Into the Nezperdian Congo

A Curious Infertility

In the old days it was much spoken among the clansmen of Vnesema, of a sacred fruit which rendered those who consumed it barren and no longer to bear children.  Indeed, I met with several learn’d elders who had themselves partaken of this fruit.  One of them, the weaver Gnaam, an old toothless woman described the fruit as large as a melon, the colour of an overripe plantain and on the interior a whitish grey. It had the consistency of apricot and and its taste was incomparable with any other vegetable on Earth. It was reputedly quite delicious. 

The tree from whence it came, was known only to grow on the High Plateaus of the Resadian Jungle.  It was of average height; that is to say it grew larger than a man, but not much more.  Its leaves were a brilliant orange year-long, and its trunk was green.  Curiously, it bled purple sap, and the resulting amber was much prized among the jewel-makers of Vnesema.

As I stated before, no one knows where the trees and its fruit are anymore.  One week, in decades past, a mysterious malodorous fog encompassed the high tableaus where the tree flourished. Any clansmen who ventured near, were never seen or heard from again.  In the traditions of the Vnesema, this event is known as the Nights of the Bad Wind.  Even now, these jungle-folk shun these places, though I have gone up there myself.  Nothing is to be found, except strange, spiral dirt mounds, and dead foliage.

This expedition grows ever fascinating.

-Lord A.P. Crownwell

July 12, 1843 (Liguria)

• 1 Jan 2014