Sir's Pumpkin Diary
Based on my first playthrough of the Pumpkin Update.
October 17th Arrival
The experiment has failed catastrophically and now I find myself lost and alone, pulled from the safety of my laboratory in Sutherland to this murky place. In many ways my surroundings feel perfectly ordinary, familiar even. I see a characteristically English village nearby and what could well be a Pub in the distance. The weather is reminiscent of my home county and I would swear I was lost in the Cotswolds if it weren't for the arcane Stone Circle behind me and the broken mechanism laid sputtering at my feet.
I have inspected the village only to find it deserted. The place seems to have been abandoned in some hurry; few doors are locked and upon entering most of the houses I find their tables laid up ready for supper, the food sat on the crockery, untouched and festering. I take a little from their pantries and some bandages from the local grocers. I am not proud of the theft but deem it necessary as there is no telling how long I will be in this place. I shall push on to the pub, perhaps the patrons will be able to provide me with some assistance.
As I approached the Pub I heard the most peculiar noise, an incessant series of electromechanal beeps and whirs that seemed most out of place in such a rural setting. I drew nearer and could make out a voice, one that was certainly English and yet could not be human. A mechanical drone that echoed across the landscape, lamenting taxes and extolling some kind of "sport". I caught sight of its owner; a gangly individual clad in a tweed jacket and Top Hat, lurching forward with a bizarre gait and dictating to no one in particular. Although he had his back to me I could make out a pipe pursed between his lips and the shotgun slung carelessly in his arms.
I must admit I felt some relief at this point for despite his ungainly figure and ominous tone he was at least, or so I believed, another soul. I called out and he halted immediately, wheeling around to reveal not a face but a steel helm with no features save for a greying mustache one monstrous, glowing red eye. He immediately leveled his Shotgun at me and fired. Had it not been for the reactions gleaned from twelve years of Rugger I would have surely perished there and then. I threw myself to the ground and felt the buckshot whistle overhead. A primal instinct took hold as I scrambled to my feet and with all haste made my escape. I felt the blow before I heard the crack, a trickle of fluid down my back told of the wound but I did not feel the pain, such is the miraculous resilience of the human body in the deadliest of circumstances.
A nearby thicket proved my salvation, I dived headlong into it and lay down, desperately trying to stifle my laboured breath and quietly damning my thunderous heartbeat, believing that the noise would surely give my impromptu Priest-Hole away. Perhaps a minute passed before I heard the automaton approach. He must have lost sight of me when he paused to reload for he dashed right past my hiding place and off into the distance. The wave of relief that swept over me was followed swiftly by an agonising pain in my shoulder. My clothing was saturated in blood and if it hadn't been for those few bandages I had pilfered earlier then perhaps I might have bled to death in those bushes. Fortunately I was able to tend the wound and beat a hasty retreat back to the circle.
The pain is bearable and writing this account has certainly distracted me from it. Dusk is now giving way to night and I shall try to catch some rest before heading out in the morning. If there are others in this place then they must be warned about the mechanical monstrosity that roams the moor. Perhaps with the aid of the locals I might be able to bring the thing down and find my way back home.
Bravo. Thicket hiding is a lost talent.
I used to be an adventurer like you, then I took some birdshot in the knee...