Can you hear the music? It echoes...Resonating from within...

We all have a song inside, you know... But how hard do you listen?

I listened too long to my song...and now it listens to me.

whispers...Beckoning me closer into the darkness...Fear...Clinging at me...Warding me...warning me...

I listen not. Darkness brings comfort...a snuggness about it. I will walk closer into the darkness...

fool.

Do you listen to the words you speak?

Butyouknowthatyouwanttogodeeperdontyou

I stared out at the night last night...I looked into the forest beyond...

The knight Himself awaits me...

I crave His darkness

Trouble

I think Robert's a bit too obsessed with this dig, whatever he may say. He's grabbed everything he can carry from the trunk and gone inside the tent. He snaps at me and shoos me away if I so much as step my toe inside. Rob's generally sensible, so it can't last long. All the same, I'm worried about him. It could be that he's some kind of homesick; despite his constant complaints I'm certain he doesn't really hate the country all that much. Germany's a nice place.

The cuisine could've gotten to him. Maybe he has food poisoning. Unfortunately the herbal tea he packed was confiscated at the airport, so he'll have to live with it. And I'll have to live with him!

Everett out.

Contents

It took us a while, but we've got the trunk. The inscription says:

"Beweis für die Existenz des Ritters - Klaus Gage"

For those of you non-German-speakers out there, that translates roughly to "Evidence of the existence of the knight," as far as I can figure. Now, inside the trunk is what is much more interesting. There are a few wood carvings depicting, well, woods, and humanoid shapes. There's one very interesting one of some kind of man-spider's skeleton having a jousting battle with a human. Fascinating stuff. There's also a few vases decorated with similar figures, depicting horrifying scenes...there's one or two black-and-white photographs near the bottom. All I could see is trees, but Robert snatched them out of my hands before I could get a closer look. He's fawning over them. I don't blame him. He really isn't having a good time here, so it's nice he can be doing something interesting.

We'll keep going through. I'll post an update if we notice something really amazing.

Everett out.

Residential

We may have found something. Which is good. For me, at least. I quite enjoy Germany. And after all this trouble, and all the money our sponsor's spending, I would hate to come back emptyhanded.

Anyway, we've uncovered part of a gilded trunk, including a handle. From its looks, it's incredibly heavy. We'll be digging around it for a while to see if there's anything else, and then maybe we'll see what's inside. There seems to be an inscription on it, but much of it is eroded or covered. All we can see now is "B     is   f d    E   tt   - Kla  s Gage".

Everett out.

Harken unto me

Hello, world! If you're reading this then you've, for one reason or another, come across the blog of the two-man archaeologist team of Everett Felame and Robert Terbor, otherwise known as the Abel Corps Digging Company. Abel Corps for short. We've been on a few tours around the United States, where I was born (Rob's English), but the success of that can be summed up with our most interesting find: a carved rock. Recently, however, we got an email from a very kind sponsor who decided to fund a trip to Germany. This sponsor - we haven't had very much contact with them - apparently found what could prove to be an interesting dig spot, but didn't have the manpower or tools to actually start an excavation. That's where we came in. God knows why they chose us, but we're glad they did. And they asked us to make this blog for the duration of our stay here.

Unfortunately we've been here for over two months and haven't found anything. Not the slightest pottery fragment, not a splinter of a wood carving, or even the most faded etching in stone. Just dirt and sand. If we don't find something in the next two weeks, we're packing up and going home to Florida.

Anyway. Tomorrow Rob'll introduce himself and then...then I guess we'll see what we can find.

Speaking of introducing, I think I'll introduce myself a little. I was born on October 31, 1983, to Everett and Yvette Robertson. Which makes me Everett Robertson, Jr., or it did until I was married to Annabel Felame. I took her name because she was an only child, and thus there was nobody else to pass on the name, whereas I have both a brother and a sister. Then Annabel left me for another man. I'm not bitter, really, because it was a straight-out-of-college fling and doomed not to last, but I still wish she had stayed. I keep her name as a reminder of my mistakes. And my love. Sometimes I feel like I can't love anymore, on those days when we're camping at a dig site and I can't sleep. It only got worse when, a year later, my father died in some kind of horrible accident. Even today nobody's really sure what happened. Rest in peace, Everett Robertson.

Anyway. Enough soppy reminiscing from me.

Everett out.

Hello...Internet

Hello. I'm Robert. I dont now why I've been asked to do this "blog" thing. I hate these machines and yet our society makes them so vital. It's enough to drive you mad.

I suppose I should clarify the finer points of my life.

I hate German weather;

I don't like the sound of the German language;

This German dig is boring;

German laws and customs annoy me;

All in all, I am not enjoying this one bit.

I am currently in a cold on-site tent feeding off what little Internet this portable memory chip thingy gives me. I don't really understand it all to be honest...

I don't really understand why anybody would care enough to read this. I sincerely hope no one is sad enough to try... I hope our empty words, echoing out to empty spaces and hollow dreams that compose the bittersweet symphony we call life, are unheard and unheeded...

Looking at the post my colleague put up... He is taking a rather optimistic approach. This is all just another adventure, as far as he is concerned.

Adventure my arse. I want to be home. Surrey was much simpler...

And the Earl Grey half decent.

I suppose I should also clarify that I am not American. My mother decided I should go to Harvard instead of Oxford and I reluctantly went along. I got the qualifications needed for...whatever this is...and the results were thoroughly disappointing. Our presence here is superfluous; the wind itself could do a better job at digging these trenches.

I sincerely apologise for the chords made within our throats that are reaching out to your ears in the form of rambling textual torture rooms... I would expect a lot of them if I were you.

Till we next meet- Robert