Expedition Journals #1

These are the expedition logs of Larson J. Pendelton Ross the III esquire, Archduke of Canterbury.
Transcribed into modern day English by Larson Ross, descendent of the Archduke.



He was traveling the arctic in search of the legendary Japanese Pandacorn, whose horn he was going to use to make a potent aphrodisiac, with his trusty team of explorer/servants.  The most notable of the group, besides the archduke himself, was Jeremy, a ten year old lizard boy taken from the Amazon Rainforest.

September 2, 1885:
Spirits are high... Jeremy is higher. The boy got into Stephanie’s opium stash and now he’s running around the ice like an Irishman with his head cut off.

September 4, 1885:
Higgins is dead, he met his end at the tip of an Eskimo spear. Fortunately, the Eskimos, in exchange for a meal of roast Higgins, allowed us to stay in their igloos as long as we like.  I can’t help but feel as though we should get back on the trail of the Pandacorn, but the stripper-gloo is too hard to leave, Jeremy agrees.

September 5, 1885:
Jeremy tried to touch the holy walrus tusk of slightly above-average running ability, the chief was furious and threw him out of the ice temple. In retribution, Jeremy attempted to set fire to the village, a short sighted plan considering that the village is carved from ice.  Nevertheless, the Eskimos were angry and chased us from the village.

September 7, 1885:
It’s been two full days on the run, I haven’t had time to run as we hadn’t lost the Eskimos until early today.  I have to hand it to them, they don’t give up easily, and their seal-mounts are surprisingly fast on the ice.  If they ever find our trail again, I plan to offer up Jeremy as a payment in exchange for the lives of the rest of the group.

September 8, 1885:
The Higgins jerky is running low.  Admittedly, it was not the brightest of ideas to bring a cold-blooded creature to the Arctic in winter, Jeremy spends most of the day sleeping. I’ve made Johnson carry him upon his shoulders because I refuse to leave him behind, as he would make a good meal later, and I wouldn’t feel the painful misery of cannibalism.

September 9, 1885:
It’s colder than a kilt-wearing Scotsman during a Yorkshire winter.


September 10, 1885:
We stumbled upon another hunter of the Pandacorn, the majestic yeti.  It’s beauty and grace astound me, so I was the one to shoot it in the back like a retreating French soldier and skin it  for my tent rug.

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