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The Unnatural Journal of a Mad Scientist

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Vynik21    19

Day 27 - #1

When I was a child, my mother and father forced me into musical training. I had no interest in it and was far from adept at the instrument they chose for me. They had always wished themselves musically gifted; to have the ability to sit in front of a crowd and play Strauss, Vivaldi, or Beethoven. Then the applause would start. They would accept their laurels and congratulations with poise and modesty, smiling inwards all the while as praise is heaped upon them. They considered themselves artists, truly, and I am not one to say that they were wrong. All I can say is that I was not.

When I was forced upon that stage, it felt as though I was being pushed in front of a moving car. I felt betrayed. It, of course, was not the worst thing in the world, to play in front of an audience. The praise and congratulatory locutions heaped upon me were, as my parents imagined, intoxicating. In fact, I grew to love the attention but I absolutely despised playing. There was no feeling. It was mechanical. I felt like an automaton on stage, but I adored the adulation. It seems so different than now.

When I sat down, my coattails framing my small body on the piano stool, I was no longer myself. I felt outside of myself, as though I was watching myself from afar, controlling my own body as though a puppet master controls a marionette. Previous fears held close vanished and a primal feeling of control overtook me. I played until the final note sounded and the crowd leapt to their feet with applause.

All those notes – All the things I must have been saying.. I understand the Pig Men flawlessly now. Their sentences, if I let them, are as eloquent and fluent as my own.

As I write this in my journal, my spear resting next to me and my body encased in a suit of wood, I must say that this memory is important. The feeling of being thrust into a situation completely out of control, completely odious to me, but then.. It changes.

I feel like the puppet master again. The exact same feeling returned, stronger than ever, yesterday. We had a skirmish with the other camp. As my feet carried me into battle, I was suddenly outside of myself, and I was able to control my movements from above with astonishing precision.

I feinted left and sunk my spear deep into a Pig Man's throat, hearing a visceral gurgle respond to the attack. His pitiful swipes did nothing to curb my onslaught, as detached as it was, and he collapsed to the ground. My spear, almost broken, served to end one more life after that. I can still see the Pig Man's corpse, maybe two hundred meters away, my spear sticking out of his chest like a flag.

I apologize to myself for the long entry, especially one devoid of scientific explication. I am determined that my next entry be scientific in nature.


Day 28 - #1

I must apologize, again, to myself. I have been slack about updating my journal in a timely manner lately. The weather is beginning to warm and I have been enjoying afternoon sessions with the Pig Men. Frederic has taught me some more advanced combat techniques that I put to use a mere hour after learning them.

Our tribe is getting an advantage thanks to my ingenuity. Log armor, weapons, and even helmets made from the skins of our fallen enemies. They were resistant, at first, as they believed respect in the field of battle was important.

I corrected them on the matter, saying respect means nothing if you aren't alive to reap the benefits.

I, then, corrected myself. I did not mean to extoll the importance of respect, necessarily.

I meant fear.


Day 28 - #2 – Late Morning

We captured our first prisoner today. I do not know his name, and when Frederic attempted to communicate with the rival Pig Man, I warned him away from doing so. I have learned my lesson regarding emotional attachment on this island. My mind still aches with the memory of the Tallbird, as silly as it may sound, but I feel the emotional toll still. Frederic shackled the captured Pig Man and forced Albert, another comrade in arms, to keep watch while we discussed our plan of action.

I believe another bit of diplomacy may be in the works, as their numbers are thinning at a faster rate than ours. Perhaps we can end this petty little feud today and curtail any additional losses.

That is what part of me wants to do, anyway. That's what part of me wants to believe. Another part of me believes we should slit his throat with a sharpened rock and mount his head on one of my spears for the other tribe to see.

It would be a great display of strength. They would no longer consider us weak, our pig men, frederic and albert and amadeus (great warrior). we are strong and they are weak do not forget I need to stop writing because I believe I am losing my train of thought.


Day 28 - #3 – Afternoon

I am wolfgang and we are going to fight the other piggies tonight and they will die. I do this because frederic has been pointing at journal but he speaks in weird sounds scary sounds like I hear in music. Its not inplesent or bad but it makes me confused a little.

I can hear them like normal but not now I don't know why

-Woooolfgang (great worriar)

Day 28 - #4 – Dusk

the terror beaks are back and all I can think of is maxwell. my dream was scary but fred and amad said they will protect me and not let anything happen to squeak squeak squeak

thats my name now squeak squeak squeak. i am happy at this. I do not like bad shadows but I can fight them if I need it is not hard. I do not like how stupid other pig has been looking at me. He is a stupid pig from the other place and I am beginning to hate him. albert watches him carefully but I will watch him as other pigs sleep tonight. Then we will see who strong and who is weak.


Day 28 - #5 – Night

i am so quiet the other piggy from the other place said squeak squeak squeak burr, burr but I didn't listen to him. he was trying to get me to stop but I felt strong because I am STRONG stronger than him. i need to wash his blood off of my spear because I am afraid of being caught. It's terrible I think to get caught like this but he killed piggy and I hate him. The other pigman not piggy.

I did it so good too I killed him and he didnt even make a sound.. he just fell down and i'll say the terror beak killed him thats right. The shadows killed him because the shadows are evil and thats what they do they kill and hurt.

I am liking the music in my head now it reminds me of my parents. yes.

I am happy now.


Day 29 - #1 – Late Morning

I woke this morning absolutely ravenous. I cooked and ate a couple of nearby rabbits, picked some berries, and settled back into camp. A particular tinge, an aroma, alerted me to the fact that something was wrong. It took me only a few seconds to understand that our prisoner was dead. I truly did not know how it happened. I, initially, figured that Frederic had taken my speech about fear to heart, and slaughtered him as we slept. Or maybe he and Albert got into an argument, as brutes often do, and Albert killed him.

The understanding behind the rival Pig Man's death was limited, but after I finished breakfast, I woke Frederic and pointed at the dead Pig Man slumped over himself. I quieted their trumpeting, figuring we could use this to our advantage. The idea of diplomacy is gone now, probably forever, and I understood that. I believe Frederic was truly upset when I removed the Pig Man's head and placed it on my spear as a warning.

I assured him it was the right course of action.

It was not until later, in fact, right before writing this entry that I had realized what had truly happened. My journal is now a closely guarded treasure, a secret that must not fall into anyone's hands, most of all my own. I need not be reminded of my mental state on this island. To have to hide my own journal from myself is.. ludicrous. The idea is absolutely preposterous.

However, I was clearly not myself. No, I couldn't have been. I would never be that cold.


Day 29 - #2 – Afternoon

Spring is rapidly approaching, and my winter clothes have been abandoned. I feel invigorated and positively renewed! I spent a couple of hours picking flowers, clearing my mind, and gathering food for myself and the tribe. I must be careful not to stray too far from camp, as.. well, to put it politely, diplomacy is no longer on the table. We must be aggressive. That is the only way we will win.

I have stopped trying to question the weather and seasonal patterns of this place. It is not like where I am from, but I do not argue. I would rather sprint briefly through a harsh winter than starve while I wait.

To write candidly about my experiences with the Pig Men, I must say that it has been enlightening. I can speak to them as though they were normal, as though they were human. They appear to care about each other, much like humans, and even care about me. The idea, previously preposterous, is now supposed through days of me living with them. It is unimaginable but spectacular at the same time.

That, however, is not the spark that ignited this inferno of excitement I have blazing inside of me. My true excitement is over their violent, warlike nature. Surely, if they are this horrible to each other, then they understand misery. They understand the nature of their situation and the fact that Maxwell has created a Hell for them as well as myself. When this war is over, my gift to them will be to lead them into battle against the Devil himself.

I am beside myself with excitement. I must go burn off this excess energy by hunting.. or picking flowers.. or something.

Day 29 - #3 – Krampus?

It is nighttime and Frederic, Albert, Amadeus, Ludwig, and Giovanni are all asleep. I had an interesting interaction with them tonight, actually. It was one worth recording.

As the dusk shifted into night, I listened to them flute, trumpet, and emit inquisitive harmonics and vibrato. They made a special note of my “joy” when I hunted. I must, to them, receive some pleasure from doing so, despite it being a base and morally appalling activity. I kill the animals of this island to survive, not for sport.

They shook their heads at me and told me of a man, or creature, I couldn't be sure. Their tremolos suggested that his name was Krampus. He was a man, creature, or demon, I cannot be sure, that dealt justice to those who harmed the animals of this island. They reported him as a thief, primarily, stealing all you hold dear while you sleep. However, depending on the severity of your crimes, you may be eligible for a a more violent punishment from the demon. He has been known to kill, with great efficiency, and they warned me to temper my anger.

I told them not to be ridiculous, of course. A mythological man who steals your possessions or kills you for harming a rabbit. Absolutely preposterous. And my rage? My anger? I am not angry. I am an intellectual. I examine each situation with the utmost care and concern, always thinking before I act.

That is who I am. I am a scientific genius and I am certainly not about to buy into these.. folktales about karmic retribution.


As the night closed in around us, I saw piercing eyes locked on me from the other Pig Man camp.

These pigs need to realize we have more concerns than fantastical creatures. For my own sake, I am noting the absurdity of that statement.


Edited by Vynik21

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Vynik21    19

Wilson has been having the strangest dreams lately..

Day 30 - Willow's Lament

The mind, the mind, they scream aloud,

Flaunt it, they said, and make us proud.

The strength of men comes not from arms,

No, imagine, create, and use your charms.

Practice, practice, they screamed at me!

Practice, practice, don't you see?

Practice, practice, and you will be,

The smartest little girl that you will ever see.

Through darkened halls, the girl creeped,

The rats, her parents, no, not a peep.

Silence filled her head that night,

Even the ghosts, I say, nowhere in sight.

Her bear banged softly against her knee,

Practice, practice! She would finally see.

The flames started burning, hot and bright,

Her house turned beacon, splitting the night.

As fire crackled, her fears slipped away,

In light, no fear could possibly stay.

She smiled, happy, humming a song,

Practice! Practice! They were right all along!

Practice! Practice! They screamed at me!

Practice! Practice! Don't you see?

Practice! Practice! Filled her head,

Even now as she lay burning in her bed.

Fire, fire, burning bright,

Take me away from home tonight.

The fire responded and heeded her call,

Wrapped her up, gone, in no time at all!

When the fire died, and so did she,

All the town did come to see,

Ashes remained, but that was all that day,

No girl, nor her bear, came out to play.

People mourned poor Willow, lamenting that night,

Cursed the fire that burned its flames so bright.

They curse and cry and beg and plea,

“Why Willow?" That girl with the bear on her knee.

The truth remains but it is not so dark,

Willow, truly, has left her mark.

Practice! Practice! And you will be,

The best little arsonist you will ever see.

She lives, again, but far away,

in the land of Maxwell and Wilson today.

Constantly humming and running along,

She continues to laugh and sing her song.

“Practice! Practice! And you will see,

Just how deadly, deadly a little girl can be.”


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Vynik21    19

Sorry for the tiny update yesterday. I wanted to get something done, at least! Here's a longer update - I hope you guys are enjoying where the story is going. I'm taking some liberties with the mechanics of Don't Starve, now. Hopefully, it's not too much! I appreciate all of the feedback, again. Without you guys, I wouldn't have gone this long. :)

Day 30 - #1 – Dreams

I awoke from my dream, my brain rattled and shaken, to the sounds of war. My eyes blinked open to panicked squeals and the clashing of wood on wood. Amadeus was locked in a pitched battle with a rival Pig Man, scarred and imposing. I saw him struggling against the other’s brute strength, pushing hard but to no avail. Frederic attempted to intervene, but was struck from behind.

I assume they thought that I was already incapacitated, not simply sleeping, as they left me alone. I attempted to grab my spear but I felt nothing next to me. I sprung for my armor, but once again, was met with air.

What follows is an account of my waking nightmare:

The rival Pig Man’s head spun to me, himself still pushing against Amadeus. His eyes were black, as though pure shadow replaced them. The only thing that compares is the nighttime on this forsaken island. His stare never broke, as though he were judging me, condemning me, with his eyes.

Shadowy horns graced the top of his head, a crown bestowed upon him by an entity unknown, but suspected. His eyes narrowed as he pushed harder against Amadeus. His spear, my spear, split in two. I initially, mistakenly, took it as a victory for Amadeus. But as he attempted to squirm away, the shadow Pig Man slipped the tip of the spear into the stomach of Amadeus.

He collapsed and bled, as stuck pigs do, baritone squealing accompanying tinny laughter.

Shadows leapt about, in the early morning, as though a sudden eclipse had formed. With one last look, the shadow Pig Man dropped the broken spear to the ground, still dripping with the blood of our tribesman. At that moment, he looked so human to me.

I cannot explain anything on this island but I feel that I have been discovered, my surreptitious plan revealed, and the target was unhappy.

From now on, for ease of documentation, that Pig with the Piercing Gaze will be referred to as Das Tier, as I believe it is a fitting representation of such a monstrosity.

I must tend to Amadeus, as Frederic’s medical expertise, limited already, has gone as far as it can go.


Day 30 - #2 – Death

Amadeus is dead.

While not surprising, as his wounds were significant, I cannot help but feel a profound sense of loss in his passing. Perhaps I am getting too emotional or attached to these... I hesitate to name them brutes anymore. The more time I have spent with them, the more I realize that they are more human than many of the people I knew before… before I was here.

I knew men who would betray one minute and grovel the next, simply for a grant or recognition. I knew men who would decimate populations of animals in search of preservation. Hypocrisy was the order of the day in my community and I never thought twice about it. I was one of those men.

I have planned a proper burial for Amadeus. I wish to earmark the end of his life with an experiment. At the funeral, I shall attempt to concentrate on Mozart’s Piano Concerto Number 21. I am aware of its effect on me.

In fact, I count on it.


Day 30 - #3

i like it when they run.


Day 30 - #4

my new spear is very red with their blood. There are only four piggies left the strongest ones. They are the guardians of their tribe with shadow pig leading them it is scary but I am strong.


Day 30 - #5

I weeped today my tears were flowing as my rage ran out. The blood of the pigmen soaks the ground and the sticks hold more skulls than ever we are to be feared

There is a problem Frederic does not like my change he wants me to calm down, return to normal he says.

We are strong and they are weak but Frederic is not weak but maybe he is I don’t know


Day 30 - #6

Frederic Giovanni and Ludwig are all are that left I promised them rage but they said I was too angry. Giovanni is strong but not as strong as shadowpig because he charged his camp today. Giovanni is dead.

It is Ludwig, frederic, albert and me wolfgang will avenge Amadeus haha that’s funny


Day 32 - #1

It is only Frederic and I now. We stand alone in a field of blood-soaked ground and rotting flesh. I suggested in an earlier entry that diplomacy may have ended this war. I ruined it with violence and rash thinking. Fear generated, I believed, was a viable tactic. If they fear us, I thought, we will win. We must win.

Das Tier remains in the other camp, standing vigilant as a protector of the corpses of his fallen comrades. He is alone and we are two, and in normal circumstances, I would believe this to be a imminent victory.

My chess match with Maxwell is beginning to dip in his favor. His queen has taken all of my pawns, but we have taken his in return. Only the king and his knight remain, and that is enough. The knight, unfortunately, views the king with hatred in his eyes.

When I stand with Frederic, I stand alone. He does not view me as an ally any longer. No, I feel the resentment, the vitriol radiating from his very being when he is near me. He lets me continue to sleep in this camp as he believes I am the only one capable of protecting him against Maxwell’s hound.

I do not know of our next move. In fact, I will be lucky if he does not slit my throat in my sleep.


Day 32 - #2

While Frederic is planning, I am using this time to write speculations and conjecture in my journal. I must clear my mind after living so long as Wolfgang. The habit of journal writing has helped me in ways I would have never imagined a mere month ago. I suppose it is a month. Perhaps a year in this world. I cannot be sure.

Only a couple of days ago, I had another dream. It was a short dream, but Maxwell visited me again. His tinny laughter returned and he cloaked me in shrouds of darkness, as though imparting a great wisdom or understanding. When he was finished, he stared at me, black liquid leaking from his obsidian eyes. He smiled, and with a snap of his fingers, I was awake. He was gone.

The Pig Men, suddenly, have become much clearer to me. It seems to me that they were not always this way. No, they are as much a victim of Maxwell as me, lost souls drifting to this purgatory to be bound in the bodies of brutes and intellectual simpletons. Their panicked calls and squeaks come from a mind that has the capability of producing so much more. Various images flashed into my mind as Maxwell wrapped me in cold darkness.

I saw a construction worker, having committed some heinous act, sentenced to this world. I saw a school teacher, a woman who enjoyed beating her students on a regular basis. She attested to the effectiveness of fear, and I was inclined to agree. However, she, too, was sentenced here. The images flashed, and the list stretched on.

The school teacher struck a particular chord with me. It reminded me of my days as a child and being in the care of the wondrous Wickerbottom. That was not her name, of course, but a nickname thought up by the students. She carried a cane made of tightly bound wicker. It had one purpose, motivation, and was utilized several times.

She was a smart woman, frighteningly so, as if you did not grasp her material in the time she allotted reasonable, you were to see how painful bound wicker canes could be. I, of course, never had the opportunity of receiving her punishment. I was her favorite student, in fact.

I cannot say that my classmates had the same luck. It was their fault, of course, for being such dullards.


Day 32 - #3 – Dusk

It is nearly night time and I look across the stretch of land that separates Frederic and me from Das Tier. He has not moved in hours, as though he cannot come any closer, but he continues to watch. His eyes drip the same black liquid as Maxwell did in my dream, and I feel the same fear when I stare into them. It is not a natural affliction, that much is certain, but the knowledge does not help in fighting the beast.

Frederic has angrily demanded more weapons, more armor, or some invention that will help combat him. I told him I am not a specialist in military weaponry, and he looked at me as though I had failed him. Perhaps I do not need you anyway, Frederic. I doubt you will be alive long enough to utilize the tools for which you are so desperate. The dichotomy of my mind still affects my behavior, and in one I feel horrible for thinking of Frederic’s death, but in the other…

My mind drifts back to Willow and my dream. Her burning house looked so real, so visceral. I could do nothing but imagine her lying in bed as the orange flames lapped at her body before consuming it completely, as an animal tastes its food before devouring it.

I remember, then, the end.

As the sun dips below the horizon, and blackness settles in around our camp once more, perhaps for the last time, I cannot shake the feeling of being watched.

As I write, I swear I can see familiar white eyes in the distance, piercing through the darkness. Practice, practice runs through my mind.


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PsiKid    11

I would like to say that this is one of the best things I have ever read.I can actually see Wilson going through this as he struggles to survive, and I would like to say that this is certainly entertaining to read. Keep up the good work!

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Vynik21    19

Day 33 – Bloodshed

Kill the pig! Cut his throat! Kill the pig! Bash him in! Kill the pig! Spill his blood!

Kill the pig! Cut his throat! Kill the pig! Bash him in! Kill the pig! Spill his blood!

Kill the pig! Cut his throat! Kill the pig! Bash him in! Kill the pig! Spill his blood!

Kill the pig! Cut his throat! Kill the pig! Bash him in! Kill the pig! Spill his blood!


Day 33 - #1 – Bloodshed

His inky black eyes spill inky black ink down his pinky pink skin and I cannot hold on much longer. The tendrils leap out from his eyes, piercing me, and pulling me under. My mind feels unraveled, no, gone, split, like... wolfgang. Wolfgang is dead? I call on him for strength but he does not return. Wolfgang return! I need you! Wolfgang! I am not strong enough!

Please, Wolfgang! I return! I write to call you! I only see you in my writing so I write to call you! Wolfgang! Return! Kill the pig! Spill his blood! Bash him in!



Day 33 - #2

Combat has temporarily ceased. The reason for it is horrific, unbelievable, and I can only barely wrap my mind around the consequences.

Fueled by anger, or foolishness, Frederic charged after the remaining Pig Man. I saw his black eyes flicker and dance in the sunlight as Frederic moved towards him, as though an unnatural hunger poured from him. Das Tier, as I dubbed him, is a vessel for something much more sinister. Frederic, a wonderful man, Pig Man... has seen it fitting to end this today.

Before I could gather my gear, he had taken off, screaming in a frighteningly low bass cello. The vibrato of his voice shook the ground, complimenting the rhythmic drums of war that seemed ignite in my head. Frederic's anger, I thought, might be enough to defeat the beast. I imagined him starting a new tribe as I left. The animosity he feels towards me has grown too great to coexist. I miss him already.

It was a brief battle, and the details are unimportant. The importance is the end, and thus, my current situation. The Pig Man stares at me, his familiar tendrils of shadow creeping along the ground towards my book, inching closer and closer as I sit. I fight them off with my mind, but it is only temporary.

When I saw Das Tier fall, his hands clutching a hole in his neck, blood pouring out at an alarming rate, I felt a rush of emotion. Frederic's impressive combat abilities served him well. So well that he managed to strike down the executioner of his tribe. The black eyed devil fell beneath Frederic's rampage and I felt happy, uplifted, for the first time in... years.

My jubilation was short lived. As Frederic turned around, I saw how his eyes had blackened, as though his very soul had been scorched.

The shadows leapt around him and he stared at me, the black eyes returning. There are only two of us now. I am now truly alone.

We will wait and see.


Day 33 - #3 – Dusk

I believe that our final confrontation will be at night, which is... unfortunate. I have been too preoccupied with my visions, blinking white eyes in the darkness, to fully invest myself into combat. Frederic waits, his black eyes calling, in the rival pig's camp, as though tethered to it. Perhaps he is waiting for me to be ready?

Perhaps his puppet master would like to fight on even terms, as that is the most entertaining fight of all.

Perhaps he is waiting for me to go completely insane, the only friend I've known taken by … something. Perhaps he wants me to stare into those eyes for eternity, until Hell throws itself up around me and the darkness smothers me to death. I am waiting for that. I am feeling that. I am... I must fight.

The eyes blink in the darkness. Flickering flames fan further from furtive feelings. F... F... F... F... F... Wicked Wanderings and Wants Wither Wildly... W...W...W...W...

Wolfgang. Wolfgang. Wolfgang. Help me.


Day 33 - #4 – Twilight

I hear him in my mind. Mozart returns but Wolfgang does not.

“You do this on your own. You are STRONG!” He screams in my brain case, my skull rattling with sharp words that pierce my sanity.

“I cannot. I need you, Wolfgang. I need strength,” I say in return. I talk to no one but myself, I think. Frederic watches with glimmering eyes, shadows beckoning me to join him. Maybe I will.

I feel a call, my hand reaches for my spear made previously. I have donned my armor, a cheap wooden construct, unconsciously. I fight with all of my strength but I feel the pull of him, the tentacles pulling me closer and closer. I am not moving. I am writing. I am writing in my journal.

My brain, my mind, my consciousness, my sanity, my hopes, my fears, they all leave me. I am a shell. No. Practice, practice. Practice, practice. Practice, practice. Fight, fight. You are a genius, Wilson. You are the smartest man alive.

Fight Wilson.

Be strong.


Day 33 - #5 – Night


F... F... F... Fire. Fire erupts. I am on the corner of my camp, clutching my journal close. I cannot lose it as it is the only lifeline I have. It is what prevents my mind from slipping, being pulled away by his black eyes.

They pull me into the darkness but I hear the hissing. The hissing of the dark. I was about to die but then...

F..F..F..F..Fire...W..W.. Willow.

Her white eyes blink in the distance, a mask of indifference on her face and her bear bouncing on her knee. It bounces to the drums. The snakes of ebony recoiled in horror back into the spheres inside of Frederic's head.

A roar of anger.

I must fight. Not in the darkness, but in the entire burning forest. It burns around me, collapsing, and Frederic approaches. Hell, I think.

Keep your mind, Wilson. Write and keep your mind.


Day? - Entry? - Time?

I am sitting in a circle of fire. The trees burn, animals scream in the night, and I am alone once again. The fire makes for an incredible light with which to record events transpired. I am sitting beside Frederic, whose body has been commissioned, involuntarily, as fuel for the flames. He burns and I smell food. I feel awful.

The flames have been burning for a long time. Time compression? I don't know how long I've been sitting here, but it seems like a great deal longer than a few minutes. Eternal flames. Perhaps I am connecting too much towards a great religious significance in my broken head. A forest fire burns for a long time, of course. I know this from the real world. The real world. As though this world is not real.. one can only hope.

The battle with Frederic was not a battle in... the strictest sense of the word. He charged, frightening bass uttering nonsensical phrases and motifs, and drove himself into my spear. His eyes flashed again, the darkness flittered away, and his eyes stared back at me. They were only open for a few moments, as long as it took for realization to hit his Pig Man brain. Recognition flashed on his eyes and then nothing.

His body now burns in front of me, my lit spear serving as a beacon of... betrayal? Maybe.

According to Dante, traitors reside in the deepest levels of the Inferno. As the trees burn, I cannot help but place myself there. The torture is insufficient, however. I feel as though I no longer have command of myself, of my mind, but that is nothing for a traitor.

I must pause.

I will write one more entry, I believe, once my mind has cleared.



I wept for, oh, what must have been hours. The flames have not died down and Frederic's body continues to burn. The white eyes that blinked in the darkness are no longer able to found, perhaps because I cannot see past the blinding flames.

I stopped crying because I began to worry that the tears would ruin my account of these events. I believe, for future reference, that this is an important moment in my life, as well as my scientific research. I am certain that I will not find a single comparable journal in all of academia when I return home. I will be famous.

Nothing seems real to me. I'm writing to keep from going completely mad, as I imagine I will as soon as this entry comes to a close. I have tried to cope with recent events but I have found that, even I, cannot. It is not as much of a burden as one may think.

In fact, I believe I may need to give in. Submit to the madness, as they say. As who says? As I say. It's beginning already.

I apologize to myself because I do not plan on writing any more entries for a... while. Perhaps in a few days I will continue, perhaps dozens, or perhaps hundreds, I cannot say for sure.

I need to submit. It feels like the right thing to do.

I cannot tell if it has been hours, or days, or weeks since this forest began to burn, but I will watch until only ash remains.

Maybe then I will find the need to open my journal again. If I find that need, I will write. A hundred days in the future, two hundred, a year? Will I die? I don't know.

We will speak again, journal, and I will have many important things to say.


As Act 2 comes to a close, we see Wilson pulled further from his goals and from his home. This is not the final part of the story but it is an intermission! Any feedback, suggestions, comments, etc. that you wish you contribute, I would be more than happy to implement. I will read everything posted, like usual, and I would like to thank everyone who has stuck with my story up to this point. I hope you are still enjoying it as I am definitely still finding joy in writing it.

Every comment and view makes me want to write more and more, so for that, thank you. :)

I'm gonna try to get the whole story up on the first post, but I don't think that's going to be possible. If anyone knows what the post word limit is, please let me know. The story right now is sitting at around 13,000, which I'm not sure will fit in the first post.

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buttercup    71

May I just mention, I really like your take on Wolfgang. It makes sense somehow. In fact I really like your take on the whole thing. Good job, dude. :D

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Vynik21    19

I appreciate all the feedback :) I'm glad you enjoyed act 2, the1SAR. It was considerably longer than the first one which was unintentional. This whole thing is going somewhere in case anyone was worried that it was just going to be rambling with no end. It might be rambling, but it has an end planned for it. And thanks buttercup :) The first time I played Don't Starve and unlocked more of the characters, I always considered them split from Wilson in some way instead of separate adventurers. I don't know why, but it seemed to just make sense to me. I appreciate you reading the story and look forward to writing more for you guys.

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Syd    233

I concur. I'd love to see where you're taking this story, Vynik. This is the best Don't Starve fanfiction I've seen yet.

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Vynik21    19

i appreciate all the kind words! I have no intention of letting this thread die. I'm taking a small break to deal with other stuff I have to take care of, but I should have the beginning of part three up by the middle of this week. Sorry for the delay but I'm happy that it is still getting such a warm reception. :)

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Strong    10

I would like to see this is a actual journal-esque matter, the pages printed out, in a scraggy journal cover~burn marks, beard hair clippings, spit from drooling wilson, just a thought.

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Vynik21    19

I would like to see this is a actual journal-esque matter, the pages printed out, in a scraggy journal cover~burn marks, beard hair clippings, spit from drooling wilson, just a thought.

I would love to do something like that, but I really don't have the art skills to do it. I would be absolutely thrilled if someone would be up to doing something like that or any art really.

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