Hyena's knaw on our chocobones
2:00 pm May 16th
What a conundrum. I was originally writing for posterity—a new, holier, version of Herodotus’ histories. Then I had an audience for a few days, and I felt such a personal connection while composing these things, it was uplifting. Now I know I don’t have that. I’ve given up the most beautiful necklace in the world so that it can be seen by even more people and admired. My favorite quadrupeds the weasels aren’t even around to eat these beans I keep making for them and planting for them. I am really feeling kind of down. Not as bad as Kolya, though. His boat broke! I know how much he loved that boat. I need to do something to cheer him up. I’m not sure what, but I’ll think of something.
In any case—after this big ole fight last time we went to Kut e Kaftar by way of Tus, where we spoke with Ferdowzee who was so eloquent that he was able to describe this place in detail enough that Zombres was able to teleport us there. I used to think that sort of linguistic detail was sheer showoffishness, but now that I see it has some practical use, I respect the poets a bit more than Plato did.
So, we show up in this place, and it’s clearly dilapidated but was once something else. Now it’s fit only for rainbow winged wolves. There’s a big old for over which reads an inscription that reads : The son if elias built thee, another inhabited thee, the world is thus, at one times it comes forward and another it goes back.
So, who is Elias? Who was his kid? Who came after that Kid. I’m guessing Zoroastrian someone or other—because this place used to be theirs and now it’s full of Muslims. This makes me really sad. Look, I know that they might not all be fighting over belief in the same deity, as I used to think, but even these different deities, they probably all want the same thing. I mean—same ends different means? That must be what it all comes down to. If we could get these Zoroastrians and these Muslims together at a bean party, just chatting over justice and full of wholesome food that doesn’t make one a hot headed drunk—and if we kept some of the particulars out—only talked about ends and not about means—I’ll bet they would all get along. Good Golly this world is depressing. It is just a wholly depressing place.
Booyad’s run things here. It’s healthsome here—but very dry—some trees have rags tied to them. Also, some guy named Mahmud was the conquorer, and he’s been tearing things up around here lately, he and his whirlwind sword.
After getting the local political dirt—we found out that some other dude from the East has been looking for the same cave. My suspiciousness eyes turn on at this point. That guy has a big sword, he went into the cave, and he never came back.
So, we make our way to the cave and some guy with some hyena’s told us that we should talk to Arbar or some other old Zoroastrian guy in the fort, which, we go and do. He’s kind of a doddering old fool, and he tells us not to go into the cave—largely at the suggestion of these other people. Meanwhile, there’s a guy praying, and when we leave he leaves. Gwyn stays behind to heal up.
We start to enter the cave when the two gentlemen who greeted us start to attack us—this is after they tell us we’re perfectly welcome to go into the cave. We beat up on them, and we kill to hyenas (I am sorry hyena’s, though you’re no weasels I love you too) and this upsets them. Now—what do they do when they’re upset—offer to be our guide. I don’t understand, but they take us through some room full of gross quantities of gold and a trap that our guide doesn’t tell us about. My suspicious eyeballs are EVEN MORE wary t the point.
