Panache and the Great Hunt for the Acryli-Beast

[Panache]

Panache and the Great Hunt for the Acryli-Beast

A Victorian Tale of Horror told in Chapters

Prologue

This is one story I may not get to file in person, so I'll have to talk fast - because it's after me.

Are those my words or someone else’s? I can’t image wearing such an unpleasant straw hat with a kilt. With the terrible cold enveloping my brain it’s difficult to discern fact from fiction. Personally I’d prefer fiction because I’m am aware enough to note I am still sitting in a small icy cave looking out into a snowstorm. My broken rifle sits at my feet and I can’t decide if the roaring I’m hearing is the wind or the beast. I sent up a flare ten minutes ago according to my watch, though to my befuddled senses it feels much longer. I have to accept that either Todd or David saw it or they didn’t. There stands a very reasonable chance they might have turned the Saltire about to look for ensigns BEEDEE, Mender, and Splash. Though it would be a miracle if they are still alive. If so it’s then just a simple matter of whether I freeze to death or am eaten by the monster. Oh goody.

It’s moments like these, moments of dire circumstances that a gentlemen should find himself looking for the deeper meaning . Perhaps it is natural that with the threat of imminent death, a man should take stock of his life. He should try to see his final moments as part of the totality of his existence. That is what one SHOULD do. Sadly in this I have failed and as I scribble this perhaps last journal entry I find myself desperately searching for someone else to blame for my situation…

Mr. Jim B. would be the obvious choice. If it hadn’t been for his sporran I would never had found myself in the middle of the Arctic Circle. I find him unsatisfactory, after all it was my envy rather than his pride…but wait I am trying to avoid personal responsibility here. Vincenzo? No, I think that’s another fictional character. Mr. Ashton? No, had I heeded the Wizard of British Columbia’s words I shouldn’t have found myself in this predicament. Wait…

I hear a droning noise! The Saltire is close by. But the roaring is nearer as well. I have to step out of the cave now if I wish any hopes of rescue. I will either continue this aboard the ship or this will stand as my last words. Forgoing any sense of my own hubris and without any time left, I will lay the blame squarely on Iolaus and his cursed mane of curly locks…

To Be Continued…