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Name: Horace St. James Golightly
Profession: Explorer, Adventurer
Location: Piñata Island
Misson Brief: Return to service and investigate new species and developments for Interactive Product #2 |
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Explorer's Log #2.1: Back in the Field
Pip pip! Did you worry you'd seen the last of me, dear reader? Ah, but it takes more than a year of inactivity and poverty to put a Golightly down. It is true that I became lost in the jungle, missed my passage home and had to live in a frankly rubbish mud hut with rudimentary hygiene for some time, hence the interesting smell (for which I apologise). But at last my luck has improved! Poncho finally showed up again to inform me that contact with the mainland had been re-established, my erstwhile Employers had agreed to my reinstatement after only a moderate level of coercion, et voila! Horace St. James Golightly is back on the case.
Recent times have seen changes here on Piñata Island, both good and bad. Broadly speaking the local gardens have flourished, with considerably more Piñata species on the prowl than I remember (although nobody will believe me about the minotaur, and I hadn't been drinking). |
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There is, however, a certain air of anxiety as you draw closer to Piñata Central; it seems top Ruffian type Professor Pester and his band of ne'er-do-wells hatched a plan to steal the computer records for some dim-witted purpose, but typically ended up erasing everything instead. |
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Now the factory workers are desperate for full candiosity Piñatas to help restore the files and keep their stuttering party business afloat, while that high-falutin' Lickatoad bounces around in a panic like... well, like a panicky Lickatoad.
As for the previously unseen species I mentioned, many hail from the hot and cold wildernesses outside traditional garden country. Not sure how they got here, but it appears to be the 'in thing' to add that extreme weather feel to your own stretch of land. Fortunately sand and snow cover is now available on demand in all parts of the island, so those poor Pengums don't shrivel up while the Camellos perish of pneumonia. They nip like a good 'un, but I wouldn't wish that on them. |
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