I have finally snuck away from the reclamation project after being on the planet's surface for almost 30 hours; however, I must admit that I somewhat wish I had not. The things I have witnessed beyond the base camp are images I always thought were reserved for nightmares and suspenseful scenes in horror movies. Even where I have decided to rest now that the sun on the horizon lowers and the light is soon to fade away from me, I can still make out the terrible sight of the field below. It's awe-inspiring, but only for the reason that I could never have imagined just what the planet's surface was truly like. Only handfuls of people back on Terriel have ever set foot on this soil, this real soil, and came back knowing what it was like. So many never return from the reclamation project that I fled from, and the cause or reason is never discussed beyond acceptance that such is the sacrifice of a soldier towards the benefit of the greater population. As many may be familiar with, the soldiers brought here are sworn under an oath of confidentiality about their time spent here. There are writings that imagine what this place must be like, and cinema that uses the unknown atmosphere to paint grand, beautiful landscapes and bold pictures to bring a fanciful feel to its art, but all I can say is that they are wrong.

Perhaps I am getting ahead of myself, however. Despite how terrified I am of the sounds of creatures and monsters that live deep below me that I dare not even fathom what they must look like, I must remain vigilant in my pursuit. The coming darkness means I will soon be left with only my hearing and my touch to fend for myself unless I expend my resources on low-light accommodations. Before then, I hope I can calm myself down to a point where my heart no longer races and my stomach no long flutters with anxiety over my surroundings. I will need to sleep eventually.

It may help settle me to review my arrival here on the planet. After my last entry, I fell completely asleep in the cargo hold of that Buzzard APC to help wait out the long trip from Terriel down to this terrain. Getting any rest in that kind of environment was a feat in and of itself to be honest. The noise of the wind rushing past the hull was not diminished at all, and the temperature went far lower than I would have liked due to our high altitude descent within the shadow of the suspended land mass. Not only that, but I was forced to listen to the rowdy, romping conversations and musings of the "Soldiers" that restlessly bided their time in the passenger section of the carrier. Some others might have found entertainment in their joking and teasing, but I would be inclined to call those "some others" morons. Overall, it did give me a solitary reason to be happy that I was cramped away in the cargo hold instead of sitting amongst them and forced to participate.

The landing of the APC was rather rough, but that was to be expected of some of the older aircraft models still employed in military use today. It was enough to jar me awake, which gave me barely the time to gather my backpack, stow my journal, and find a clever way to sneak out of there before anyone noticed. Luck would have it that the personnel were unloaded before the cargo, which meant that nobody was on the backside of the aircraft when I had to kick down the hold’s loading-dock door. It must have gotten jammed when I hurriedly closed it after stowing away in the compartment in the first place, and I am glad that the passengers of this aircraft were loud and obnoxious enough that no one heard my machinations. I hid beneath the frame of the vehicle until I heard a gruffer voice: A commanding officer who informed them to shut the hell up and get into line, at which point I saw my chance to scurry perhaps a dozen steps behind them towards the large group of individuals collecting in the field who had just been unloaded from the other carriers.

It was shocking to finally be able to see the planet's surface. A few interpretations from media had been close in imagining the true shape of the scene that lie below our continent in the sky. Much of it, I was surprised to see, would be considered very similar to the landscapes we see every day between each of the judicial districts. The ground is firm with soil and is heavily covered in blades of grass. It struck me as rather plain to be honest, when I gazed around the field to see a rather large base camp erected with numerous tents and large, shallow-walled aluminum buildings meant for storage and privacy. The camp was off to the left of our formation and to our right and back was an expanse of field that lead straight into the dark blue colors of a seemingly endless body of water, probably an ocean. In front of us was still more field that lead up to a strange sight: A wall made entirely out of trees. Indeed, on the other side of the field were trees grown together so closely, and in such mass, it almost looked like a wooden wall erected that no one had pruned off the limbs and leaves. Considering how far in the distance this sight was, I wondered if my eyes were merely playing tricks on me.

Roll call then started. One by one, officials began to step down the lines and question each recruit as to their name to ensure that each one had safely made their arrival. Wielding clipboards, they would make a mark on the paper they had hidden on the other side, probably noting each name individually to ensure an accurate account of who was there. That was when I began to feel my chest tighten as I fought back the panic that welled in me. Whose name should I use? Did I hear any names amongst the rabble in the passenger seats of the carrier I could use to get through this? I convinced myself that if I stood back a bit and tried to shield myself from sight between the two comparatively muscular recruits flanking my sides, they would perhaps overlook me and not question my name. I would have no such luck.

She was the biggest person I've ever seen. I have not had the opportunity to meet many Equinyr, but I think I might have found the biggest of them all. (If you have never met one, they are folks with the likeness of horses for their facial features, are covered in pelts, have manes, and have hooves for feet. I think their names originate from the similarity to Satyrs of myth and their goat-like traits, except they are more of a horse than a satyr is a goat. Hmm.) Her biceps were far larger than my head, her shoulders could have spanned the widths of three human men, maybe even four! An equine face with a dark, black snout/nose, a sandy-colored coat, and white fluffy featherings of fur on her wrists and ankles. She stood at least eight feet tall, and when her eyes met with mine, I was frozen.

There was a tense silence as we stared at each other, and I saw something twinge in her face. Anger?, Disgust?, Recognition? I couldn't tell. I was too scared to process what was happening as her voice rang out the question, "Name?"

My brain broke on me in that instant and I stammered out my name. "Benjamen Prodder."

I was doomed! They were going to know! I was a liar, a stowaway, a traitor, and anything else they could charge me with! Bind me in chains, lock me in shackles, cast me in the stockades, throw me in the dungeons, feed me to the wolves, and throw away the keys! Whatever they do to terrible criminals like myself! It's all over!

She said nothing though and continued to look me in the eyes. Her huge hand grabbed me by the back of the head as her four fingers took grip of my copper-hued hair and held me still. She drew close to my face to examine my features. I thought I was going to die, if not by her hand, then by the fact that my heart wanted to stop beating right there from dread. She did not hurt me, however, she simply stood back up from the stooped posture she had while staring me in the face, looked down at her clipboard to make a mark somewhere, then nodded at me before taking a thudding step and asking for the next boy’s name. My name couldn't possibly be on that list unless someone was impersonating me. It made no sense to me at that time, and I am still unsure of all the details of that encounter.

It made only slightly more sense when nightfall finally fell. My personal effects were seized after roll call and were stowed away in one of the warehouses. All of my survival supplies were in there so I had to get them back before I could leave. That woman knew though; she knew I was not supposed to be there. She had to. I could not wait around until an opportunity made itself apparent; I was simply going to have to brave the situation and hope for the best. It was already teetering into the next morning before I heard no more noises from the other recruits in the barracks tent I was assigned to. That was my chance to try to make a silent escape

I made my way to the closest of the aluminum-walled warehouses where I had seen our personal effects being carted off to the day before. It seemed most likely that my belongings were in there, and they were my top priority. Sneaking was difficult due to the day prior when we went through our first day's "initiation and conditioning" exercises that had left my feet almost too sore to step lightly on. The initiation honestly felt more like a hazing, but that term would not be quite proper for them to admit to in these ranks. It started with a sprint. We were challenged to run as long as we could possibly go around a circular track marked out for us in white chalk on the grass in the field outside of camp. There was a punishment in place that anyone not amongst the last ten recruits standing would then be forced to do push-ups on the ground with the same rules: To do so until they collapsed. The final ten remaining from that were then spared the sit-ups. Then the pull ups. Then the running again. This conditioning lasted all day, from high morning until dusk. I was lucky enough to pass the initial running challenge thanks to my decision to take Track as one of my electives during primary schooling (it was that or handball, and I did not wish to become a fine paste beneath the cleats of my larger classmates). Still, even having been forced to endure that torturous amount of running once, it left my soles stinging in agony when I tried to creep on them silently.

I was also very glad that I had elected for that historical tech course as well when I eventually snuck my way to the entrance of the warehouse and found it bolted closed with a conventional lock-and-key system. I suppose due to time constraints, and limited available power drawn from a few generators set up within the camp, it did not seem economical for them to take the time to implement common electronic locks on these doors. The course I took never did explain how to dismantle or workaround these mechanical locks, but having an understanding of their function was enough for me to be able to manipulate it to open with the assistance of a bobby pin and two pens. The bobby pin is the adventurer's dearest friend as many of you already know if you ever played a campaign of Chimeras and Caverns.

"They teach you how to do that in the fancy rich-kid's school?"

Once again I was doomed, for as I looked behind me, it was the commanding officer that had grabbed me by the hair during roll call. She had followed me here and caught me alone in a forbidden area. If she was not going to hand me over for punishment before, she was certain to do it now.

I'm not sure what was wrong with me, but the first thing I could think to do was to look for a weapon; it was the only way to get away; I was in too deep and there was no going back: Those were the thoughts that drove me deeper into the building. In a panic, I grabbed hold of a heavy suitcase and hurled it at her only to watch her slap it to the ground effortlessly and the contents within erupted into a torrent of clothes and magazines around her as she began stepping forward. It gave me only enough time to dig under some duffel bags and find a glinting pocket knife hanging from a keychain. I ripped it off and brandished the weapon awkwardly as I turned around to see that there was no distance between us. There was also no distance between her hand and my shoulder. She had my arm holding the blade pinned down with just one hand! There was nothing I could do! As much as I struggled and strained, I could not get loose, and my free hand could not pry her vice-gripping fingers away from my shoulder. "Drop it, Benjamen."

I had no choice. I could not get any leverage against her or move away from her grasp. It was either heed the request or provoke her crushing me to death in her fist. I let the knife hit the floor and bit my lower lip as I closed my eyes, waiting for what was to come. Purgery, Breaking and Entering, and now Assault of a military officer. My list of crimes continued to grow as my chances of finding my father dwindled further and further out of reach.

It was then that I felt my face pressed into her shoulder, and her free hand once again grasp the back of my head as she embraced me. I still don't know what I was thinking in that moment as my body went limp in shock at the gesture of her stroking my head with her behemoth hand and telling me she had wondered when she would ever get to meet me. She knew me? I had never seen her before today; how did she know me? I was dumbfounded when she let me go and handed my familiar-looking backpack to me. Gently she pushed me to the open door of the warehouse and told me to go.

"How do you know me?" I asked incredulously.

"The Captain told me about you. You're little Benjy Prodder."

"Which Captain? I don't know anyone in the military."

"He knew you at least. Markus Prodder. – you must be his little boy."

"You knew my father? Where is he?"

"You're here for the same reason I am then. Go, look, before someone finds you. I must follow protocol and orders; you still have the chance I don't. If you find him though, please tell him that I... that Daliah said yes... that she could love even half a man."

Upon her suggestion, I took off right then and there. Ignoring the stinging in my feet, I swiftly ushered myself to the exit of the camp and began a sprinting charge over the field towards the only direction I saw that continued on as land: Towards the wall of trees far off in the distance.

I was troubled and upset enough as it was after my nearly disastrous run-in at the warehouse, but the scenery around my mad dash and frequent stops to sit and rest certainly did nothing to settle me as I came closer and closer in view of the forestry wall. My fast pace was halted by the excessive amount of tree limbs and stumps jutting out of the ground, the trees having been long-since carved away. The wind rolling over the field, across the dead stumps, and through the low-lying bushes and weeds that sprouted between them chilled me to the bone, and I found myself shivering in the muscle-shirt and military-fatigue pants I had been supplied with at the camp. I felt stupid the whole time, feeling the hair on my neck begin to stand and warn me of danger in the area, even though there was nothing at all to be frightened of. They are just stumps: The remains of plants that, even if they were not dead, could not have harmed me in any way. An unsettling stench rolled through the area unlike anything I had ever experienced before. Despite the fact that I could not recognize it, it gave me a sense of familiarity as if I should know what it was, but it merely caused me to gag shortly before I brought myself back to my senses and continued to march on. The day had already passed, my advance through the field having taken that long, and I would have to make it to the wall if I did not want to spend my night curled up in a stink-filled field. What could that stench be though? The question came to me countless times before the answer was given to me in the form of my leg catching on something unexpectedly and sending me tumbling to the ground with a thud.

Dusting myself off, I explored the cause and was left mortified by the answer. A man, or specifically what was left of one. A corpse lie ragged and limp between a few of the stumps, the grass around it stained red by blood that had long since been washed away or soaked into the soil below. The eyes remained open and wide, staring pointlessly off at the bark of one of the stumps. One of his eyes did at least; the other must have been thieved away by birds or rodents. The mouth hung open grotesquely, with one of the cheeks appearing to have decayed away to show the bone of his cheek and jaw. The body wore the same clothes I was wearing: A grey muscle shirt with camouflage pants. The biggest difference was only that disfiguring red splotches showed on both the front and the back of the shirt around a gaping wound through the chest that I swear I could almost look through and see the other side.

My mind, in a wave of terror, offered me the idea of turning back now, returning to the reclamation project, informing them of my misdeeds, and just accepting the consequences. A few years in prison and being sworn to silence the rest of my life on the issue of what I had seen down here; it seemed like a preferable option to continuing through this field after having witnessed that corpse. Little did I know, as I fought back the thought and forced myself to continue, that it was just one of many I would stumble across in my journey. Another. Another. Every twenty yards or so I found yet another body to witness. I did my best to keep my eyes set on the forest wall still in the distance and continue my march, stepping carefully in hopes to avoid becoming ankle-deep in one of these gory scenes.

Mangled, disfigured, decaying, there seemed to be no uniformity to the demise of these soldiers. Some had gaping wounds in their chests. Others had piercing holes in their skull. A few were missing limbs, curled up in a pained position where they must have perished. Several were even barbarically arranged on wooden spires which looked like giant thorns left jutting out of the ground for any passerby to witness. I felt myself growing sick at the sight and the smell together. By the time I finally make it to my goal of the distant wall, I could no longer fight the quakes in my muscles and the panicked breathing that left me constantly short of breath.

The wall had not been much of a mirage after all and resembled what I saw of it from the distance. It had not completely grown together to make a single, solid surface, but the trees were so tightly packed that it did take me a fair bit of searching to find a gap between them large enough that I would not be in danger of getting stuck. These trees were enormous, each trunk perhaps ten feet across in girth. They towered so high in the sky that I swear I could not see the top of them in the few clouds that were peering down past the edge of Terriel as it loomed ominously above the ocean far behind me. This wall of trees was three or four deep. It took me perhaps an hour just to ease my way through the levels to where the trees spread out more comfortably so that I could actually walk, instead of crawl, and squeeze my way past.

It was like I had stepped into an entirely new world once I passed through the final line of the barrier. The ground was completely impossible to see through the deep and thick underbrush of bushes and flowers squeezed together and fighting for space amongst the limited soil available. I was forced to wait a moment for my eyes to adjust as barely any light was able to penetrate the blanket of leaves and limbs that arched above me. The plants all rustled with life as small creatures moved about and skittered away at my presence. The sounds were all crisp and clear, but despite the explosion of life around me, I felt strangely alone.

I spent the rest of my daylight clawing my way up one of the trees with the help of a pair of boot-worn tree climbing aids from my bag. I had once rebuked myself for throwing down 700 UC on them, stating that there would be no time I would need them, but the prepared adventurer is the safe adventurer. I am now glad that I did because I am able to make my bed tonight in the limbs of one of these gargantuan trees, and considering the nearly nonstop groans and chitters beneath me of the nocturnal life finally awaking, I would certainly not want to try taking a rest down there.

Tomorrow I get to begin my search without restraint, held back only by the limits of the time that daylight lasts and the endurance of my feet to take me where I believe I shall go. Here's to hoping that I find myself awake tomorrow, and not taken by one of the many unexplainable deaths that so many of my peers succumbed to before me. Now I'm shaking again; I shouldn't have written that. I think I might still be sick at the memory. At least nobody will force me to clean up the mess in this neck of the woods. Heh, my first pun.

I still have so many questions that buzz in my head and make it difficult to rest. He did remember me. He told his squad about me. That is one question of many that I can lay to rest; but who was that woman? She must have been a part of The Mongrel's Stand and – her name is Daliah. Dad, when I find you there's a lot of explaining for you to do. At least I know you did not forget about me.

But why did you never come home?