We’d been out about on a week, probably about two days out from Fort Everlight when we were getting ready to hunker down for the night. It had rained the night before, the ground muddy and soft underfoot, and sadly under bedroll. I had hunkered down on top of a hill at the base of a tree and was getting ready to go over a few ideas in my head when I heard a snapand a crack, just short of a bang. Just then, the floor fell out from under me. I fell about five feet and landed, not so hard, on a bag of something. As my eyes adjusted, I noticed I had landed in a storage cache. Looking around, I saw a rack of swords, muskets, and kegs of powder and ammunition. I called up that I was okay, if a bit disconcerted about my sudden landing. Getting up, I moved over to the rack of flintlocks about ten in all. Flints still in, but as I picked up one of them, I noticed something. Pitting. Bad pitting. I went to pull the hammer back and felt it grind as it moved, and barely that. Checking another, it was the same. Of the ten, two were worth anything. Checking the powder was the nearly frightening part. I opened the first keg and saw that it had turned sour. It looked as if it had been soaked through and was no longer worth anything. Of the three, one was still worth anything. Looking them over I recalled a hard earned lesson I had learned on proper maintenance of your gear.
It had been a few weeks before I had set to travel out to Hulifer City when a one of the patrols that set out to deal with a group of goblinoids that had been causing trouble in the lower tunnel. During the battle one had been tackled by a goblin, losing his weapon in the process. He had made a desperate manuver by grabbing the pistol from the goblin’s belt and firing it into the miserable thing’s chest. The good news was, it removed the goblin. The bad was that, in the process, due to the lack of maintenance of said weapon, it cost him his hand, right eye, and small parts if his face. He survived, but it took the patrol’s hardest effort to keep him alive to get him back. He was lucky a Synthesist was in the unit and had prepped a poultice to do some healing. I saw the Dwarf in question. A friendly aquaintence of mine named Hektor. I heard from father in a letter before I left for Hawthornetown telling me that Hektor was still alive, and had his hand replaced with a hook for now. There are a few fellows trying to see if they can improve upon that, but I’ve not heard about anything.
Among the many other things there were a few sabers, again ten, of which three were worth anything. Also, it seemed there was about a weeks worth of rations worth keeping. It did make me wonder who’s cache this was. Hopefully not anyone that would be by soon for it. Judging by the condition, not likely. But this was the Savage Lands and stranger things have happened.