I had questions.

Mind, Body, and Spirit had all risen; I had known when they had risen too, from the itching burning sensation of the tattoo updating. Ignoring the fact that tattoos should not self modify or update, and knocking that entire impossibility off to ‘magic,’ there were still numerous questions. Oh, I could make educated guesses alright.

Practicing Illusion increases Illusion, Climbing improves Climbing. But the ‘Closed’ mark had ticked up by a significant amount, and I was unsure of why. It implied that I would soon unlock a second Talent. But those were only guesses. What caused the ominously named ‘Obsession’ to tick up by one? Unknown.

These unanswered questions made me nervous.

I needed to understand my toolkit. It had been drilled in again and again, true for making friends, conning marks, and all-around-thieving.

So while I waited to make sure the gnolls had left the area, I spent some time thinking.

Mind: 27 (+1)

These theories were unfounded, of course. But examining the tattoo, several of my glyphs on my right arm appeared to have space for nine marks, which measured a sort of progress. I was willing to bet that when I filled all nine, that I would get some sort of unlock or modification.

Reasonable. I had a single data-point from the first Talent I received. But extrapolating off a single data-point? Insane.

But from that theory, one of my Talents was nearing an unlock. If it unlocked like ‘Athleticism,’ then it would be based on whatever I was doing at the time. Nick had warned me originally, and I had already unlocked a possible sub-optimal Talent in climbing. So if I was not careful, and if I was correct, then there was a solid chance the newly unlocked Talent would be for something undesirable, like rock gazing. The very thought of some of the worst possibilities left me shuddering.

I decided that it would be something I needed to be mindful of in the future. More than mindful–I was actually worried that I would unlock an awful Talent and get stuck with that forever. Especially when, in this survival situation, so many other magical skills would be more relevant. Such as conjuring food and water.

My stomach rumbled and I swallowed some spit, wetting my dry throat with great dissatisfaction.

I pushed the anxieties away, or tried to; the pit I had been shoving my emotions inside was filling up, but I kept pushing it all in despite that.

Because what alternative did I have? A panic attack in the middle of the wilderness? When it came time for me to die, it would be on my terms, because I chose to, and not because of a mental breakdown.

And that brought yet another distraction. I could lose myself trying to force myself to remember what had come before all of this. I thought I remembered a sister. And maybe a frightening mother. But… no faces, names, or anything in particular. Just inferences. Maddening.

My thoughts ran away from me, and I was forced to bring myself back on track, at least if I wanted to survive, and presently I did want to survive–at least for now. But to do that, I needed to cover the basics of survival. I still had found no water. I could find no evidence of water, except the clouds and the gnolls.

Without water, I would die.

Without food, I would die… slowly.

I needed to find civilization. Yet, even if I found civilization, I would need a way to trade for necessities. Which meant I would have to ply my third oldest and most favorite hobby. While I dreamed of the mansions and jewelry safes of whatever bourgeoise, aristocrats, landed gentry, oligarchs, or whatever else this world had, I set off and began traveling.

My bearings were towards the nearest column of black smoke. It took an hour to cross the jagged plateau, and I found myself climbing in elevation, as the smoke was towards the elevated corner of the surface.

Body: 25 (+1)

As I neared, I saw an orange glow hitting the undersides of the roiling bits of smoke. I grew excited. The scent of industrial sulfur and diesel left me hoping that humankind was just ahead. I reached the edge of the plateau, standing on the cliff overlooking the source of the plume and glow–

My heart sank.

I had been hoping it was a city, or a town, or even a rest station’s sodium lights creating standard light pollution. And in a way, it was most definitely light pollution, just not from anything useful.

The smoke was coming off what looked like a crude oil fire, arising from a marsh of tar pits and jagged rocks. It stank of sulfur and rot and left my nostrils burning.

Despair threatened to overwhelm me, overflowing the metaphorical pit where I had been dumping, repressing, everything related to this Mothersworn foulness! And if Nick was to be believed, I had–had died–and now I was stuck god knows where, forgotten, alone, without supplies, or any real way to get supplies. I–I was going to die from thirst–already I was getting loopy. Then it would be hunger. Going hungry… I shuddered, an almost memory of a cramped locked wooden room with a nail jutting out–no!

I sat down, fell really, onto my backside, onto the stone ledge. I felt a pinch in my spine. I had forgotten about that. Yet another change, another problem. But the pain helped. It gave me focus. I shifted my weight and readjusted my tail so that it was not right under me.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Why did I have to get sent to such an awful place?

I sat there for too long, mired in negative feelings. I sat there until forced to move. The wind had shifted, and the smoke blew in my direction. It stank like diesel fumes off a heavy cargo train.

I spat, feeling my overly large tongue and disgusting myself even further.

There was nothing for me here.

Why were there giant open pits of oil and tar anyways?

Once again, I distracted myself, this time from the gnawing pit in my stomach, by asking myself inane questions that likely had no bearing on my situation. But I knew that life was possible in these wastes.

The gnolls had to eat and drink. Which meant nothing, at least not if I had no clue where the gnolls were getting their resources from. Did they hunt the marmots and snails? But what did they drink? Another possibility was that they lived by preying on travelers. But what travelers?

The gnolls did show signs of having some sort of language. Which meant at least some rudimentary level of society. They could also have found the single oasis of life in this desolate waste.

Another possibility, the gnolls might survive off of magic, which might be fruitless for my own requirements.

There were too many unknowns. Too many!

My stomach rumbled.

I wondered if the gnolls were edible. No!

I forced myself to smirk at the joke. Yes. A joke. That had been a joke.

At least I hoped so.

Regardless, I needed to move. I needed to answer these questions. And the best way to achieve that, would be to track down and spy upon the gnolls. Yes, that.

Spirit: 25 (+1)

I stood back up and stretched. The sky had darkened while I had ruminate. The wind chilled. My muscles cramped. Walking back to where I had seen the gnolls limbered me up though. I doubted I could sleep with the hunger and thirst gnawing at the door.

I needed to find where they lived. Where they came from. Their den, or home, where they stored their food and young and water.

I needed to find where they had gone. Yes. But where were they? I needed to–

I realized I was spiraling. I had been raised better than this. Breathing exercises. If I was going to do this, I was going to do it right and treat it like a job. And even the most difficult jobs could be made manageable by breaking it down into parts.

First part, finding out where they were based out of.

I traveled back to where I had hid from them, near the culvert ditch, and looked for a trail. Everything was rock and lichen. There might have been a bit of trail in the grimey lichen, except I had trouble seeing anything like that. The constant wind kept dust from from building up evenly.

But without obvious tracks, I still had a few options available.

Body: 26 (+1)

One, I could wait for the gnolls to return and then I could trail them home. That could be moved up from an unlikely chance encounter to near certainty through the use of bait, which my Illusions could probably provide. However, if I did bait them, then they would know I was in the area, and they would be on guard, likely hunting the source of the Illusions–me.

Two, I could begin sweeping the area until I came across them. Although, they might just as easily come across me, or we might miss each other completely. Most likely we would miss eachother completely. The landscape was made larger by the fractured terrain.

Or three, and this was only a faint possibility, and an unsavory one at that. When I thought back to when they were hunting me, I remembered how they tried doing it, by scent. Which made sense for them, since gnolls were dog people. I bit my tongue. Could I? No. Besides, I was human, despite having dog–not dog, fox–characteristics. But still... using my nose, like an animal?

I felt ill.

But, starvation, dehydration…

But, brutish indignified animals…

Would it even be possible?

Not wanting to try it unless I knew it was possible, I reviewed a few of the discoveries I had made about my new, non-consensual and hopefully very temporary physiology.

I could run on all fours, which meant my skeletal system was not human. Humans could never run on all fours, not effectively. I was unsure of the exact differences, but my legs were shorter, and my ankles and feet were significantly altered. My feet would no longer fit normal shoes, and between them and my ankles, it felt like there was too many joints. It would not surprise me if my hips had changed to accommodate the rest of the changes. I could now see in the dark. My hearing surpassed human limits. And scents bothered me much more than before.

This was all an unnecessary delay.

I steeled myself. It would not be the first nor the last that I humiliated myself in the name of an objective.

I crouched down and angled my face towards the stony ground. My hair whipped around my eyes. I took a deep breath through my nose. I smelled a lot of things, and most of them were undesirable. It was all mixed together and difficult to parse.

I took a few shorter sniffs next. It helped, a little bit. I was definitely picking up something musky-tangy. But there was also the undertones of oil and the overtones of smoke. I felt like a sommelier. That helped soothe my pride. A sommelier.

I needed confirmation. An Idea. I knew the path that the gnolls had taken when chasing my own trail through the culvert and across parts of the plateau. I would use that knowledge to test my ability to follow a scent.

First I tried catching a scent of them off to the side, where I knew they had not traveled. I still got part of the tangy sulfur smell, but none of the musk. I then went back to the culvert, and followed the musk trail. It was somewhat diffuse, and I ended up going about in circles up top for a bit, before quitting on the plateau and heading back down the cliff to where they had given chase.

I thought I was starting to get the hang of it. To corroborate, my left arm burned as my tattoo updated itself yet again. I ignored the changes. I could not control them, and they would have no effect upon my decisions.

Mind: 28 (+1)

I had a trail to follow.

Blessings: Rank (1/9)

* Body: 26 (+2)

* Mind: 28 (+2)

* Spirit: 25 (+1)

Talents:

* Athleticism (1/9):

* Climbing (2/9)

* Closed (5/9)

* Closed (1/9)

Spells:

* Illusion (2/9)

* Closed (0/9)

* Closed (0/9)

Gifts:

* Obsession (2/9)

* Closed (0/9)

* Closed (0/9)