A two week expedition. That's all it was supposed to be. A "short trip to a distant town." A "quick, never before attempted trip to bring back new goods." Myself and five other men, (Marcus, Exavier, Edwards, Smith, and Borrowson) approximately around the ages of twenty to twenty-five had been tasked with this mission. We had brought enough rations and supplies to last us four weeks (not to mention loads of ale for the celebration when we finally arrived). We were just about three weeks into the expedition when we came across a desert which had barely been mapped out. To get to our destination there was no choice but to attempt to cross the barren wasteland. The majority of the crew (Marcus, Exavier, Borrowson, Smith, and I) thought that it would be best to turn back, but Edwards our captain, glory hungry and confident, decided that we should cross. With no complaints, we followed Edwards into the desert. Two hours into crossing, a sandstorm picked up, and we lost our way. We've been wandering the desert ever since. Our "two week mission" has now lasted four weeks.
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Three Weeks Too Long
RandomA two week expedition, enough supplies, and a hardy crew. What could go wrong?
