Cabin of the Lost

Day 1

You could say it began with that accursed thunderstorm.
They happen every once in a while. I guess we should've expected it. But we didn't. At least we managed to take cover, right? Hide in the forest, where the winds and the rain and the lightning wouldn't blow us out of the sky? As far as I know, I would've been fine if I hadn't dropped my compass. It was the very act of running out to get it that got me separated from the expedition; I barely managed to avoid getting blown into the open air.
Now I am lost, and trying not to panic.
We went over this in training. Recover your compass. Set fires at the appropriate time in hopes of aiding rescuers. Whistle often. Stay alive.
The last task was most important - as was writing in your logbook every day. The notebooks are designed to last, so that even if the charter dies, their discoveries live on. Handy, right? How does that feel, book, to know that you're probably going to live longer than I am?

Day 4

Outer Realm clouds are notoriously difficult to navigate. Unlike the Cities, they're full of peaks, valleys, cliffs, ridges, and hills. The trees that sprawl skyward help smooth the ground out just a little bit, but even the act of hiking through the forest is dangerous - especially for a human like me.
I'm not dead yet. Three nights ago, a small pack of monkey-like creatures stole my backpack - which included all my rations, and this notebook. I'll spare you the details of how I got it pack; suffice it to say that it was awesome and crafty and I don't think I'll every be able to look at an ahmfruit again without throwing up. After that, I was more careful in watching my things - and starting fires. They keep away the worst animals. I think they must smell Hollo on me; once the dragon scent wears off I'll be more vulnerable. I've heard of giant spiders out in these woods...
For now, I wander each day so as to keep any potential predators on their toes. I've had a few encounters - ones that I'll detail in my official reports in my scientific journal - but my training helped me survive them all. I whistle every day, though, and feel nothing. Hollo is too far away from me, and without my compass, I have no idea where I am or where I'm going. I set the proper smoke signals, though. I must keep hope - even when the nights are bitterly cold, my stomach is achingly hungry, and I have to constantly watch my step to be sure I'm not going to sink into a snarepit. Training and the relative mildness of the forest has kept me alive; it will continue to do so for weeks to come, if that is what is necessary.

Day 45

The nights are starting to blur together. I swear something is stalking me. Footsteps echo behind, laughter echoes in the corners of my vision. Wait. Something's wrong about that sentence.
I can't imagine what I did wrong. In old mythology, spirits stalk if you've caught there attention. What have I done? Stepped in a mushroom circle? Whispered a wrong curse? Let the fire go out too early, or stay crackling for too long?
But it's there. I know it is. I feel it at the back of my neck, a whispered breath. I swear the nights are becoming longer and longer. I can barely sleep. I'm so cold, so hungry...

Day 48

The ground dwellers have a strange way of building. Rather than helping trees grow to fit a certain building shape, the cut the trees down, strip them into planks, and reassemble those planks to better suit their purposes. I've never been able to imagine what that would look like until now.
The cabin is small. If I had the blueprint formula for the charter outpost my expedition team was supposed to be settling, then I would've used that as a shelter. The cabin is maybe ten times smaller - one living room, one bedroom, in a clearing where the forest lies silent. Ivy growns along the sides, but despite that, it shows now signs of decay. I catch a whiff of something - food?
Immediately I burst through the door. Like I said - a living room. There's a chair, a desk, a hearth, a bookshelf, two chests, and two large cabinets. Inside the cabinets are cans of food - metal cans, if I hadn't known that metal was much to rare to exist in such a common place.
Eating that food was perhaps the greatest mistake of my life. But I was so hungry. Maybe that was my trespass - groundweller mythology often warns not to eat the food of the magical. But I used the appropriate powder test. And I was starving...
Then I was sick. Dying, even. Throwing up, head pounding, stomach aching. The last of my medicinal elixir used up, I curled up in the cabin's bedroom and waited for death to take me. The journal would outlast me after all...
Then a voice spoke from the shadows.
'Evan...'
"Who's there?" in my half-crazed, terribly nauseous state, I was suddenly terrified of an animal. But animals couldn't talk, right.
Oh, falls. Falls, falls, falls. I wasn't ready to die.
'You don't have to die. You can see you friends again. You can find Hollo.'
Glowing rings of fiery orange in a swirl of black.
'I am not something to be afraind of. I have watched over you, Evan - helped you survive. Why do you think so few animals bothered you? How do you think you survived the fall into the snarepit?'
I don't remember much. By this point I - I - I - knew the spirit was benevolent. Yes, that's right. It was here to help. Hadn't it always been that way.
So when the swath of shadow reached forth its hand, I shook it and made the deal, curing my illness.
The cabin is mine - ours - now.

From the scientific journal of Evan Tyfil:

Day 16

I keep seeing these vines cropping up around the trunks of dead trees. A dark, earthy green, with crystal buds bursting every two feet or so. The buds come in all colors - the most common ones being blue and red - and in a variety of sizes. They are hard to the touch, but not sharp, and a few ooze a sweet-smelling liquid that I see many flying and climbing beasts come to eat. Nectar, perhaps? I tried the tiniest bit, and I am still alive, so it must not be too poisonous. It tasted not unlike candied nuts. Occasionally, if the crystal buds catch the moonlight, they will sparkle as if a great many miniscule fireflies are trapped inside them. I wonder what this means, and how the nectar benefits the vines.

I have not seen the plants documented before, so I have decided to call them Sweet Fissures. Not the most orginal, but what can an overtaxed mind do? At least I didn't call them Evan Vines. See, I'm too tired to think of an alliteration.

Day 32

I think the birds were some of the only things keeping me sane throughout this time. I first noticed this breed one morning, while I was sitting on an overlook. This particular species is extremely small - about the size of my clenched fist. They have golden wings, a warbling call, and flit about at sunrise and sunset. A little bit of golden light streaks behind them when they do. I'm not sure what causes that phenomenon - undoubtedly magic, of course, but the reason they have the magic - but it sure is beautiful to watch.

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Obituaries, October 16

Evan Tyfil, aged 27, joined the ranks of hallowed charters who died in the service of the sky sometime in the past two months. Evan had recently graduated from charter training, and was lost during only his second expedition as a charter - one that would have taken him to a far reach of the sky to establish a charter outpost deep in the Outer Realm.

Evan was described by his family as bright, optimistic, and hardworking. Becoming a charter was his dream, and history was his passion. That and the natural world. If he had been ordinarily lost, he may have survived in a forest for a long time, even in the Outer Realm. However, two months of fruitless searching has forced the chartership to pronounce him as dead.

Evan was lost in the gale force winds that struck his company early on in their expedition. His Bond, Cinder Hollowtooth, remains a charter. His parents, Lana and Timothy Tyfil, deeply feel his loss, as do the many other friends he left behind.

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Of course, Evan's story didn't really end there...