Expedition Journals #5

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

October 9, 1885:
The blizzard has yet to subside, but on the bright side, since we are near the cliffs, and snowing heavily, we can expect to have a field of dead albatross to awake to tomorrow. I love a good snack, and reminders of mortality.

October 10, 1885:
Just as predicted, the ground was littered with large birds. I allow no cook fires, though, since I don’t want to risk us scaring off the pandacorn. Raw bird meat is much harder to eat than suspected, and most of the animal is frozen. Fortunately, Jeremy Two knows how to use every part of the albatros, including the inc sack.

October 11, 1885:
Today I saw the shapes on the horizon again, there are still small snow flurries, so it was not clear what they were. It looks to be a small creature dragging something heavy behind it. Perhaps it’s a adolescent yeti carrying a satchel full of delightful ice objects to decorate its cave. They are so like us, which is why it’s fun to kill them.

October 12, 1885:
Jeremy Two nearly froze last night. It turns out that an Eskimo strumpet isn’t often the best equipped to deal with cold, given their attire. In the tent, this wouldn’t be as much of a problem, but I’ve taken to making her sleep outside. My status as Gentry back home may decrease if others learned that I had been sharing English body heat with those of non-Saxon heritage.

October 13, 1885:
This day was filled with both massive joy and slight annoyance. I shall begin with some context: I wished to gaze upon the semi-frozen waves crash against the cliffs like Napoleon's frogs against Wellington’s lines. An ultimately useless endeavor. So, I brought our party to the cliffside and continued on the journey. Suddenly, from out of the Wales-strength fog, a small form crashed into me from the side. Luckily, Jeremy Two was there to prevent me from falling to my moist demise. Unluckily, Death demanded a life that day, and so she was the one to fall. Anyone who claims that Death had a helping hand in my angry push motivated by the disgust of touching filthy heathen fur is both a liar and a fiend. Her flailing, blasphemous body may haunt my dreams yet. However, I shall be calmed by the fact that she will forever be imprisoned in the deepest pit of hell for being both a heathen and a woman, where she can never reach my divine spirit.


After the shock of watching Jeremy Two fall to her death, I looked upon the strange apparition that had caused the untimely, yet hilarious, stumble. Huzzah! It was none other than the scaly head of my lost companion, Jeremy! Not that eskimo harlot, but the original lizard boy! How he’s managed to live so long in this clime, I have no clue, but that is not my concern as of now.

October 14, 1885:
Jeremy is still as tired as a lady of the night after one of Prime Minister Gladstone’s special drinks has coursed through her veins. However, there is not a moment to be wasted in my search, so I have constructed a sling out of the remains of Jeremy Two’s jackets, she never quite used her layers well. I shall carry Jeremy for as long as I am needed to, he is indeed the answer to the age old question: Who is the real monster? Man, or beast? The answer is man-beast.

October 15, 1885:
Jeremy has finally recovered enough to tell me the tale of his survival. It turns out it was quite simple, all he had to do was kill the person who had helped him the most! English logic has finally broken through his savage skull. He had traveled with Stephanie for several days; she gave him almost all of the food that she hunted or had saved up, saying that she had to sacrifice to help the helpless. Such a fool, she is! When the rations had begun to run low, Jeremy used his cold-blooded lack of empathy to kill her and slice her stomach open to keep warm, commenting that he thought that she smelled better when she had not been in a state of both death and desecration. He proceeded to eat parts of her over the next several days, this also freed up more space for him to shelter. Eventually, he had turned toward a state of boredom and sought me out.

Expedition Journals #4

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


September 30, 1885:
Though not much for conversation, Jeremy Two has her uses. For instance, her body would make excellent kindling should I need to hail a passing rescue zeppelin.

October 1, 1885:
Every day that is spent in this frozen waste blends together, nothing changes but the phase of the moon. Well, that and how much I hunger for man-flesh; those two phenomena do not correlate. On this day, my cravings are low, as there is plenty of yetti meat, but once that runs out, it may become insatiable. I’d like to avoid eating Jeremy Two if at all possible, as she is fun to trip into the snow.

October 2, 1885:
Happy Obscure-British-Lord-and/or-Battle day everyone! Oh joy, the holiday celebrating our tremendous victory (Or possibly defeat) over some country that probably doesn’t have any real power anymore! Were I to find myself in the streets of London on this day, I could see the upper-class throwing fake gold into the streets to watch the traditional poor-scrambling. The fact that I’m missing out on this holiday makes me homesick, I long to look upon the faces of the cockneys as they realize that the gold is actually fake. Perhaps I’ll try to construct some fake gold and throw it at Jeremy Two.

October 3, 1885:
I couldn’t find any gold yesterday, so I threw some Higgins-bone, it didn’t seem to have any effect on Jeremy Two, except to put a look of absolute horror upon her face. In other news, the tracks seem to be headed south towards the sea cliffs.

October 4, 1885:
The low hills of ice are beginning to turn to plains... of ice. Several times today I could have sworn that I saw shapes moving on the horizon, but I know that no people live anywhere near here.

October 5, 1885:
A small amount of snow found its way into my boot today, AND I WILL SET ALL OF THIS ICE AFLAME BECAUSE OF IT!*
*Note, the rest of the page is filled with ink scribbles, scratches, and a small doodle of a man cheering in a top hat and a skull mask riding a bird away from a burning plain of ice.

October 6, 1885:
An arctic fox graced our path today, and made quite the excellent lunch. What was curious about it, however, was the small figurine that was in its mouth when we found it. There are many scratches and cracks, but I think I can make out a word carved into its back: Havij. What could it mean?

October 7, 1885:
We reached the sea cliffs today. I make sure that Jeremy Two walks on the side of the cliff at all times, I’d rather not fall. I suppose that we could simply move slightly away from the drop off point, but that defeats the purpose of the adventure.

October 8, 1885:
I saw it! I saw the blasted thing! The pandacorn was right on the horizon, but a harsh snow set in before we could make progress towards it. We had to set up camp, but with the size of this blizzard, the pandacorn will have to stop as well. Soon, so very soon, I will have the aphrodisiac that I came for!

Expedition Journals #3

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.

September 20, 1885:
Stephanie and Jeremy are gone! To my horror, I found my camp empty and half my supplies gone upon awaking this morning. No tracks betray their path. No matter, if Sir Reginald Roderic Nigel Charles Winston Walader could explore the untamed wilds of South Africa with only his wits and a team of slave natives who knew the land like the back of their whipped hands, then I could continue alone.

September 21, 1885:
I tripped and fell near a hole in the ice, my tobacco fell through, and I dared not go after it. It’s not like it’s worth killing a man over, especially myself.

September 22, 1885:
It grows lonely on the ice, so I carved myself an effigy of an Indian man out of seal bone. Oppressing someone again feels so good, even if it’s just a figurine. I named him Havij, I have no idea if that’s an Indian name, but it doesn’t matter, since I never call him by it, I just order him to fetch me tea, spices, and make textile products for the fashionable ladies back on the isle.

September 23, 1885:
I have written a code of conduct for true British gentlemen because I needed something to pass the long nights. The list is not so much written as it is carved into my arms (I have no paper besides the ones in this journal, and these are for dated entries only). It is as follows so far:

1. Be British
2. Grow facial hair (mutton chops preferable)
3. Excessive harrumphing is a must
4. Oppress the Irish
5. Make fun of the Irish for being oppressed
6. Realize your native food is terrible, and go out and conquer far off lands to find better meals
7. Own a pipe
8. Put the letter ‘U’ into words which do not need it
9. Reject bright color colours
I had to carve a line though one word because it was misspelled.

September 24, 1885:
The tracks seem to be circling. I hope to find the creature soon, as the longer this takes, the more likely it is that some weather phenomenon could erase the trail. What could the pandacorn be eating out here? Could I find some as well? I grow tired of yeti meat, but it’s still better than bangers and mash.

September 25, 1885:
I had quite the long argument with Havij today; it was on the subject of my sanity. Havij believes that I am insane, but I disagree. I ended up winning the debate when he spontaneously sprouted the wings of a bat and flew off in a huff.

September 26, 1885:
Note to self: find someone real to have conversations with; bone sculptures can’t communicate civilly.

September 27, 1885:
My suspicions were correct. I rose over a drift today to find a disheartening sight: the dreaded eskimo village which Jeremy had gotten us chased out of. Jeremy... I miss having a scrappy companion to harras. Do I dare return to the village? Perhaps they won’t recognize me without my party or my well groomed facial hair. (I made Johnson trim my mutton chops daily to ensure perfection, but with him dead, my face was a mass of scraggly hair.)

September 28, 1885:
I need warmth, I need company, I need breath which smells of seal and arctic fish to caress my neck. My need for the stripper-gloo outweigh the risks of capture and death. What I need most of all, however, is Jeremy.

September 29, 1885:
I rescued a woman from the oppression of the stripper-gloo and have placed her in my employ. (Willing or not) Perhaps employ isn’t the best word, as she will never be paid. Her former name is of no importance, as I have bestowed upon her a much more dignified one: Jeremy two.

Expedition Journals #2

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 11, 1885:

The tobacco for my pipe has run out; I have seldom smoked on this venture, so I suspect one of the crew has been stealing it. We’re gaining ground on the pandacorn, but I can’t shake the feeling that something is stalking us like a fat Belgian stalks the cart of a cake merchant, hoping for something to roll loose.

September 12, 1885:
I awoke this morning, brushing off the various seal pups that had gathered around the crew at some point during the night; a few mewling in protest. As I stretched, I was shocked to see some specks of tobacco on Johnson’s jacket. The traitor! If he is willing to take my tobacco, who knows what else he is capable of? Talking back to me, perhaps? I shall not sleep soundly tonight, I’m as nervous as an upper class man taking a carriage through an upper-middle class part of town.

September 13, 1885:
Stephanie gave me an ultimatum today: Light a fire to warm us all, (and in the process keeping Jeremy alive, something I want less and less as time goes by.) or she would leave the expedition.  She knew that I would soon go insane without her witty banter and willingness to engage in gentlemanly brawls, something that I refuse to record in these journals due to their feminine qualities, so I agreed.  As a result, we now have no sled, and Jeremy remains frustratingly alive; I could almost taste that roast lizard-boy.

September 14, 1885:
We made little progress today, due to the lack of a sled. The thoughts of eating Jeremy are further from my mind now, as his lizard eyes give me those cute, cold-blooded gazes. His playful nature is reminding me why I brought him in the first place. Also, there is no way to roast him now, as we used all the wood from the sled. I, as the finest of gentry, would never consider consuming raw sentient creature! I would only eat one if it had been properly cooked in a civilized manner.

September 15, 1885:
The pandacorn is closer than ever, I can almost feel my mutton chops tingle. Despite our forthcoming victory, moral is low, because the jerky is finally gone. There were even more seal pups gathered around us this morning, and Johnson suggested eating one. As a counter offer, I suggested eating him; the group was silent after that. I am very curious as to why we have seen no adult seals.

September 16, 1885:
Our second foodless day began, and I can see Johnson eyeing the pups with the same gaze as a wolf stalking a fat German child. More of my tobacco has gone missing, and I am growing tired of Johnson’s petty theft. I would confront him, but surely an upper-class gentleman cannot be expected to chastise such a giant, muscular, armed middle-class individual. I shall get Jeremy to do it.

September 17, 1885:
I awoke to a horrid sight: Johnson holding the body of a seal pup, his face covered in blood. I struck the corpse from his hands, and yelled, “Johnson, you fool! You’ve doomed us all!”
“What? All I did was consumed this creature, we haven’t eaten in days, what else was I supposed to do?!” Johnson rebutted.  Stephanie and Jeremy had been awakened by the commotion and were staring at us as the ice beneath our feet began to crack.

“What’s happening?!” Johnson screeched, in a tone not unlike a small girl protesting the loss of her favorite toy. Suddenly, a great, grey beast broke through the ice, and let out a guttural bark.  We panicked and began to run as more and more of these creatures sprung up from below. I saw my opportunity; I threw my knife and it found its place firmly in Johnson’s leg. He fell, and the seals descended upon him. The rest of us ran as far as our legs could carry us from the scene.

September 18, 1885:
The seals are far behind us, and I shall sleep soundly knowing that my tobacco is secure.

September 19, 1885:
How embarrassing, I found in my pack this morning the meat of the yeti that I had skinned. I laughed and laughed at this oversight as Stephanie and Jeremy glared at me with cold, hard stares.

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.