition moving forward and can get you through lean times. They're also not too terrible as trade fodder.



After a half hour of consideration I settled the ledger with the quartermaster. I'd elected to stock up on machetes and bullets in addition to food rations. After my experiences with the tiger months earlier I felt more firepower was warranted. The quartermaster had, rather conspiratorially, offered to sell me talisman which he said would lead me to treasure. I looked incredulously at him, a man of London, peddling trinkets like a street vendor in Cairo, and left without a word. Once again I am reminded of the price of fame. It is an invisible stench that will always bring the buzzards circling.

The treasure pendulum will bounce around and shake when you're near treasure. I suppose it's a way to locate buried treasure without a map, but it tends to bounce and jitter around near sites that have treasure too. So it's just generally bouncing all over the place all the time. There is another variety of pendant for shrines as well, which sort of seems useless. By the time you'er close enough to an unexplored site for it to start jiggling, you're pretty much already committed to revealing it anyways. Incidentally, does TT stand for Tim Timster? /shrug

At this point I'm sitting on $169 funds which is a lot, but for inventory reasons (and just inherent frugality of being a gamer) I didn't, like, buy out a stack of torches. As this is Expedition III, I'm approaching the point where I need to start thinking about fame over money. But not quite yet.

As I returned to the ship to harangue Captain Bigglestone into setting sail, I saw Qeboseriz at the Grace Marie's railing, her effects in hand. She had made her choice then, though I saw the same hostility in her eyes. The bloodshot red stare of the habitual drunkard though, that was new. We said nothing as I boarded, for nothing needed to be said.

Captain Bigglestone likewise appeared to still be half in his cups from the new year as well when I found him in the wheelhouse. Thankfully his first mate seems to be made of sterner and more principled stuff, and shouted the crew to their final preparations. Even now I feel the ship moving, hear the smaller chunks of ice rake the hull. May God keep me, and by extension the rest of the ship, safe on this journey.

Journal Entry: Old Jungle, April 6th, 1864.


It was a rough voyage to the East, for the Grace Marie and the crew alike. The ship has sustained not insignificant damage during the trip, but we have made reached our destination none the less. I can see the land of the Old Jungle spread out before me and my heart rises like the swells of the ocean at it.

Journal Entry: Old Jungle, Day 1, April 6th, 1864.
Crew and expedition members alike are disembarking our supplies with admirable speed. Captain Bigglestone might be a wastrel but his first mate, a Mr. Hobbs, may one day make something of himself. I've instructed him to set to repairing the ship, as we will need it to carry us home once I've achieved total victory here. Mr. Sterling, on first sight of new land, expressed a cautious focus that I find most commendable.



My first glimpse of this land has shown me no intriguing sites to guide our route by yet.



So I believe we must strike out northwards for several days, and one hopes this land will reveal her treasures forthwith.



PS: Leftenant and Qeboseriz already in foul moods, arguing with the porters and wasting time. I believe I just heard the Leftenant refer to Mr. Sterling as "that fat ass." There's nothing for their insouciance at the moment, I'm not about to break out the tumblers and pour the whiskey while we're still standing on the beach!

Journal Entry: Old Jungle, Day 8 April 13th, 1864.
Dash it all, the land teems with life and yet is and empty enough to swallow an army whole without trace.



All I have seen of note nearby are these curious circular arrangement of sticks. Previous experience inevitably tells me these are territory markers, common among primitive peoples to stake their land claims. Yet I see no other signs of villages nearby. It is possible these markers belong to a people long since vanished. Yet their condition and quality beggar that belief.

My schitck is genuine. I did not know if there was a village nearby at the time, despite the site indicator (which I routinely fail to remember to look at) tells me there.



Qeboseriz says she's spotted something sitting atop the hills to the west of us, many days distant, and still another site far to the northwest atop the mountains. While I am heartened that the expedition now has goals to aim for, I cannot shake the feeling other sites, perhaps a hidden village, remain cloaked in the humid and verdant eastern reaches reaches.



Thus, I am proposing we push farther north to the edge of a large swamp we've sited. From this point we may see more of the countryside that is obscured by these cyclopean mountains.

Journal Entry: Old Jungle, Day 13, April 18th, 1864.
My inscrutable instincts have once again served me well, although I will confess some disappointment at the results.



Our trek revealed jungle stretching far away to our north, with perhaps a small site a few days east of us in a small copse of trees. Far to our west Qeboseriz spotted yet another mountain-top oddity, tantalizingly close yet so far away.

The bickering and general unplesantness of Qeboseriz and the Leftenant continues unabated. "It is too hot." "There are too many mosquitoes." "Ms. Couillard is trying to poison us." "Mr. Sterling smells like a beached porpoise." It is almost enough to make a man of action leave behind two more unmarked, grassy mounds in this forgotten land. For their parts, Ms. Couillard and Mr. Sterling look on with an attitude of equal parts chagrin and disgust. For myself, I am above their petty complaints and tantrums so long as they do not jeopardize the success of this expedition.



Expedition members being angry has no real effect until an event occurs.

My peerless gift for exploration, and the tiltings of my compass, leads me to believe there is little to gain from the expedition continuing northward. Only endless jungles and impassible mountain peaks draped in jade await us there. And while it is tempting to turn westward where there are more promising sites, much to the east still remains hidden to us, and I suspect it shall be worth my time to investigate. We will walk for several days east, and see what lies in wait for us.

Journal Entry: Old Jungle, Day 16, April 21st, 1864.
Once again we uncovered another of the local's pseudo navigational architecture.



One might be inclined to believe I swiftly and purposefully set about decoding it. Yet the singular look of violence in Qeboseriz's eyes stayed my hand. It was not, as one might believe, out of fear for my safety that I left the stone circle alone. Richard Francis Burton fears nothing. Rather it was an acute sense that aggravating Qeboseriz by tampering with the stones would gain me little and could cost me much, so early in this expedition. I felt confident I could navigate this region without the aid of the local's knowledge and, much to Qeboseriz's evident satisfaction, we left the site without disturbing it.



It was a tactical choice. Revealing the region would show me nothing really, and revealing an isolated spot on the map probably wasn't worth pushing Qeboseriz over the edge. When a character is already angry, doing something to anger them further will generally precipitate an event.

Despite my sagacity in understanding the human spirit, we're no closer to my goals. The jungle is damnably thick in these parts and little is revealed to us as we travel, unless we find ourselves directly atop it. I feel that the expedition stands at a cross roads. To the west, I believe our destiny lies. Yet the east is so seductively unknown to me, its secrets jealously guarded with a coy smile. I cannot, despite the urgency of my mission, fail to answer its call. We will continue our trek to the east and see what lies hidden in the mists.



Journal Entry: Old Jungle, Day 21, April 26th, 1864.


Like a green table cloth a huge grassland is spread out before us, and beyond that the blue of the ocean. There is no shame in admitting I'm relieved to have left the obscuring, sweating jungle behind us. To the southeast there is something, gaily colored, sitting lonesomely upon the plains.

I am not in the habit of reversing myself or ever traveling away from my goals. But with the reality of the north and east before me, my choices are trace my steps back to the west, or see if something may yet hide further south, back toward the ship. The choice is obvious. We shall make south to investigate the site on the plains. If nothing else it will be easier and swifter traveling than what we just came through.

PS: If the Leftenant says he will die without a drink one more time, I shall grant him his wish.

Right about now is when I, the player, realized I had two angry, raging drunks on my hands. It's also when I realized I had spent 21 days effectively going the wrong way. By Expedition III the maps start getting larger and wandering around draining your supplies for no gain starts becoming a real concern.

Journal Entry: Old Jungle, Day 23, April 28th, 1864.
Trader's tent ahead. Has enough colors to make it fit for Carnival.



Journal Entry: Old Jungle, Day 23, April 28th, 1864.


The man is of Bedouin or perhaps desert Persian descent. Accent unclear. Is generously proportioned and obsequiously-minded.



Mr. Sterling surprises by aggressively dealing with peddler. Convinces him to trade several bottles of whiskey for a few bullets. Decision to bring retain his services timely, as usual.



People with haggling are damn useful. At higher levels they essentially can get you free gear from anyone you trade with.



Peddler's smirking countenance irritating. What is he doing out here anyways? Suspect some ulterior motive.

Journal Entry: Old Jungle, Day 23, April 28th, 1864.
We've made camp aways from the merchant and his stinking tent, so I may plan our next move.

I could not conceal the whiskey purchase from Leftenant and Qeboseriz, and decided a pointed show of magnanimity was in order. The complaining and bitterness was simply becoming too much. Hopefully these libations will keep them set for at least a week, or until they dry out again.

Sanity level was also kind of becoming a concern, as I was a long way from nowhere out on the eastern fringe.

I'm quite pleased with Mr. Sterling and hope I can put his talents to greater use in the future. And I'm thankful for Ms. Couillard's ability to keep her mouth shut in general.



The expedition now faces a difficult choice: how to best regain our footing against my rivals. We have taken a sizeable detour and I now feel we must cut directly to the west. Yet to the south, amidst a dense thicket of jungle I spy the tell-tale signs of humanity: chimney smoke. I have put my considerable powers of intellect toward plotting us a route to maximize our efforts and I think I have come upon it just now.



With deft use of our machetes and my radiant navigational abilities, I believe we can reach the distant western hills in three weeks from now, give or take a day. It will be a long journey for an expedition that was traveled nearly a month without rest. But unless I miss my guess, we should be able to spend the night at the nearby village (assuming they are friendly to our persons of course) to refresh ourselves. It should only be a few day's travel to reach the village.

Journal Entry: Old Jungle, Day 28, May 2nd, 1864.
Mr. Sterling, the Leftenant and the others are packing our gear on this fine, bright morning, while one of the village shamans is noisily killing a chicken in what I assume is an attempt to propitiate their gods. I'd rather have had Ms. Couillard dress that chicken for our meal tonight, but the sacrifice was freely given. I imagine the chicken itself would not be.

Our arrival at this village was both eventful and fortuitous.

We were greeted by the villagers aggressively at the entrance to their stockade. Various masks and headdresses gave them the appearance of malign, grotesque animals of the jungle. I quickly assessed their language and assured them we were utterly terrified of their gods and their ability to call down their wrath upon us. This seemed to calm them immensely.



The elusive Corporal Konrad was a well-made white man in his early 20s, dressed in a rather dirty British Naval uniform of blue. While I must salute the man for choosing a most felicitous place to hide his cowardice, I disliked his arrogant youth immediately. Without even unloading our packs to the ground, I informed Corporal Konrad that he was under arrest and would be returning to London with me.



The corporal informed us he'd rather be struck down here, a thousand miles from England, than suffer returning to her in chains to face the gibbet.

I was more than happy to oblige him.



I saw it clear in his eyes, that moment when he realized he'd overestimated the value of a death on his own terms. I had no pity for those who'd tuck tail and run from their obligations and took a spear from our pack.



I boldly ran him down with my spear held before me. His short cavalry saber was of little use to him against the spear's reach and my consummate use of it.



Young Konrad (for in truth he was barely more than a boy) spat curses at us as he held his wounds close, for I had struck him mightly in the side with the spear and injured him grievously. While he snarled through clenched teeth at our cowardice, barely keeping his feet, I motioned to my compatriots to encircle him.

Re-roll to get some more attacks in.



It was Qeboseriz who finally grew tired of Corporal Konrad's demented slurs that she kicked him most viciously in his ribs. Her bare feet, hardened from years of walking the land, broke several of his ribs with an audible crack.



The Leftenant, Mr. Sterling and I used this opportunity to thrust our sabers into him.

That is the most attack damage you can get out of just regular combat dice.



But Corporal Konrad showed that there were minerals in his blood yet. He lay there, a most piteous sight, weeping blood from the many cuts and thrusts of saber and spear, his breath gurgling in this throat. Despite all his suffering, he roused himself and drunkenly kicked out at me, which I easily caught on the shaft of my spear. Then, quicker than I thought a mortally wounded man could move, he lashed out with his saber and caught Mr. Sterling on the shoulder, eliciting a yelp of pain from him.



I'd grown weary with the sight of his last moments and delivered a mercifully potent blow to the side of his head with my foot, before he managed to draw blood from anyone else. The angle of his neck as he fell to the ground assured me he was dead.



As we debated how to prove his death to the Colonel back in London, Qeboseriz suggested we decapitate him and put his head in a bag of salt to keep. I opted for the much more economical solution taking one of his campaign ribbons back with us.



The natives of the village thanked us sincerely, saying that Konrad had simply barged into the village one day unannounced and taken a hut for himself. They said they had prayed to their gods to be delivered from Konrad's sharpened steel and unintelligible shouting, and pointed to our arrival as proof of their prowess in calling the gods.

I don't seek recruits here because my trek is now, unfortunately, full.



While the natives disposed of Corporal Konrad's remains, Mr. Sterling had the prescient idea to capitalize on our current favor with the natives and see if they would trade with us.

Translating for Mr. Sterling, I was once again impressed by his ability to weasel small but meaningful gains out of everyone he met. I myself may be a victim of his skills. He managed to convince the natives to replace the spear I'd killed Konrad with, in honor of our actions and their gods' mercy. They accepted, and this was no small feat because these spears are the work of craftsmen, and vital to the survival of the village.

The natives invited us to spend the night in the village. Dinner was comprised of some lean grilled meat and a sort of vegetable stew. I was relieved to see the meat did not appear to be that Corporal Konrad.



The answer to the woman's question seemed obvious to me: Richard Francis Burton is not a woman, therefore, men are superior to women.

I believe she did not understand my response, for she became visibly upset and began slapping her man around the head and shoulders. He gave me an angry look as the two left the campfire.



Not pictured: I believe that reply cost me standing with them.

I lay awake that night listening to the sounds of the jungle and replaying the day's events in my head, when I noticed a solemn parade of masked figures, shamans likely, marching around a sacred hut adorned with colored fabrics. Inside I knew there was an object of cultural significance to them, and therefore to me. But as I debated the merits of attempting to make off it with it, I realized my expedition needed a real night's rest after a month of travel, and turned over in my blankets. When Richard Francis Burton makes a decision, whatever it is, he sleeps soundly for it.



We woke late, Qeboseriz in a foul mood, cursing us or the natives, I'm not sure which.



I've spent the morning replotting our route. I estimate in just two weeks, we should arrive at the western hills. It will be a lengthy journey of non-discovery but I am confident nonetheless. We are rested, healthy and I think my rivals struggle to make headway. We will make good time. My detour, although seemingly wasteful in the moment, now appears like part of some divine timetable I, Richard Francis Burton, can scarcely fathom. If anything casts a cloud over my élan, it's Qeboseriz's volatility.

Didn't take her long to get angry again. Faster than Leftenant Waller became angry. Not sure why that is.

Journal Entry: Old Jungle, Day 36, May 10th, 1864.
I've debated heading back for the ship to offload supplies. But ultimately I see no reason for it.



PS: Leftenant Waller getting increasingly irritable now as well. Apparently the whiskey they were rationed has all but run out. The Leftenant veritably snapped Mr. Sterling's face off when he  tried to engage the former in conversation. I suspect this is due to the Leftenant's throbbing skull and sweating brow more than any innate dislike he has for Mr. Sterling.

Well that didn't take long either. It's why I'm unwilling to use whiskey simply to keep the addicts happy; you end up needing X whiskey a mission just for that purpose. Better to work on their loyalty via level ups to mitigate the effects of anger.

You can stop the "trek" at any time and plot a new course (but you pay the initial movement penalties again.) Since the medal doesn't use an inventory slot and we have no more or less than we started with, there's no reason to stop at the ship.

Journal Entry: Old Jungle, Day 45, May 19th, 1864.


After weeks of travel we have finally reached the small cluster of hills, rising out of the jungle like the tops of a crown. Perched atop the crown, through the mist, we can barely make out the shape of a shrine.

Our time becomes increasingly short. We have spent far too long in this land considering what we have to show for it. I must needs plan more carefully for the following days. We shall cut through the jungle and seize upon a flock of butterflies we've noticed. Afterward we shall investigate the shrine, then head north across a narrow causeway of land between two lakes.

Though our progress has been slow, I sleep soundly knowing we are on the right path and our fortunes can only improve from here.

Journal Entry: Old Jungle, Day 47, May 21st, 1864.
We've arrived at the base of the hills and the expedition is preparing to ascend toward the shrine.

Have added to my insect collection a most awesome specimen. For such a simple creature I believe it possesses dozens hundreds of ways to kill a man, from the merest touch of its disease-bearing body to surely what are poisonous fangs or pincers too small for man to see but lethal none the less. I shall call this specimen Burton's Deadly Deadly Dragonfly, so the observant and learned can know how many more degrees of deadly it is.



Journal Entry: Old Jungle, Day 54, May 28th, 1864.
*the pages of the journal are stained black with soot and stink of wood smoke.* There has been precious little time to make records in my journal, ever since we climbed the hills to enter that shrine of primitive worship. I write clearly now, not by the light of a campfire, but an inferno of much greater magnitude...

My mind wanders now, even as I think back on it, such is my exhaustion and the sheer immensity of what I've witnessed. I shall endeavor to tell how it happened.

The climb to the hill-side shrine was not unduly difficult.



The strange heat we could feel through the stones of hillside was offputting to my companions, but I focused their attentions on rigging the ropes for an ascent to the shrine's entrance.



Upon the altar inside we discovered a most singular object, a skull wrought from the purest gold. Its features were striking to me, by far the most artistically advanced example of native construction I'd found to date. Its smirking, jovial face carried with it an expression of emotion so clear I felt the need to sketch it as I've done below.





As I secured the grinning skull in my pack, the whole edifice was seized by the most terrific shaking, and a sweating heat seemed to rise instantly through the stones. For his part, Mr. Sterling  retained the presence of mind to make some quip but I had no time for it, and instructed the rest of the expedition to flee the temple quickly.



The others were stunned to silence as we took in our surrounds outside the shrine. To the northwest, new mountains had thrust up from the waters of the great lakes and spewed their volcanic mass into the sky like a geyser pulling straight from hell itself. Just to our north beyond the hills a smaller volcano had also erupted, and with the closer distance we could make out the building-sized pyroclastic chunks it threw into the sky. Qeboseriz stared on as if transfixed and mumbled the words "Pepuqasioko." Though I would only decipher it later, I'd come to know the name to mean "The eater of bastards and thieves" in her local language.

The abrupt shaking of of the hillside broke the the volcano's hold over us and we quickly scrambled down to the jungle below. Ms. Couillard and the Leftenant laughed with relief, believing us to be safe from the volcano's wrath. But I had no such illusions. I ordered them harshly to collect their equipment and get moving.



We ran for days through the jungle to the west, and my memories of that time are hazy like the half-recalled visions of a nightmare. Indeed, to be there oneself would be like plunging into the circles of Dante's hell. The lava flows from the massed volcanoes ran long and fast to the south, setting everything in their path ablaze so that fled ran in an ever-present smoky darkness that choked and blinded the sun and us alike. To our north the jungle was back-lit by a hellish red glow, the trunks of trees standing like planted spears on some demonic battlefield, stark black against the red, as though the war to end all wars was taking place just beyond the tree line. No matter how fast we ran, for how many days, the flames moved faster, devouring jungle from the north like a hungry swarm of crimson beasts. At one point during our flight the flames had encircled us, trees crackling and the sap inside exploding with the sound of a gunshot. Whole limbs 20 feet long, all their branches aflame, collapsing in our path like a web of fire descending on us. We bounded over burning trees that had toppled, clambering over smoldering trunks as our skin burned through our clothes, dodging burning vines as though they were flaming vipers hanging down from the depths of hell itself into our world. The fires stole the very air from our lungs and for a time, I feared we might suffocate before we burned to death. Our faces have been blacked by the constant rain of ash and shoot in the air, as though the world itself weeps slow, drifting black tears. Tears from our own watering eyes cut clean trails through the grime. I've found the time to notice that there were many rivulets on the cheeks of Qeboseriz. I fancy her eyes gleam with madness although I'm sure it is just the play of the firelight.

As you can see in the screenshot, I clearly moved through a patch of burning ground at one point. I don't think anyone took any sort of damage from it. Imagine it only matters if you stop on a tile that is burning? *shrug*

This is not my first encounter with a volcano event so I basically knew what to expect: that northern causeway toward the unexplored site had now become a death trap, you can clearly see since it's bathed in a hellish inferno. Volcanoes triggered like this will continue to erupt at random for the rest of the time you're in the map, so that land is essentially terra periculum now. So the only option was to circle around the volcanic zone to the west and check the site there.

[nenjin]

Not many hours ago we reached the spot I now sit: scorched, exhausted, lungs acheing and eyes stinging. Within minutes of taking our rest, assured we'd finally outran the flames, Qeboseriz launched into the most terrific rage I've ever witnessed of her. She and the others set to arguing venomously with each other, constantly looking to me to join the quarrel, to answer for my part. I would do no such thing though, and after half an hour of their pointless ravings, where even Mr. Sterling was shouting, I roared at all of them to be silent. With gratifying swiftness they became still as the grave, and have done so for a while now.

I reflect as I sit here, watching the light of distant fires that play across this golden skull, that not one of my companions sees the truth clearly; we have survived yet again. We have spat in the face of Poseidon and danced before the flames of Vulcan and still, Richard Francis Burton remains. As do they. This is a moment of victory, not recrimination. I should see the half moon smile of white teeth through blackened faces, not the inverted crescent of a scowl.

Such regrets are a luxury though. These people will do as they are told or they can fend for themselves. I will not let this minor set back taint the spirit of this expedition, and so it is by exemplar I will pull myself to my feet and begin the three day walk to the north. There nestled into the side of the mountain I see a structure that intrigues me and fires my sense of adventure once more. I have no time for bickering, for accusations, for doubt. A man's time in this world is limited, even for one such as me, and I intend to fill my days with glory!

Journal Entry: Old Jungle, Day 57, May 31st, 1864.
We have come upon a large cave mouth in the side of the mountains. The air is still hazy and smells of burnt wood and a light snow of ashes still falls. But we are at least shielded from the blasting waves of heated air from the smoldering jungle to the east.



My companions look a sorry state as they stare into the darkness of the cave mouth. Ms. Couillard's apron and toque blanche are stained an unappetizing shade of grey. Leftenant Waller's uniform is scorched black at the shoulders and Qeboseriz's burnt fur mantle is in danger of revealing her full nudity to the world. I myself must look a fright. Alone of us all, Mr. Sterling's accoutrements seem unblemished, and he only bares a long smear of black across his face. 

The trek from the shine was difficult and full of terrors and their spirits are badly shaken. I shall endeavor to raise them.

Journal Entry: Old Jungle, Day 57, May 31st, 1864.



Hopeful faces turned to grimaces as I removed cans of Her Majesty's Beans from my pack. Surely Qeboseriz and the Leftenant were hoping for a stiff drink but I'm not of a mind to give it to them yet. I myself am not overly fond of these victuals but we are in desperate need of replenishment, and knowing these bland legumes can lend me fuel to my endeavors gives them a sweet flavor all their own.



I encouraged the others to eat more and rebuild their strength for the days ahead, but blank faces and muttered curses were all the response I got.

Alas, Food Cans are not great sanity recovery. They're good in a pinch when you need just enough sanity to make it over that next rise. But unless you plan to stop every 3 days to eat another 10 sanity worth of beans, they sort of have a negligible affect on your sanity total. Consider it costs 5 sanity just to move, no matter the distance.

I've packed the food cans away and ordered Mr. Sterling to make ready torches for our descent into the cave ahead.



You can try to navigate without torches but it requires characters with blue dice. Based on the one time I've tried it, the odds are not in your favor.

Journal Entry: Old Jungle, Day 57, May 31st, 1864.


It was blessedly cool inside the cave. Not far in we discovered the ravaged remains of what I took to be a Dutch expedition. Ms. Couillard, rather disappointingly, expressed an sense of unease despite her now thorough familiarity with such situations. I overrode her concerns and ordered her and the others to begin searching the remains. Our efforts were soon rewarded.





I was fairly disappointed though when they returned with a few torches and machetes. Still, one should never turn their nose up at a free machete. With nothing left to take and no other exits from the cave, I doffed my hat to the bones of the Dutchmen and we exited the cave.

Our present predicament is now this: we've reached the western coast of this land. My rivals are now aggressively on track toward their goals. We've been more than 50 days in this land and have not yet sighted the Golden Pyramid. My expedition is ragged in body and in spirit. Our supplies still hold but for how long I do not know.

As I see it, our only option is to head north across the swamplands near the coast and then plunge as deeply into the jungles there as our machetes allow.



I shall reevaluate our situation before we enter the jungle proper. Despite all that has gone against me of late, I take faith from the needle of my compass which points hopefully northward.

Journal Entry: Old Jungle, Day 65, June 8th, 1864.
*dribbles of a thick, brown substance stain the pages of the journal* It is only now, after traveling northward and looking east across the wide lake, that the full scale of the destruction caused by "Mount Pepuquasioko", as I'm now calling it, has been made clear. Huge tracts of land, thousands of hectares, are scorched black from the searing tides of magma ejected from the volcano. Massive pyroclastic chunks of stone sit idol-like in open fields, no doubt waiting to be found and graven by the peoples of this land and invested with all sorts of power and meaning. It is truly humbling, even for Richard Francis Burton, to stand witness to such devastation. To think my hand may have, however unlikely it is, been attached to this event fills me with no small sense of power.



What that my companions felt their own strength so keenly. They have become a miserable lot, phantoms drifting in the jungle mist of the day. The Leftenant's coat now shares its color with his eyes. Qeboseriz's normally mahogany skin is ashy and waxen and she has been utterly, mercifully silent the last few days. Ms. Couillard has taken to long, misty-eyed stares into the distance, perhaps allowing her mind to reside in a far happier place than she finds herself. Mr. Sterling has been reduced to a series of yes or no grunts in response to all inquiries. I've again given them another dose of the beans, for I feel our objective is near at hand and only a little more striving shall see us to it.



Am I totally being a miser here? Ab-sol-lutely. I could just swill all my whiskey and then my exploration problems are more or less solved. But this is one game where I feel like my inherent tendency as a gamer to hoard the best consumables for later is actually rewarded. And while I was knocking on Food Cans earlier, when you're pretty much out of sanity, you take it where you can get it.

My companions disconsolately masticate their beans while I plan what I hope to be one of the last of our treks through this land. To the east, a week's journey from here, is the site upon the mountains that I hoped to reach from the shrine to the south, before the "event" occurred. We shall use the last of our machetes to cleave a path through the jungle, and it will take the best of what remains in my companions for us to reach it. Somewhere, to the north of us in the nearby jungle, I sense there is something to be found but we shall have to pass it by for now. I dare not pray that it might be the object of my search, for Richard Francis Burton begs of no one.



Journal Entry: Old Jungle, Day 73, June 16th, 1864.
Fortune once again has turned her enchanting smile upon Richard Francis Burton. And why shouldn't she? I am a great admirer of smiles.

Once again, I have been the first to find IT. That most perfect symbol of intrepid spirit, of the unknowable which must be made known, the perfect symmetry of form and function: the Golden Pyramid. We spied its illustrious top through the jungle canopy as we made our way east. My companions were filled with incredulity when I refused to stop though, for they cannot understand how a mind such as mine works.



For those with the long view, to simply rush to the doors of the Pyramid would be unseemly. We've arrived days ahead of my rivals, weeks maybe. There's time to scour the rest of this land, to see what else she hides from us, to further enrich my prospects upon return to London. Though I'm sure my companions would like nothing more than to claim the Pyramid and make for the ship, we are not done here, not by half. And so I pushed us onward toward our original destination.

We have reached the foot of a great waterfall, and as I write this it is not the spray of water I see glistening on my compatriots' faces. We trekked here through the blasted land scoured of any life by the wrath of Mount Pepuquasioko. And there I witnessed a most singular vision. Amid the blackened grass and trees I saw the vivid colors of red and orange floating in front of me. Despite the devastation all around, here was an affirmation of life, proof that life is a circle which follows itself unerringly through its cycles of destruction and rebirth. This vision of life, another exotic butterfly, drifted on the breeze to land on my lapel, where I deftly speared it with a pin and interred it along with its cousin in the display box I'd had custom built for such a purpose.

As for our planned quiescence, I've accounted for the fact it is unwise to make camp in the footprint of the volcano's anger. While it is true the volcano is still unstable, we as an expedition can go no further in our current state. Their bodies are in shambles, their minds clawing at the edge of despair. Our rest here shall fortify them, restore their purpose and their drives. As for me? Richard Francis Burton abides.

Didn't even see the Butterfly when I'd plotted the route, it was hidden by the Fog of....Exploration? I believe the name was something like "Waller's Master Moth" or something.

Yet again I have broken out the tins of beans and now no one can manage to stifle their protests. I care not. They will either eat these beans or they will starve. With victory so close at hand this is no time to begin swilling whiskey and making asses of ourselves. Not on the eve of glory. It is galling to me that we even have to rest here at all, but I do not say this to them, their moods are foul enough already. No, best to put food in their stomachs, whatever its quality, and settle in for the next few days.

Eating before resting is kind of a tactical choice. For one, it serves as a kind of resting that doesn't take time. For two, the instant you "rest" at a waterfall or hotsprings or whatever, the game looks at what your sanity is right at that moment, before any resting actually occurs. It essentially means this: resting forces a "sanity test" before you get the benefits. So raising your sanity before you rest gives you a better chance of avoiding bad events. It's really only a concern when your sanity is >30 from what I've seen. That said....



Not pictured: the screen of the waterfall you rest at. Other than one specific item you can carry in your inventory, you can't just "rest" whenever/where ever you want. It always has to be at a location that allows for resting, like a waterfall or a village.

Journal Entry: Old Jungle, Day 73, June 16th, 1864.
Qeboseriz is no longer with us.



It happened suddenly, as we sat in silence around the campfire. She stared south to Mount Pepuquasioko and its sullen glow, before turning and shattering the silence of the night with her wild curses. She spoke quickly in her native tongue, so fast even I could not parse apart what she was saying. I caught a few tidbits. "Sacrilege" "Lies" "Ass of the goat", and other such things. Not all of it was directed at my person, she saved much invective for the other three as well. We sat in stunned silence as she stamped around the camp, shrieking and shaking her fists, before she marched out of the firelight and into the darkness. We listened to the sound of her curses flung into the night air for many, many minutes afterward.

Nothing has been said since she left, nor do I suppose anything shall be said. For myself, my relief outweighs my disappointment. Qeboseriz has been at my side for many of my travels and it is a shame she will not join me on this bold adventure. But as a man experiences, he changes, elevates, transmogrifies into something greater and if Qeboseriz is unable to make that journey with me, mores the pity. At least her discordant notes will no longer mar my symphony of an expedition.

And there you have it. Even with upping my sanity prior to resting, she just snapped. I assume because anger sapped her loyalty stat so bad that she failed the check. It goes to show that zero sanity isn't always what you need to worry about. Overall low sanity is a problem too. Unlike 0 Sanity events, low sanity events can be controlled for. At least, I've never had the order of gameplay interrupted for low sanity events, like I do with 0 Sanity events.

Anyways I'm surprised she lasted this long. I've played previous RFB games where his native sidekick was like "Fuck this" by the end of Expedition I or mid Expedition II. The double whammy of alcoholism and having her religious taboos regularly violated, I thought, would have made her take off a long time ago. She's served her purpose though. Area knowledge isn't something I often remember to factor in. I'll miss the increased vision range a little but not much. The native side kick is a good character to get you rolling but once your recruiting options open up, there are better characters you can have. So long Qebo, and watch out for tigers.

Journal Entry: Old Jungle, Day 77, June 20th, 1864.
As predicted, spirits have begun to lift after Qeboseriz's departure. Her constant undermining of my authority was only destroying morale further under already difficult circumstances. The likes of Leftenant Waller may be unpleasant when he's sober. But he's manageable unless someone else is getting him riled up. Ms. Couillard seems more talkitive, and Mr. Sterling is certainly less distracted now that the only bosom in the expedition is well and fully covered.



As I write this the ground trembles and there's a sullen roar deep within the earth, like a mythological beast of from a time before man, trapped in an earthly prison below us. My musings are lit by the fires of Mount Pepuquasioko as it erupts again, remaking the land with its fury. I am filled with a vague sense of satisfaction, as though at the end of a day's hard, fruitful work.

Our time in this land grows short, I can feel it within my bones. On the morrow we shall break camp and strike north across the grasslands, toward the dark line of hills and mountains. Though Qeboseriz's keen eyes are no longer with us, mine are still as sharp as a hawk's and I can just make out something of interest. We shall head toward it, and make the most of our time in this land.

Journal Entry: Old Jungle, Day 78, June 21th, 1864.
Qeboseriz has managed to truly wound me with her departure in one way I'm sure she never considered. The expedition now finds itself overburdened, unable to carry her share of the weight. Though it grieves me to do so, I must discard the last of our machetes. They likely will not be needed to reach the Golden Pyramid in good order, but I abhor the waste none the less, for I know I will need them again in the future. Still, needs must.



It also occurred to me that, with Qeboseriz's exodus, a show of loyalty from me was in order. Certainly all of my remaining companions could receive some measure of acknowledgment. But I felt the effort would be better spent on Mr. Sterling, as an example certainly to Leftenant Waller. Mr. Sterling was most grateful, in a slightly sycophantic way that made me feel uneasy, to be given nominal authority above the others. I've no doubt his gift of gab will only come in more useful in the future and he has fewer foibles to battle against than Leftenant Waller, and is ultimately more useful to me than Ms. Couillard. She looked on over the ceremony with a friendly, oblivious smile that to me masks her true opinions. The Leftenant, I'll add, stared hard at Mr. Sterling while giving me none of his ire. This pleases me. A little rivalry between my companions may spur them to excellence.



I promoted him twice rather than promoting him once and one of the other two once. Haggling is pretty powerful especially when leveled up, the most directly useful expedition member skill I've seen. James "Thank God For Me" Sterling also appears to get a set of blue dice added to his repertoire. Nnnniiiiiiccccccceeeeeeee.

With those procedural elements taken care of, I've instructed the others to begin assembling our gear whilst I turn my full attention to plotting the next leg of our trek.

A fairly easy nine day trek through marshlands, then out across the grasslands that should not trouble us unduly. I confess a certain.....disquiet at the thought of this gambit. I know time grows short, but not how short. Great discoveries could yet await me, but this is balanced against the ignominy of a second place finish.



After but a moment's consideration, I know the truth: Richard Francis Burton dares to be great, and so we shall venture forth!

Journal Entry: Old Jungle, Day 87, June 30th, 1864.

We have arrived a top the desolate, lonely hill and found a cave tucked deeply into a canyon. The wind howls across the edges of the stone from the vast plains further to the north. A great sense of emptiness, of waiting fills this place with a disquieting aura.



Before us is another cave, redolent in its promise and its threat. This is no time for squeamishness though, every hour brings my rivals closer to victory. The Leftenant is breaking out the torches now.



Journal Entry: Old Jungle, Day 87, June 30th, 1864.
By god, what a find. What a truly spectacular find. I can scarcely gauge what this will do for my reputation in England and aboard. I must calm myself, focus my thoughts so I may write them. We have little time to waste.



Generations of mummies lay there. Of course. The dry highland air, the isolation and secretive nature of the cave, what better place to inter their mummified dead! I could almost hear the warning tones of Qeboseriz telling me not to disturb them, before realizing it was the Leftenant urging caution with the locals. Caution be damned, I thought at the time. Nothing, but nothing, sends the anthropological and archeological community of the British Empire into a tizzy like a mummy.



Mr. Sterling at least seemed to understand the gravity of what we'd discovered here. As my companions searched through the bodies, which were pressed between two boards and wrapped in some kind of rough fabric to keep their shape, I noticed Ms. Couillard looked about as though she expected them to get up at any moment.



I decided then to take the one wholly intact mummy we located. We had to discard several magazines of ammunition and I, despite my inherent hatred of waste, was more than happy to lose them for such a prize. Casting about I realized Ms. Couillard was perhaps the best person, orthagonally-speaking, to bear the burden of carrying the mummy. She was quite shocked into speechlessness when I instructed her what to do, and so Mr. Sterling and I helped her into the rope harness which would keep it riding about vertically across her back. She asked how she would be able to cook with such a burden and I told her not to worry, we had enough beans to carry us the rest of the way.

She sits now, awkwardly balancing on a rock, while the Leftenant and Mr. Sterling assemble our dwindling supplies, and I turn to the last leg of our trek.



It will be a short but grueling 12 day trek to the foot of the Golden Pyramid. I sense that there is more to these wind-filled canyons besides this primitive sepulcher, but I feel the weight of my rivals pressing down on me with unbearably. We've dallied long enough in this land and the time to seal my victory is now. Hark, they're ready!

At this point in playing I don't have a clear reading of how many days rivals have left, just based on that slider. In hindsight I could have safely explored that other site (it probably would have been a waterfall or hot spring or some shit), but I didn't want to press my luck. I don't even know the meaning of pressing my luck yet, but I will later....

Journal Entry: Old Jungle, Day 99, July 12th, 1864.
I've done it, yet again.



Bathed in the hellish flames of Mount Pepuquasioko's eruptions, the Golden Pyramid is ablaze with red and orange light. A more glorious sight I have never seen in all my days.



Gogo crappy GIMP skills!

I can scarcely believe we have been here 3 months, yet it seems like a life time ago we stepped off the Grace Marie on to the soil of this land. It is a testament to my indomitable greatness that we persevered where many would have been feared lost or dead. Truly, I astound even myself.







The kicker is I had an entire region I didn't explore. Discovering all the sites in half the map regions is a pretty good average, I've found. The maps only get bigger from here.

Journal Entry: London, October 12th, 1864.


Crowds for my presentment even larger than before. Word of my greatness spreading far and wide. Prime Minister most effusive in his praise. Mr. Sterling clearly uncomfortable with all the attention, keeps quietly muttering "Yes yes thank God for me" to himself. Ms. Couillard engaging journalists aggressively. Leftenant stinking drunk, appearing bored with proceedings. Suppose these affairs are now are now drearily familiar to him. Awarded Medal of Sagacious Purchasing Rights, as is my due.

Black Market almost guarantees I'll always be offered the full array of common type items to buy when provisioning the expedition. It's a real bitch to need medical kits and not be able to buy them, or only be able to buy chocolate instead of whiskey, or not be able to refill a stack of chocolate. I passed on explosive expert, which allows you to throw dynamite in combat without hurting yourself, and Waterproof which reduces the movement cost of going over water. Both are useful but neither hold a candle to Black Market.

Journal Entry: London, October 28th, 1864.
I'm most vexed to learn from my butler that Ms. Ada Lovelace received a mention above me in the The London Quarterly Review. Something about her studies into a culture that uses mirrors for long-distance communication, or some such rot.



I admit my mood is deteriorating, thinking on the few items I have to present to the auctioneer or the head curator of the British Museum compared to previous expeditions. That said Richard Francis Burton has not returned home empty-handed. Far from it.

Journal Entry: London, October 29th, 1864.
My perennial offering of exotic insect specimen to the British Museum was met with great adulation. When I discretely inquired as to the state of my other rivals' collections, I was told mine far outstripped their's.



It was then with some sly amusement that I revealed the pièce de résistance of my gatherings. The head curator quite literally fainted at the sight of it when I had it unveiled. Whether from the shock or perhaps the smell of four months decay in moist air, I'm not sure. He recovered several minutes later and shook my hand, vigorously, for what I counted as three and a half minutes, all the while babbling about all the good this find would do HIM. Despite his boorishness, I knew this donation would send my reputation skyrocketing at the British Society of Explorers.

The mummy is, as far as I've seen, the highest fame item you can turn in. Its value at auction isn't bad but I'm not exactly hurting for cash. In terms of getting a real fame lead on my rivals early, this is huge.



The curiously smirking golden skull fetched an exquisite price to a London man who, I'm told, is something of an ass.

Journal Entry: London, November 2nd, 1864.
A special edition of the London Quarterly Review sits in front of me, the "Halloween Edition." On the front page there is a lengthy expose about my "grinning skull" complete with a lavish illustration of it. Fine work by the Quarterly. As I sit here and think on the fortunes of Ms. Ada Lovelace, I feel a smirk not unlike that skull come to my features. It is a good feeling. With a single stroke I have all but eclipsed her and her trifling study of mirrors. While I am not one to rest simply on my laurels, I feel I have crossed some threshold beyond which my eternal fame, etched upon that statue, is all but assured.

Journal Entry: London, November 18th, 1864.
Have already made arrangements with the captain of The Mournival to sail as soon as I can furnish him with a destination. I'll not be caught out again in another unreliable, leaking tub of a ship. Too much rests on my personage now for me to be claimed by something as mundane as a ship wreck.

After all I've been through, all I've seen, one would think a period of rest and relaxation would be in order. Yet every venture I make into the unknown sees me return more invigorated and spirited than whence I left. I feel nigh unstoppable and I shall capitalize on this seemingly supernatural vigor and harness it to my next venture. I've turned my energies in the recent weeks toward scouring the historical accounts of other explorers of note such as I, in search of a site that truly littered with the relics of antiquity. I believe I may have already located one such place in the deep forest jungles of the the Colonies Americas, enticingly named "The Hidden Jungle."

Continued in Part IV: Path Of The Ancients.

[Iituem]

That is one badass Burton.  Love the playthrough, can't wait to read more! 

[birdy51]

This is truly a fantastic LP. You really manage to catch the spirit of the game in your writing, and for that I absolutely commend you. Keep it up! I look forward to your next update!

[nenjin]

I'll be getting to it, soon. Had sinus surgery last week and between the recovery and all the pain killers, I haven't felt in the right mind set to deliver quality.

Or I dunno, maybe that's the perfect mindset for writing this

[birdy51]

Take yer time! Better that you get healthy first!

[Neonivek]

I'll ask all my voodoo doctors to send healing to you.

Err wait... Voodoo is American...

Houdoine? No wait that is semi-American I think?

Whatever wizards heal yous