Things have gone to the worse. The whole area beneath my belt has stagnated. I would ask the doctor for treatment, but he has been missing for three days. The savage workers have become wary of the sun and my civilized instructions. In addition, the young girl who kept me clean has refused to continue. Moral is low and stench is high.
One note of brightness is that the workers continue to find new items under the dirt. Hopefully the drawing will be done soon. All work is slow, but it seems the artifacts are glad to give up their hiding. Hopefully, we can finish the dig before the savages break loose.
I assume this to be my last journal entry, for the savages have spent the day ransacking camp. All hired crew from the states are either missing or dead. I have spent the day hiding beneath the desk in the artist's lodge, but the artist joined forces with the natives. My lower half is numb, and has been for a day now. I have no chance of escaping into the jungle. Hopefully I can finish this entry before the savages find me.
Since the artist abandoned camp, I was forced to draw the last set of hieroglyphics myself. These carvings may be able to answer all the questions I had, but I was only able to examine them for a moment. From information gathered, the stone presents an image of two feuding kings, each entangled in a war over land. Hopefully a civilized human will continue my work. I hear the savages gathering outside. Godbless the Queen, the civilized crew, the Lodge back home, and my family
Watercolors provided by Emily Reed, firstname.lastname@example.org. Help with Biggie/Tupac image from Jillian Techatanalai
"Really, Holmes!" I dropped into my seat, shocked. "You are remarkably tall! What are you, six foot six? Six foot eight?"
As the 19th century diver approaches a giant clam, a flash of brilliant golden light flares from within the shell. I emerge in a swirl of bubbles and do the timeless universal underwater hand signals for the following: ZODIAC KILLER, KKK, BLOOD OF YOUTH
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