//the forgotten fence
//one off explore thing

[if (days > 15) {By now, you've grown [if (days < 30) {a bit }]accustomed to how desolate the wastes surrounding your camp truly are, and maybe it's knowing you could [walk] for hours and find little more than your shadow|Every time you venture out into the wastes surrounding your camp, the sheer emptiness comes as a bit of a surprise. [if (days > 9) Sure, you're getting a little used to it, but it's still|It's hard not to be in awe of how devoid of, well, [i:anything] it is, and it's}] so nothing like Ingnam}] that those rare moments when you stumble across something has you blinking the dust from your eyes to look again. After all, [if (days < 6) {you've heard tales back home of|it wouldn't be the first time you've seen}] fanciful shapes that shimmer and squirm like liquid dreams beneath the heat, tempting those who fall for their own desires to fates [if (days < 6) {that remained untold|you don't dare imagine}].

Yet when your eyes open once more into the [timeofday] light, the sight before you stands as stalwart as ever, unwavering even as you [if (singleleg) {slip|step}] forward for a closer look. Then another, and a few more, and by the time you can actually make out what you've found, there's a trail [if (singleleg) {in the dust|of footprints}] stretching back almost as far as you can see.

It's a fence, wooden and [if (height < 60) {tall enough that you'd have to [if (isbiped) {stand on your tip-toes|stretch as much as you can}] if you wanted to climb over|[if (height > 84) {not nearly tall enough to keep out someone your size|short enough that you can see in with ease but still tall enough you'd have to climb}]}]. Dull red flakes of paint cling stubbornly to a few of the posts, though by now it's hard to say whether that was ever its true color or simply years of dust and wind taking their toll. No tracks lead in or out, nothing obvious sits inside, and about all that stops you from calling this place long-abandoned is how no other ruins dot the soil.

No, it's as if this fence alone was meant to be here, and even when you creep closer, close enough to run a palm along the cracked, [if (hours > 19) {cool|sun-warmed}] wood if you dared, nothing else catches your eye. Whatever was once inside has long since left, any traces of its existence swept away by the winds or swallowed up by the dirt until bare desolation is all that remains.

Which is pretty much what you've found, as far as you can tell. Sure, at one point it might have kept something in, and maybe it does seem sized about right to hold [if (istaur) {creatures built like yourself|some sort of creature}]. Or maybe it kept something out of a farmer's field or graveyard or who knows what else, but by now time has turned this fence into half-split timbers held up by little more than [[if (met marae && marae alive) {the [if (corrupt marae) {twisted grip|grace}] of Marae|sheer spite at the world}].

In any case, you could search it if you like. Things aren't always as they seem, and you have your doubts you could find this exact spot again if you were to pass it by.

[Search] //maybe there's still something there.
[Watch] //you'd better make sure there's nothing dangerous.
[Leave] //this is trash. you don't have time for trash.

//search
You don't exactly have much hope, but then again, it's not like anyone else is using this place either. Maybe there's riches innumerable lying a mere finger's depth beneath the soil, and that though makes [if (singleleg) {contorting your flexible body through a gap in the fence|[if (istaur) {shattering the weakest section with a kick from your [feet]|climbing over the fence}]}] come a little bit easier.

Inside, though, seems no different than out. The dirt still clings thick and dusty to your palm, the [sun] still [if (hours > 19) {bathes you in a cold red light|burns hot against your head}], and whatever dreams of fortune you might have had are dashed upon the very real rocks in your hand. They're everywhere, it seems, and you've scarcely brushed the soil from one before you find another [if (singleleg) {beneath your [if (isnaga) {tail|body}]|at your feet}]. You'd dare say they were breeding here if it made any sense at all, and by the time you've scooped out a full pile with sore arms and aching back, you're met with the gnawing realization that they aren't going to roll home to your camp on their own.

But [if (str > 60) {you still have enough of your strength|you've made it this far}], so with a sigh and steadily growing regret, you set to work packing the stones into your [inv] before heading back to your camp. //gain some stones, also some fatigue if str < 60

//watch
Sure, it doesn't look like anyone's been here in the last decade, let alone the last few days. And maybe [if (singleleg) {contorting yourself|[if (istaur) {lying in the [if (hours > 19 {rough|hot}] dirt|[if (height > 84) {all but doubling over|hunching over}]}]}] behind the scrubbiest shrub you've ever seen wasn't the most comfortable idea, especially with it prickling you with every shift and shudder and breath you take, and time seems to flow like thick, droopy glass as you peer between the leaves to find little more than the wind upon the dust.

But you're ready. Your [if (hasweapon) {[weapon] sits tight against your palm|fists are clenched}], prepared to lash out at the first sign of a threat. Your mouth runs dry [if (hours > 19) {despite the cool evening air|from the heat}], but no, you must deny yourself a drink and not give yourself away with even the faintest rustle from your [inv]. No demon will get the drop on you, no hungry beast will feast upon your [if (isgoo) {chewy remains|flesh}], and by all the stars in Ingnam you'd sooner swallow your own dust-laced saliva than walk into a trap.

Which you do. More times than you'd like to count, each one dryer than the last.

Then you hear it. A faint scuttling in the sand, the slightest sign of danger drawing near as your breath hangs in your chest, and each shuffle and scrape of the enemy approaching echoes like your own pulse within your skull, and when you can take it no longer you creep ever-so-slightly to the side and peek around the bush--

--and spot a fat lizard crawling lazily [if (hours > 19) {behind the base of a splintered post|atop a splintered post, basking in the sun}].

Well, there's your answer, you suppose. If a small, squishy creature like that considers this place to be safe, than surely a [if (race = lizard) {big }][race] like yourself has nothing to fear.

You could still search the fence, if you wanted. Or you could wince the cramps out of your [if (isgoo) {everything|[if (isnaga) {tail|legs}]}], pick yourself up and head back home if you've had enough. //bring up choices again

//leave
No, you have better things to do than waste your time digging around in the dirt, hoping for the smallest scraps of good fate. This place was abandoned for a reason, hasn't been returned to for a reason, and as you turn your back on the runs, now ignored for what you'd say is a pretty good reason too. The elements can have this place, because it holds no value for you.

The trip back to your camp is light and easy, and as soon as the fence is out of your sight, it never crosses your mind again.