It was a very anti-climactic evening in the deserts of Arrakis, as The Worm—our would-be apex predator and Craig’s destiny—stubbornly refused to turn up and devour him whole. We’d crossed the sands, even shouted helpful instructions like, “Craig, stand still and wiggle!” but alas, the Worm was either on strike or enjoying its union-mandated coffee break.
So, in true conqueror fashion, we each built a base. Nothing quite screams “galactic domination” like a hastily cobbled 2x4 rock hut. Eventually, we consolidated on Dave’s base, partly because it was closest to the trading outpost and partly because it was the only one that didn’t look like a sand-encrusted bathroom stall. The outpost itself was a tall, well-lit building with thick walls designed to withstand the fiercest sandstorm. Dave’s base, in contrast, would struggle against a stiff breeze.
We teamed up like the dysfunctional family we are. The generator was stocked with power cells, lights installed, and—since Dave is a hoarding pack rat—storage boxes were added, then more storage boxes, and then even more storage boxes. It was hot work, so we extended the roof for shade and, in an inspired moment of “eco-conscious survivalism,” installed blood converters. Because nothing says “progress” like harvesting people for their blood to turn into potable water. Truly, how the mighty have fallen: from Rogue Traders with their own sector to escaped prisoners licking dew off flowers.
Zaph, being immune to distractions like “all the shiny rocks,” got ahead of the rest of us. Dave, however, couldn’t resist, “Put that down, we have enough copper!” as Myles intercepted him carting yet another armload of raw ore. Meanwhile, Zaph calmly set up a small ore refinery and a fabricator. Naturally, Dave went right back to collecting more copper. Craig, whose hobbies now include “murder for hydration,” needed to drain scavengers for their blood. So, off we went to the nearby Imperial Testing Station—a charming relic from a simpler, slightly more genocidal era.
We explored, looted, drank scavenger water, killed scavengers, opened secret doors, looted some more, and acquired weird components that screamed “future quest item.” Back at base, spice-induced dreams followed. Craig, feeling claustrophobic, added a second floor to the base because apparently “two levels of chaos is better than one.”
Then came the first Trial of AQL. We sniffed spice from a bowl, passed out, and dreamed of playing hide-and-seek with the sun. You know, normal Tuesday stuff. Afterwards, we ducked into a cave during a sandstorm, hit another scavenger outpost for the patented KLS treatment (Kill, Loot, Steal intel), and rolled back to base with new gear and slightly more heatstroke.
Zaph found a rifle but immediately grumbled, “There’s no scope. How am I supposed to do headshots with this?” Beggars, as it turns out, can be choosers even on a desert death world.
We raided an old Fremen cave (moisture seals were slashed—ziplocks clearly hadn’t been invented yet), looted scavenger outposts, and returned to base with a fresh haul. Blood was poured into machines; we researched surveyor probes using the mystical knowledge gained from our spice trip. Myles climbed rocks to launch the probes but found the height insufficient. After some mutual grunting and stamina breaks, he and Dave scaled a larger outcropping and successfully revealed part of the map. Craig, meanwhile, struggled to operate the surveying tool and possibly invented several new swear words in the process.
A visit to the trading outpost ensued. We spoke to an old geezer who promised to teach us to be troopers if we would kindly go murder his old drinking buddies. Sign us up.
After delivering copper and miscellaneous Imperial Station loot, we bought Camelbak recipes and headed for the wreck of a crashed spaceship. Rock outpost to rock outpost we ran, staying in the shadows while Myles screamed, “CRAIG! Stay in the shade or you’ll roast!” Naturally, we hit another scavenger outpost (KLS, rinse, repeat), looted the ship, and learned how to burn hinges off doors for maximum dramatic flair.
Returning to base, Craig took sadistic joy in placing materials in the wrong chests, sending Dave into a slow spiral of organizational madness. We crafted new clothes for scavenger infiltration, stillsuits for stylish sweat-drinking adventures, and bike parts to trade at the outpost.
Next week promises further idiocy: retrieving forgotten materials, building a trike, learning “planetology,” and finally leaving the newbie training area to embark on our real adventure.
Saturday morning: Dave logged in alone to do base cleanup, put items in the correct chests, and add yet another level to our rock palace. Because even in the grim heat of Arrakis, Dave can’t resist playing Space Ikea.
