Location: Still stubbornly clinging to these foothills. The house seems to have developed a liking for the view. Or just pure, vindictive laziness.
Right, today: attempt to make sense of the local night sky. We’ve been parked here for several days now, which means I have a semi-stable frame of reference for stellar observation. Usually, I ignore the night sky completely – the house’s internal chronometer and dimensional-aware navigation systems handle that sort of thing. But my aforementioned fondness for being able to predict, for instance, when a particular season might be shifting requires at least a rudimentary understanding of the local constellations. Plus, I’ve noticed a peculiar shimmer in the sky to the west the last couple of nights that the house hasn’t identified. Could be a minor dimensional bleed, could be a highly localized aurora, could be a flock of particularly iridescent space-bats. Needs investigating.
The initial problem, as always, is equipment. My astrolabe (a beautiful, brass contraption inherited from a somewhat eccentric elven astronomer, don’t ask) is currently buried somewhere in the cargo hold that also contains the spare void wards and the collection of sentient seashells. Finding it would require a full-scale archaeological dig and the use of at least three different divination charms, probably attracting the attention of whatever lives in that particular storage dimension. Too much effort.
Settled for the more portable star-charting kit. Which mostly involves a large sheet of enchanted vellum, several charcoal sticks that mark stellar positions relative to magical resonance, and a small, rather temperamental compass that used to belong to a one-eyed cyclops with a known penchant for lying and misdirection. The compass is… unreliable. It usually points roughly north, but often only after spinning slowly through all other points of the compass for at least a minute, and occasionally it will abruptly decide that ‘north’ is, in fact, ‘slightly to the left’ or ‘directly downwards’. Still, better than nothing. Unless it isn’t. Jury’s still out on that one.
Set up the vellum sheet on the flattest rock I could find (a constant battle in this lumpy landscape). The Hair, initially curious, quickly lost interest in the night sky and started trying to eat the charcoal sticks. Had to banish it to the house. The stars themselves were remarkably clear. Not too much light pollution from whatever-its-called-wick, thankfully. Drew a quick horizon line using what I hoped was west based on the sunset earlier. Then… time for the compass.
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Began the ritual of coaxing the thing to cooperate. Held it in my hand, muttered a few calming runes (mostly just old sailor’s curses), and waited for it to settle. It spun, of course. For a good two minutes, the needle whipping around like it was trying to decide which direction it disliked least. Eventually, with a sigh that I’m sure it could hear, it mostly stilled, pointing roughly in what might have been the direction it was supposed to. Marked ‘North’ on the vellum. Made a note to calibrate this thing with a less… creatively-challenged… directional device when I get the chance.
Then, the actual charting. Used a simple sky-scanning spell to amplify my vision and filter out ambient light. Noted the brighter stars, their relative positions to my suspect ‘North’, and any noticeable magical resonance – that shimmer to the west was indeed coming from a cluster of particularly bright stars near the horizon, not a tear in reality, which was marginally less alarming. Began transferring the positions and resonance readings onto the vellum with the charcoal. Slow, tedious work. The damned charcoal kept snapping. The wind kept trying to blow the vellum away. A passing owl kept hooting at me, sounding suspiciously judgmental. The only thing missing was the Hair attempting to ‘help’. Small favors.
Managed to map a decent chunk of the sky before the wind picked up enough to make further work impossible. The emerging star pattern doesn’t match any celestial maps I know. Definitely not a standard terrestrial constellation. This is either a completely unknown region of the sky or… something else. Need to cross-reference this with the house’s navigation records. If it’s not in the star charts, it’s either recently formed or… recently arrived. Always comforting.
Brought the mostly-done chart inside. The Hair was waiting for me, looking reproachful, apparently offended by its banishment. Gave it a grudging pat and a bit of dried lavender as an apology. It immediately tried to braid the lavender into its ends, then sneeze. Predictable.
The situation: unreliable compass. Unknown star pattern. Possibly significant magical shimmer. All this suggests that the house isn't just randomly parking itself, and I need to figure out where it is doing this.
Checked the navigational orb in the cellar – that usually gives the most reliable readings. The orb, however, was stubbornly dark. Didn’t even flicker. Just… dormant. That's never good.
Sigh. It’s always something. First, get that damned compass recalibrated. Then, try to wake up the orb. And then, maybe, maybe, try to figure out why the house has decided to take us to a place that doesn’t exist. Or shouldn’t.
