Civilization begins

We've settled near a riverbank, the lifeblood of our encampment. The river flows southward, its crystalline waters weaving through the landscape, gathering in a large, naturally occurring pit. Cora speculated that this depression might be due to a dungeon core that had long since died out.

"When a dungeon core dies, very rarely will a large explosion occur. I'm not too sure why it happens, but I'd heard it from an adventurer who passed through our homeland from the country of Aximus," she explained, her voice tinged with the curiosity and mystery that always surrounded such tales. The notion seemed plausible enough, the pit a silent testament to the strange forces that shaped our world.

During the day, we send out groups of four to scout the surrounding area, the terrain a blend of untamed wilderness and hidden secrets. On one such excursion, they discovered a vast flatland comprised of a peculiar white rock. At first, it didn't strike me as noteworthy, another oddity in a land full of them.

Old Margo, however, saw its potential. "I'd imagine that white rock to be salt, Alexis," she exclaimed, her weathered face lighting up with excitement. Salt, a precious commodity in these lands, could be our ticket to trade and prosperity. Tomorrow, I plan to propose an excavation. Perhaps we could sell it to the nobles of Aximus, who are known to be relatively kind to demihumans. The prospect of trade filled me with a cautious optimism.

Thom, one of the quieter members of our tribe, suggested we start building houses. His idea was simple yet ingenious—repurposing the wood from our carriages to construct shelters. The thought seemed risky, considering our limited resources, but it was a gamble worth taking.

Eve, overhearing our conversation about construction, offered a solution for binding the planks together in the absence of tree sap. "We could use sludgy dirt," she suggested. The process she described involved filling a vase with dirt, packing it down, and wetting it slightly to create a thick, slimy texture. This mixture would then be packed onto sticks, with wood pressed onto the outside. Once dried, it would hopefully form a sturdy, burrow-like house, retaining warmth during the colder months.

As the foliage around us began to change color, signaling the onset of autumn, I was reminded that the "white season" was fast approaching. The cooling weather was a harbinger of the harsh winter to come. I hoped that the God of Chaos would help us minimize our losses during the frigid months ahead.

Tomorrow, we'll convene as a tribe to discuss our plans. The weight of our decisions looms large, each choice a thread in the tapestry of our fate. The unpredictability of the future gnawed at me, a constant reminder of the strange and impossible nature of destiny. I can only hope that our collective wisdom will guide us true, ensuring our survival and prosperity in these uncertain times.