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Itinerarium Pompeo

By Erik Inge Bolsø

Being the Chronicles of the Redcap Pompeo, recounted to Ericus Scribus at the covenant Speculor et Virgo in the year A.A. MCCCXLII

Webmaster's Note: Clicking on the images below will lead you to the full-size original versions of Erik's excellent photographs.

...having removed myself from the site of this inconvenient siege most speedily, I admit to have been less than particular about my destination.

So the following morning, the bright and on the surface wholesome forest that I found myself in was a welcome surprise. Things were a trifle more changeable and capricious than I reckoned, however.

Going through a dozen shapes in the course of a morning and being hunted by two-score more may be all in a day's work for some, but we less fair folk tend to dislike this sort of thing. I particularly detested the ravenous woodworm.

Bright Faerie Forest
Overgrown Fortress

In the hills, I finally found refuge—of a sort.

The overgrown fortress seemed vast and may have encircled the hilltop. No inhabitants were apparent, and a brisk climb of the walls gained me a vantage point. What? Oh yes, I still felt mildly like a squirrel, I suppose, and didn't quite act with a Redcap's sense of dignity. [marginal note: does he ever?] Or prudence.

In any case, the assorted animated plant matter didn't hurt me much. At the time. And standing watch on the walls for a moon or two as an alder was rather novel. At first.

With the waning of the second moon since my arrival, my wisdom had grown to the point where I didn't ask his name. Again. Though the certamen was a cheap shot. Instead, I asked where others of our Order could be found, so I could remove myself from his hermitage most expediently with any messages that he might want sent.

Which eventually brought me to these fog-shrouded mountains of yours, so rich in sleepy giants and boulder-eating trolls. Happily, they seem uninterested in man-flesh but smell silver from half a league, not unlike some southern men of the cloth that I could mention. So the silver-shod staff my pater bestowed me was finally lost, but proved its worth in the wooden splinters piercing the greedy brute in the most unlikely places.

The seven-legged giant mountain goat was almost a welcome sight. Your bestiary has traveled far, chronicler. My pater's glosses of the entry spoke very favorably of this place.

Foggy Mountains

Text and images copyright © Erik Inge Bolsø 2008.

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