He continued his hanging, the dwarf, the dark too hazardous to chance an escape during. He attempted to render himself asleep--a futile effort, his dwarfen mind overwhelmed with morbid possibilities concerning Waspig’s fate. But--’dwarfen mind’? Surely though his presentation in totality came as dwarf, the engines within were greased and lubed in human blood--that same which enveloped the synapses of mankind. His beard itched. He struggled loose a free arm, thick as it was. Satisfying the dwarfen desire--this thought paused him regardless of suspension. Human is the gesture of scratching for pleasure, he reasoned. Who else? But then, what had he already seen? A tentacle sprouted fungus, the funguay. A bizarre bee and pig offspring, his Waspig. He called its name aloud, the dwarf’s cries bouncing back at himself with force before their repel to the other side, looping on less and less into death. No answer sought the dwarf but his own. He hung his hanging head. He realized even the monkey satisfies its urge to itch. Eventually the sleep the dwarf wished for materialized, though his lids’ closing proved once more indistinguishable from sight...

The ravine, though still permeated with a dark mist, became a victim of the prenoon sun’s rays. Waking to warmth, the dwarf was allowed to ascertain his situation and surroundings: trees grew along the sides of the cliff stooping massive vines, these harboring their own slightly smaller versions of such, and so forth. The size eventually less than his arms, vines nonetheless trapped the dwarf in a natural cage dozens of feet above what did, in fact, appear to be a large pond of welcoming blue water. He breathed a sigh of relief pleased to avoid having to slowly shuffle down bark, that which ran into the base of the pit itself--within which he could not spy Waspig’s colors. It took relentless wriggling and concentration of effort to escape the tentacles, and he could not avoid an ‘ATHLETICS’ level declaration in the process. The dwarf managed loose much of his upper frame and prepared himself for a lengthy dive. Terror grabbed at his thick throat upon realizing the degree to which his efforts would be set back in death--the ravine, unflown. The forest, untraversed. The funguay, yet escaped. In fact, it would be their very moment of meeting--he and the hermit--his last save saw. At least Waspig’s safety then came guaranteed. The dwarf called for his pet again, gruff lungs reverberating and little else.

“ENTERTAINMENT SKILL XP GAINED”

“ENTERTAINMENT SKILL INCREASED TO 2”

The dwarf rejoiced in deep puzzlement. His haired feet firm on the fled prison, he swung and swayed till satisfied in the gravity, or perhaps until enough courage had grown. In either case the dwarf leapt, arcing through light penetrated mist down deep into the black heart of the canyon, its blue twinkling invitingly, his own reflection and shadow coming fast into view. Crashing with enough force to shower nearby fauna and mushroom headed critters alike, the dwarf plunged far. The wet wildlife fled as he produced his form from beneath the rippling surface, beard soaked and once more whipping its owner.

“SWIMMING SKILL INCREASED TO 14”

“BASE JUMPING SKILL XP GAINED”

“BASE JUMPING SKILL INCREASED TO 2”

Had he suffered no shortage of falls prior to the newly discovered skill? The dwarf wrestled with the concept of ‘EXP’ in between spray and foam, eventually making his way to the stone shore absentmindedly. He vibrated his extremities extremely so, the appearance of his sheep dogs ridding themselves of drowned coats hanging a smile on the shaker. He noticed as much gazing upon the sight of himself--caught on a snare. Waspig whips in the wake of rain, too, he remembered. A frown took shape in the pool. The dwarf wandered away.

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Mushrooms--freckled, spotted, spiked, oily--dominated a great portion of the lit area, the dwarf utterly conscious of their likely meaning. He also felt afraid of the evening and the return to a void state. Many roots, trunks as ridiculous as the limbs of his picture book mammoths’, filled much real estate. Such sported bones and skulls of a wide variety--the dwarf recognized humanity’s shape as well, then horse’s, chicken’s, massive tusks of obvious source--the recognitions ended nearly there. He was not quite sure whether funguay possessed bones, but no alien head matched what had been fled. Many bulged in strange ways--the skulls--the dwarf unable to imagine their reskinning. One, on closer inspection, somewhat matched the description of a porcine bug. He cupped and called Waspig once more, navigating the boneyard with repeated yells. While his voice seemed consistent in delivery and bounce-back, one particular call sailed straight and never returned. His direction changed, and the dwarf discovered chipped rock overwhelmed with moss smothering the entrance to what seemed a passage. Its cavernous guts hid, and the dwarf realized his remaining time under the sun seemed best spent indeed under.

“ATHLETICS SKILL INCREASED TO 23”

“SURVIVAL SKILL INCREASED TO 13”

The bounty of trees provided an excellent source of sap, the dwarf basking a somewhat smoothed branch that dripped in clumps after. Dry wood clashed and vibrated in his hands to create fire, a process well practiced before a defeated, deflated toadstool topped toad. To this end he produced a wet pit for flames to continue on canyon land. His stomach became painfully aware of its own existence after, and the dwarf broke to scavenge. Carts laid smashed or obliterated in several spots which the dwarf searched haphazardly, though still collecting a decent amount of coin and, more edible, vegetables yet to rot. He mounted these--the food, the coins he simply dropped having nowhere to store them--and cooked the contents in sap. An optimistic side of the stout firestarter seemed confident the pervading aroma of sauteed crops would lure a lost Waspig back to its owner. A more worried school of thinking considered the other types of monsters possibly brought to the smoke and flames, but he shook such negativity from his mind and focused on feasting. Even well past lunch, the plan’s resolution did not materialize--only levels.

“COOKING SKILL XP GAINED”

“COOKING SKILL INCREASED TO 2”

“SURVIVAL SKILL INCREASED TO 14”

Sunlit hours dwindled away as dusk came and took light from the ravine, basking its contents and creatures in familiar darkness. A haze too overtook. The dwarf entered the rock opening, light in hand, the wood in his wake reduced to dust.

Only dwarf and torch trekked the blackness. Winding paths turned him round in enough directions to force away any sense of south, no north in sight. Various chitters echoed from crevices above. Their octaves rose and dropped fast like anvils, and the dwarf felt them. While some part of him pulled his interest towards the otherworldly species, he felt an irrational yet unshakeable anxiety mount itself in his mind speaking ill and warning of worse as time ticked in the dark. He quickened his pace.

It surprised the dwarf to gradually hear crackling, soon stumbling upon warm tones of flame against cave. He leaned his own light in a squat and snuck away with cautious interest. The further he crept, louder became the sounds of what seemed society: chatter and laughter and the production of food. Despite having already taken a recent meal, the dwarf’s head drifted to the dishes being prepped within the depths, its chefs surely separate from the bow-armed antagonists above. Anything went in this strange world, he admitted to himself, and so he could only hope for reasonable sentience.

Turning the corner with beard tucked, a variety of shacks and other housing littered a misaligned and ragged milky rock flooring, stalagmites and -tites the foundations of a variety of odd structures. All described proved difficult to see, silhouettes dissatisfactory in darkness. Only one source of light blazed enough to welcome the dwarf via tunnel--it billowed in the middle, nursed by vague humanoids, their legs certainly alike but with upper torso instead flared and cock-headed, a multitude of appendages dangling from beneath their caps.

On their spit roasted a creature of wings, hooves, snout and stinger.