Traps. Traps. Traps. Fishing? Ryan wracked his brain on how he planned to take down the massive snapping turtle. It wasn't like he could pass it by, either. It was too tempting a puzzle, a prize. Think of the things he could make out of it! The XP he could earn for Luris! So, it was something he needed to take care before he moved out of the forest. Further, the large amount of turtle meat would be nice insurance for the future. He still needed to figure out his forest egress plan.
Anyhow, sitting around wouldn't solve any of his problems. He needed to take positive action towards taking down the turtle. He saw two ways to take down the thing; keep it underwater until it drowned via some kind of trap, or get it up on land. If he got it on land, he'd have a better chance to get to its soft parts. He needed to hit its eyes, neck, and other vital areas. Make it bleed out and keep it from escaping before he dealt enough damage to kill it.
Regardless, the plan required some way to immobilize the beast. Which meant he needed to devise a trap to do that. He didn't know if he had a tree or rock big enough, that he could move, that would do it. That meant he needed some kind of snare or pitfall trap, and a way to lure it out of the pool. What did the thing need to get it to come out? It was time for research.
He headed down to the pool, this time armed with the knowledge of the turtle's presence. As he got closer, the signs of the beast became more and more prevalent. He couldn't believe he missed such obvious signs of its presence. Across the pool from where his trail kicked out he saw some bent vegetation where the turtle came in and out. A nest, or some kind of sunbathing spot? He marked it for further review later in the day. For the time being, he climbed a tree and settled in to get comfortable. The stalk began in earnest.
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The problem with a nice tree branch on a sunny day was that it was a great place for a nap. Even for a veteran of many deer stands, he couldn't resist the lowering of his eyelids and the gentle lull of sleep. The turtle would make a sound if it moved.
He was somewhere in a forest. Not like the one he was awake in, but more like the one he'd seen when he first met Luris. In fact, he thought it might be the same forest. In the distance he heard the hoots and bellows of what could only be dinosaurs. The lack of bees and flowers were also dead giveaways. Odd that he would dream of this place again. He'd always been a dino-nerd, but he'd never dreamed of them before.
A rustling in the bushes caught his attention and he looked over. He saw what appeared to be two purple ears drifting away from his clearing and deeper into the woods. With nothing else to do, he followed, trying to see what sort of dinosaur had ears like that. Stepping out of the clearing, and into the woods, he began to lose sight of the ears behind trees. Each time he thought they were gone for good, they'd reappear further and further in the distance. He kept up a steady pace, following along.
As he drew deeper into the wood, the dappled sunlight grew dimmer and dimmer. Was night approaching? It was harder and harder to see the ears in the dimming twilight. Then, they vanished for the last time and Ryan found himself lost in a Jurassic forest.
He kept moving towards the last ear sighting, confident in the fact that sooner or later he'd wake up. As he got closer and closer, a sort of game trail began to emerge, headed off to the left. He followed it, and soon ahead the trees seemed to thin. In the darkening evening, he could start to make out grass in a meadow.
He broke out of the woods and into a large open clearing. The sun was set now, and he couldn't quite make out the details of the clearing. The grass was about waist high, but in the distance he thought he could make out what appeared to be an animal or person. It wasn't moving as he walked towards it.
As he got closer, he smelled the scent of a fresh kill in the air, and he looked around. Did he bumble into some large predators cache? He didn't see or hear any movement beyond his own in the meadow. Alert, he continued his approach to the object in the field. Drawing within about one hundred feet of the object, he saw movement on it. The smell of the kill grew stronger as well with each passing step. His feet began to crunch on the grass and then, suddenly, a group of small pteradons rose, disturbed by his approach.
When the flapping wings cleared, he got his first good look at the carcass. It was a man, a small man. His body ravaged by the carrion eaters, his guts spilled out on the grass. His rib caged splayed open, his innards scooped out from his chest cavity like a macabre bowl. His face, frozen in a silent scream, betrayed the horror of his ending. His mustachios were flecked with blood and offal from his disembowelment, his jaw missing. The tattered remnants of his uniform, blue cloth like a Union soldier from history, bore a golden wagon crest on the shoulders and forage cap. At his feet was a blunderbuss and broken saber. He approached the body, looking at the wounds to see what kind of predator killed the small man.
As he knelt, looking at the body, he saw the clear marks of claws and teeth opening the cavity. Based on the way the bones broke outwards, there was some kind of strong force exerted on the tips of the ribs. Looking at the tips, there was no clear toothmarks. Instead, each one looked clean, and the ribs broken in such a way to imply something levered each one out, one at a time. What predator would do this, to get at the innards, instead of entering from the bowels to get to the heart and lungs?
Behind him, the sound of rapid footfalls broke his concentration. Twirling, he caught a glimpse of a man sized monster, purple with ears sticking out of the top of its head, leaping towards him. Startled, he could only react in horror as the creature bit his throat. He died in horror, feeling claws ripping into his chest and starting to pull apart his ribs.
Ryan awoke in a cold sweat, relieved to find himself in the tree he'd fallen asleep in. His heart racing, he shook the dregs of sleep off and in his ears he heard the sound of Luris's voice,
"The Wendigo awaits."
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Across the Forest of Silence, the thought of napping brought chills to the Men O' McTavish. They'd made it through another night in the forest, losing yet another night watchman to the darkness. Watches increased, fires kept all night, but still the horror in the darkness struck. Lt Grim McFarron looked around the camp in the dimming light of the late afternoon. He knew another night of horror waited for he and his men. Whatever stalked them in the shadows was likely what had attacked Pan's caravan. They were at least on the right track.
"Alright, you lot!" He shouted to the Men, "Let's get the camp setup and the night watch posted. I want 50% manning all night, blunderbusses condition one and sabers bared! Sgt Guthrie!"
"Aye sir?" The grizzled sergeant looked up from his cooking fire.
"See to it!"
With a gusto, the old sergeant leapt up and started seeing to the arrangement of the night camp and defense. Most of the work was done, and the men complete with their preparation and tasks. The vigor of the old sergeant was a comfort to them, a return to normalcy in the face of the eldritch. His ministrations ensured that each man and his fighting position were ready for the night. Watchfires began and the last of the fuel for the night was brought into the circle. The men had cut and hewn trees into a rough barrier, dug into the ground and laid facing outwards, narrower than a man's shoulders across. Sentries stood at the three points of the triangular base, on elevated mounds of dirt to aid in their task. The wood for the barrier came from the trees around, clearing the woodline back from the base a few feet. For a final touch, tonight, Lt. McFarron ordered them to burn the brush to increase the sightline. As the night set, the Men stood prepared. He hoped they were ready.
Early the next morning Sgt Guthrie made his rounds, checking on the men as they stood peering out into the gloom. It had been a long night, and one he wasn't keen to report. He decided to speak that day with the lieutenant about withdrawing from the forest. Getting behind sturdy walls, some ale, and loose women would do the lads good. Let old man McTavish return with an army to sort out this beast.
He turned the corner, patrolling the long edge of the base perimeter when he saw the thing leap. It cleared the hasty palisade with ease and landed upon the hapless soldier there, stifling his screams. Drawing his pistol, he took aim and fired. The report of the gun, and the muzzle flash served as the alarm, and in an instant, all the men were awake in the camp. As the smoke from his shot cleared he saw that he'd missed and the creature, grabbing hold of its kill, began its swift retreat into the murky woods.
"Fire! Fire your guns you dogs! It's getting away!" He shouted into the still night air. The reports of blunderbusses filled the night, and the shot ranged out into the treeline, but the Wendigo was gone.
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"Lady Luris, your prophetic dream cost you one faith point last turn, leaving you with none. But, your Wendigo creature successfully attacked Korenthis's reaction party two turns in a row. This triggers its special affect and it levels, gaining you another faith point to spend." Loki waggles his eyebrows at Luris, amused at the turn of events, "At this rate, you might as well make it your champion. What would you like to do this turn?"
Luris pauses, considering her moves. She thumbs through her hand, looking for an answer, but there is none. Ryan has to do something or she will be stuck in the loser's bracket forever. "I pass on this turn," she says in a small voice.
Loki turns to Makkedon, seated on her left. "Makkedon, it is now your turn. You've collected one faith point due to the establishment of a cult in the shimmering shores. What action will you take?"
The Carp-man's head turns to look at Luris, one eye flicking to his hand. He glances down at the board, where a champion piece sits beside that of a monstrous turtle. Across the table from him, Bevgille smiles wickedly, as if he knows what his sometimes partner will do. In his corner, a game piece is station beside an old town, and a card with a tarot hermit lays beside it, shimmering. Makkedon, deciding, draws from the deck and then takes a card from his hand, relishing the feel of it as it leaves his hand.
"I play a hex."