Forsaken: A Survival Island Quest

[Zhade]

There seems to be something about this island that causes gigantism. First the spiders, then the boars, and now even the crabs; all are far larger than my paltry biology knowledge says they should be. Gravity, skeletal structure and simple blood flow wouldn't allow such a massive increase in size for no reason. Even the dinosaurs grew up in an atmosphere designed for such massive creatures.

The massive crabs in front of me probably laugh at such arguments. Each was the size of a big car, dark red legs poking out of equally large shells. Black eyes swiveled inquisitively everywhere, sometimes peering at me, but generally content to take care of their own business.

Which was, surprisingly, cleaning themselves. When I woke up, a few were still dragging themselves onto the beach, their shells dripping with accumulated muck. They would drag themselves free of the water, crawling rather quickly to the edge of the beach, where they would start meticulously preening themselves. Half a dozen legs deliberately scooping out the dirt and detritus that had been in their shells was a fascinating sight.

Speaking off, their shells don't inspire much confidence in me either. Remember how I said they were hermit crabs? Each crab was using a different kind of shelter. Some looked to be using snail shells, some sea cones, others were using nautilus shells. One was even using half of a hollowed out beak. Not that strange, considering hermit crabs have been known to use beer bottles, cups and even sections of pipes for their shells.

Except for the size difference of course. Meaning, if I ever were to head into the ocean, I would have to deal with giant snails, immense sea cones and massive nautiluses. Not to mention whatever the fuck that beak came from.

On the positive side, I at least figured out where those wide tracks came from. Most of the hermit crabs (or Titanshells, as I've nomenclatured them) have shells with upward facing holes and smooth bottoms. So instead of lifting themselves off the warm sand, they just drag themselves through it. Might even be why their bottom shells are so smooth. Perhaps they were making them more hydrodynamic? Clever, although it does run the risk of wearing out the shells quicker.

Of course, this makes me think of why the Titanshells would prefer speed even at the expense of weaker shells. Of predators whose blows their absurdly large shells cannot withstand. Of leviathans in the deep, krakens with tentacles that can bend steel and Lovecraftian monsters that dwarf mountains, all of which would go through those massive shells like they were so much bark.

Sometimes I hate my thought process.

I'm idly munching on a piece of coconut (one of the last on this section of the beach), watching the Titanshells begin the trek back into their aquatic home. The seagulls and crabs (who interestingly seem to not be affected by any sort of gigantism) have started swarming, zeroing in on the piles of refuse that the Titanshells had divested themselves off. Seems like a good source of food if I ever find myself near the beach again.

There seems to be one still left. It's more on the small size, a smart car rather than an SUV, and using a clam shell as a home. Not a very good home, mind you, as it was constantly readjusting the shell to try and find a comfortable position. An impossible task, given the shape of the shell. It seemed to know it too, given the irritated way it snapped at the circling seagulls.

By the time it finished and began it's slow, ponderous way back to the sea, the sun was high and clear in the sky. Time for the day to begin.

~~~
​

One of the things I've been neglecting is actually exploring the island and documenting it. Sure, I've jotted down some notes and mapped my route when I remember, but I never really made a concentrated effort. That needed to change.

Compared to my previous attempts at venturing into the island, this time was more focused. I wasn't looking for food or water or shelter. Instead, I was simply aiming to explore and map the island. Discover game trails, sources of fresh water, non-exploding fruit. Maybe even a better shelter, as fond as I am of my current cave.

So with that, I buried Pot and my journal in the sand, far enough from the coastline that I didn't fear it being washed away. Yes, there was a risk of it getting stolen and I would need to actually remember things instead of writing it down straight away, but I would prefer if I had two hands free when venturing into the unknown. Well, technically one hand, considering the machete.

So with just that, and some last few coconuts in my stomach, I headed out into the unknown.

The first few hours were largely peaceful. I headed south away from the grasslands, avoiding striking deeper into the heart of the island. I could see a mountaintop from where I was standing, but I didn't want to head there yet. Not likely for anything of immediate use to be there now.

Instead I was trudging through a thick forest, similar yet different than the one where my cave was. I traveled quickly, focused more on landmarks and interesting flora/fauna rather than foraging for food. I did not the sounds of another stream, which was good for my water situation.

There were a lot of life in this part of the forest, compared to mine. I often heard scurrying in the bushes, signalling some small vermin fleeing from me and more than once I climbed rapidly up a tree because I thought I heard something. Usually, it was just my imagination but once, a great tidal wave of fur flashed between my feet, the creature appearing and disappearing almost instantaneously. I learned to move quietly then, to avoid twigs and leaves and listen to the sound of the forest. Anytime the background noises vanish, it's a good sign you should vanish too.

And how knows. Maybe you'll see something interesting while up in the trees. Like a rotting skeleton enshrined in vines on a nearby ledge. Vines that seemed strangely motile.

[] Ignore: Remember what I said about no free lunches? Yeah.
[] Investigate: There are times when you need to take risks. This is one of those times. ​

 

[Zhade]

Rope is one of the most useful commodities when you're stranded on an island, capable of helping in literally any situation. While vines won't make the absolute best rope (you need to braid nylon for that), it's certainly better than the reeds I've been using.

Add onto the fact that the vines I saw were a lot thicker and longer than any others I've seen and you start to understand why I decided to go investigate. And why things went horribly wrong.

I climbed up the ledge and approached cautiously, careful to not make any sudden movements. At the closer range, I noticed that the strange motility was the vines wavering in the sunlight. The dark green plants would shift and rustle while they laid strewn about on the ledgetop. Whenever clouds or some leaves blocked the sun however, the darkened vines would relax and settle down. Some form of heliotropism? But dialed to eleven just like everything else on the island?

Still, best to be cautious. So, watching where I put my feet, I very carefully poked at a vine with my machete. The vine wriggled around for a few seconds, dripping some clear liquid, before settling back down into it's lazy worship of the sun. A defense mechanism perhaps? I repeated the poking with a few more vines, and having gotten the same response, I decided to take it a step further and cut off a piece of the vine. My blade parted the plant easily, showering the ground in it's viscous fluids. The mutilated vine flopped around for a bit, as if trying to escape whatever creature was harming it, before it settled down and stayed still. Was it playing dead? A plant?

At this point, after deciding the vines were harmless, I shrugged and started to head towards the skeleton. Or, I would have if my feet weren't rooted to the ground by vines. I didn't notice I was upto my bare-skinned knees in them until I looked down onto that invigorating sight. There was some sort of numbing or dulling liquid on them, if I recall, something that dulled both your sense of touch and slowed your thoughts.

At least, if you're brain wasn't suddenly flooded with adrenaline and you started chopping away wildly at the vines. It was a wonder I didn't cut off any of my toes. Instead, I spent the next few hours struggling feverishly against the encroaching horde of vegetation. Struggling seems to drew the things closer, the vines looping tighter and tighter around you in a bid to bring you down by sheer weight of numbers. I still had my wits about me to realize how bad my situation would become if I were to fall over, so most of my efforts were spent maintaining my balance. Which kinda made things worse, as the more I moved around, the more vines that would snake up to me. At one point, I think I had a dozen different vines tightening around me, with one even managing to cut off my air supply for a frightening few seconds.

Thinking back on it now, but the vines seemed to have a really subpar hunting strategy. I doubt what I encountered was their defense strategy; it was too focused on bringing the opponent down and not driving them away. They seemed more focused on spreading that liquid onto me then tying me down (although they did do both). Although I don't know if ascribing tactics to vegetation is the right thing to do. Anyway, the slimy liquid the vines would exude actually helped me escape in the end, but not before I killed more than half of the vines. I spent the next hour carefully culling the rest by cutting them off by the roots. When I was done, I had gathered around 20 meters of vines that I could use a makeshift rope. It would need some drying and preparation, perhaps a bit of weaving, but it's a start.

The skeleton was far more interesting however. The second piece of evidence that I wasn't the only human on this island, it looked partly digested (probably by the vines) and there were some smaller skeletons scattered around, also entangled in the vines. Scavengers? Lured to the vines by the corpse?

Either way, there was only a few things of note on the skeleton. Whatever clothing it had had long faded and rotted into rags, but there was enough for me to fashion a loincloth and a bindle. There was some bits of shattered glass and metal, which suggested this was a castaway like me (unless this island had glass-making facilities). Unlike me, he didn't have a journal.

What he did have, however, was a strange lamp. It was spherical, with an opening in one side to let the light out. The opening was shaped as if to force the light to head in a straight beam, which might be useful. Hell, it even had a candle still inside! I wondered if it was still flammable after so long (judging by the corpses appearance).

My train of thought was cut off by a distant howling that was rapidly approaching. And by the fact that the forests was suddenly very quiet. I tore up a nearby tree as fast as I could, careful not to drop anything, but I wasn't fast enough before whatever was howling came into view. Thankfully, they were too occupied to notice me.

It was a giant wolf. It was likely a head taller than I was, even on all fours, and it was crashing through the undergrowth howling in a mournful manner that set my teeth on edge. Wasn't hard to see why it was howling; it was sporting multiple lacerations and wounds on it's flanks, and one of it's hindlimbs seemed lame. It paused for a moment, licking it's wounds and panting heavily, before a bush rustled to it's right. It froze for a second, watching it warily, when something (didn't get a good glimpse of it) shot out of it faster than my eye could see. The wolf could though, as it's paw slammed into the projectile and sent it careening back out of sight.

There wasn't any time to celebrate, for a few seconds later a great hissing and rustling arose. Individual noises, they couldn't compete with the earlier howling, but they made up for quality with quantity and coming from everywhere at once. All at once, half a dozen similar projectiles came out of hiding and started harassing the wolf. I couldn't get a good glimpse of them, as each was around waist height and blended in with the green of the forest, but I could sometimes see flashes of teeth and claws. They would nip at the wolf in turns, drawing blood or tearing flesh, then leap out of the way before the wolf's paw or jaws could reach them. Clever positioning and timing saved them; the wolf embodied speed and strength, but the smaller things slowly ground down the great beast until it's breath came out in heavy gasps.

And then with a burst of speed, the wolf broke free of the encirclement and run towards the mountains, howling all the same. Both of it's hindlegs looked worse for wear now, and it was drizzling the ground with blood every time it took a step. Even then, it was far faster than me, barreling through the forest like a freight train. The six hunters watched it go for a moment (annoyingly still remaining hidden in shadow) before they silently took off in pursuit. No hissing this time. They didn't come back, but I didn't know it then and was more concerned that I was gripping the branch I was on so hard it might snap.

By the time the forest had started making noise again and I felt it safe to come down, the sun was painting the sky with orange strokes, a sign I should start looking for shelter. That did raise the question of where I would sleep tonight though.

[] Head North: I decided to head home, even though it would be well past sundown by the time I made it there. But, it was familiar territory.
[] Head South: I headed further in my original direction, hoping to find someplace suitable before the sun set.
[] Head West: I don't know how far I am from the shore, but it's probably the best option.

 

[Zhade]

I gave a last parting, curious glance at the skeleton before I headed out. Who were they? An explorer? A castaway like me? Or a colonizer who ran afoul of the island's dangers? While there is truth in the saying 'Bones don't lie', it doesn't help when the bones don't speak much at all. The skeleton was almost a fossil given it's age, and the more clever scavengers had already ran off with half of it. Whatever language it was speaking, I couldn't understand it.

I desperately hope you can understand what I'm writing, friend.

~~~
​

Compared to when I entered, leaving the forest was more difficult. Trying to head to the shoreline and then find my way back that way would be foolish, as I don't know how far away the shore is. I do know that the shore curves sharply west when heading down, so the worst case scenario would be for me to end up at a shoreline days away from anything familiar.

Instead, I decided it was time to sharpen my tracking skills and retrace my path carefully. Thinking back on it, I really should figure out a way of marking my exploratory paths. Something unobtrusive so it wouldn't be noticed and followed, but unique enough I could use it like a trail of breadcrumbs. Branches bent a certain way? Tiny incisions on tree trunks? Stones arranged in a certain pattern?

The point is, trying to follow a path you made (while you were trying to be as stealthy as possible) is a huge pain in the ass without marking where you were going. It was torturous, trudging through the heavy air. The part of the island I was in felt more like a jungle then the forests I had been in before; it was even thicker and gloomier than the area my home was in.

I wonder when it was I started thinking of the cave as my 'home'? The name is...unpleasant. It suggests a permanence that I'm uncomfortable with. I can't exactly live in that cave forever, can I? I need to find better living accommodations eventually. Can't get complacent.

The trees stopped being so oppressive after a certain point, which told me I had left the jungle portion and was now in the less dense forest part. Still nowhere near anything familiar, but at least I knew I was sorta heading in the right direction. The sun had set not too long ago, so I now couldn't be sure of the cardinal directions, so I tried to stick to the left as much as possible. Better to run into the sea accidentally than start climbing a mountain.

It was shortly after the last rays of the hidden sun faded that I tripped over a root and fell, knocking off my bindle and spilling it's contents. I grumbled (quietly) for a moment before I started searching around to pick up my ill-gotten goods. I felt like a thief using the cloak of night to do his deeds.

As soon as that wry thought flashed through my head, my hand touched upon the lantern from earlier, and suddenly I could see. Light, thick golden rivers of it, streamed out of the lantern's aperture. The beam flooded out and illuminated the forest in a neat cone in front of me. Everything outside of that cone was still pitch black; no spillage at all.

I dropped the lantern in shock, only for the night to come rushing back in and swallowing up the little river of light. I blinked my eyes, but strangely there was no afterimages burned onto my retina; even my nightvision came back as if it had never left. As I was a bit startled by this, it took me a few seconds to figure out what had happened.

Standing in the middle of a dark forest wasn't the best place to do experiments, but I managed to learn a few things about the lantern I had looted. The candle I had mentioned earlier I now realized was affixed to the lantern; I couldn't remove it at all. Not that it mattered, because it would light up automatically whenever I touched the lantern. The flame itself was invisible and heatless, but I assume something was there, because light was pouring out. Like I said before, the light always brightened things up in a very neat circle. There was no gradual delumination, nor did you get any brighter focal points. Every section of that cone was as brightly illuminated as any other section. Shining it at my eyes didn't hurt or blind me at all either.

Also, the lantern didn't cast shadows.

To be honest, it wasn't that disconcerting. Yes, I had a magic lamp now. But you must remember, I had taken it from the skeleton that had been ensconced in man-eating vines, just before I watched a giant wolf flee from shadows that hunt in packs. I was getting used to strange things.

So, mentally shrugging, I retied the blanket of goods, hefted my machete in one hand and the lantern in the other, and started making my way back. I kept the lantern pointed mainly at the ground, in case someone saw it, but I wasn't too worried. The sharp cutoff between it's light and darkness would help in reducing the number of voyeurs. One could never be too careful of course, and throughout my entire trip back to the beach I made sure that the lantern's light didn't rise from the ground too much.

But really, I just wanted to make sure I didn't trip again.

Day 5
The trip back couldn't really be called uneventful. There were times when I climbed trees, when I hid and when I ran like the chains of Hell were after me. But I wasn't wounded. I avoided the attention of any larger beasts and managed to scare off the smaller ones (mainly a few rats, snakes and scorpions). I also managed to avoid getting myself entangled in hanging vines (the dripping fluid gave them away) or running into a Pernade tree. Experience makes masters of us all.

I went to my cave first, to sleep out the rest of the night, before returning to the beach to retrieve Pot and the journal. In an eerie mirror to yesterday, I'm currently watching the Titanshells clean themselves. Oh, here comes the runt, with his clam shell. I wonder if he'll eventually get a new shell, or he'll be stuck in that same old one until the he dies. Hope it won't be of old age; no one should have to suffer that cramped condition for so long.

Choose Two
[] Scavenge: I should ensure that I have a reliable stock of both food and water to fall back on.
[] Explore: After that large haul yesterday, I'm eager to see what I can find today
[] Practice: My aptitude with the machete could use some work, but so can a lot of other things
-[] Writein Skill
[] Interact: That runt is kinda interesting. Well, amusing more like, but still interesting.
[] Writein: Actually, I think I'll...​

 

[Zhade]

Today would be a breather day, I decided. A day where I wouldn't venture too far or push myself too much. I was going to stick to a location I knew, scrounge for fruits and roots and try to build up a stock. Worse comes to worse and a freak thunderstorm rains me in for a few days, I won't have to start chewing on old bones. No heading off to wild unknown and being attacked by vines. Today at least.

My main goal today was scavenging a store of food, but I also had a few other priorities. First was figuring out how to make a harness to carry stuff around in; it would be helpful to gather a food store that isn't the size of an armful. Plus, it would work to hold items in the harness and keep both my hands free. And with a few seconds work, I could untie the harness to use for rope.

It proved much harder to actually put this plan into action than just think of it. Sure, I had an ample amount of vines to make a harness, but the vines weren't ideal rope. They were too stiff and there was a risk of snapping if I pulled too quickly. They were able to support my weight, but only if done cautiously and were completely useless for tying someone up.

But after an hour, I managed to make it work. The vines looped around my torso and waist, a few choice knots here and there let me tighten up parts of the harness to hold something if I need to. At the moment, I was only carrying Pot in it (pressed against my back), but it would allow me to carry a lot more food then with my hands alone. Even more, if I slipped the machete into the loop by my waist and also used my hands.

But I didn't do that, because therein lay my other priority. I had one weapon only, aside my useless fists, and I barely knew how to use it. That needed to change.

So, I set out into what I mentally referred to as "my territory" and began swinging my bladed stick around.

~~~
​

I kinda unsure where my confidence came from regarding "my" forest. Besides the fact that my cave is there, I haven't really spent any time taming it. I knew my way around it, having already spent days in it, but I didn't rule it. Something that would slowly change, if I had my way.

As I walked, I kept an eye out for tracks and prints; anything that would alert me to the fact I was co-habituating in this forest. There was a lot of them, made sense as this area was close to a river. It should be prime watering ground.

But interestingly, I only noticed small prints. Those of rats or squirrels and the like. Nothing like the massive wolf I had seen, nor even any human prints (excepting mine own). Which is rather worrying, as I know another human has been in these woods. It's almost suspiciously empty. I thought back to Pot's previous owner; I know it had been awhile since it's demise, but what had killed it? What had once resided in the hollow I know sleep in? And would I meet the same fate? All these thoughts and more went through my head as I took a shit under a tree. Nice to know human nature is the same no matter the environment.

I've been thinking of digging a latrine near my cave, but it would be very noticeable, so for now I've been making due heeding nature's call under random, safe looking trees. A good source of leaves too, once you're done, although I suggest checking first to make sure none of them are poisonous. Haven't had the misfortune yet, but it pays to stay safe.

Aside from my bathroom breaks, most of my time was spent practicing with the machete. It's been in my hand constantly since I awoke, which might explain why I've been taking it for granted. I learned a bit about swinging it around by just carrying it, and I learned a lot more from chopping those vines yesterday.

But today, feeling a bit foolish, I practiced moves. Blocking, parrying and countering. My speed couldn't hope to compare to the beasts on this island, but by playing to my strengths (my superior human intellect) I could likely eke out an advantage. By carefully watching and moving in the most efficient way possible, I could cut down on unnecessary movements. By methodically planning out attack strategies, I would cut down on hesitation and slow thinking. And by swinging the machete around, I would slowly grow more accustomed to it's weight and reach, slowly forming a deeper connection.

I didn't make any major breakthroughs today of course, that would be silly. One doesn't become a Master of the Sword by swinging his machete around for a few hours. But I definitely felt more comfortable with the blade now, less unsure of myself and it's edge. I also stopped accidentally cutting myself, so that was a plus.

Most of attention was otherwise spent instead on avoiding the dangers of the island and finding more food. I collected the last of the coconuts on that stretch of beach, breaking them open for easier carrying. Other than that, it was slim pickings. I found part of a dead rat, it's body crushed from a fall and relatively fresh, which I hesitantly took. I also found a few more of those Pernades, but I avoided them for now. There were some mushrooms and berries here and there, but I have a feeling I should only eat those when things are truly hopeless. Or figure out how to apply them to my blade or any arrows I fetch in the future, but I would need to figure out a proper way of handling them.

But aside from that, my section of the island continued to remain remarkably empty, aside from the ever present and inedible greenery. The inedible part I may test eventually, I thought, if this scavenging day continues like this.

I was heading to the river, still swinging my blade and thinking I should head further inland to find better chances of food, when I hit the jackpot. Large prints. Hooves, with two smaller indentations nestled in the back. If I hadn't already seen what the animal these footprints belonged to, I would have had no idea what I was looking at.

Pot felt really heavy on my back all of a sudden.

Choose One
[] Track it down: It would feed me for days, allow me to venture deeper into the island without worrying about supplies. So long as I killed it before it could kill me...
-[] Kill it via Ambush: Higher chance of success, but higher chance of wounds
-[] Kill it via Trickery: Lower chance of success, lower chance of wounds
-[] Writein...
[] Leave it alone: The piglet left me alone last time because it was scared. If I try to hunt it, it'll be even more scared, but this time it might lash back. It's not worth the risk, I have enough food anyway...​

 

[Zhade]

My mouth watered at the thought at the thought of all that fresh meat. It's been who knows how long since I had protein; all I've eaten for almost a week were fruits. Living on a deserted island required a certain type of diet, and the diet wasn't vegetarian. Almost instinctively, I threw away the rat carcass; if I was doing this, I didn't want any fallback options. I didn't want my will to waver partway through the hunt, for my mind to start thinking of how easier it would be to just go home and cook what I had already found and to stop caring were it had been.

I was going to eat meat tonight, and I was damned if it would be a fucking rat.

My determination didn't waver when I lost the piglet's trail twice over as many hours. Tracking it through the forest was a lot more difficult that it looked; sometimes the tracks would be lead in torturous loops that would have me circling for minutes before I caught on. It was wily, the piglet, probably as a result of living on this island with no protective parents. It would probably grow more confident as it matured, it's hide growing thicker and it's tusks longer. It may even grow old enough to kill one of those wolves it undoubtedly hides from now. I wonder if it would ever look back and marvel at how far it had come, at how it had survived to such an age.

Of course, I think about such things now, not then when I was tracking the little monster along it's trails while leaves and branches kept hiding him from me.

One advice I will give regarding tracking is to not worry about keeping a pace. I know humans are better long-distance runners than most animals, but that only works on the plains, places where you can run without interruption. You try jogging through the woods while following a trail, see where it gets you. Just remember to keep a faster average pace than whatever it is you're following; wouldn't want dinner to run away from you now, would we?

I didn't know how I knew, but as I followed the tracks I could tell that they were getting fresher and fresher. There was some quality to them that shone in my eyes like an expiration date, something that made my feet quicken and my stride length. So much so that I didn't even notice the sounds of the river growing louder.

And then I saw it. Big and fat and juicy, sating it's thirst from the rapid river. Well, my vision was a bit biased after tracking it for so long, as I'm pretty sure now that it was more on the malnourished side. And it was nowhere near fat; it was wild animal, not something brought up on a farm!

Anyways, I saw it in the distance, far enough that I didn't have to worry about it hearing me, and the way the wind was blowing and how quickly it was gulping down water, I didn't have to worry about it smelling me either. Both of which let me slowly inch closer, my machete out and waiting.

While I was doing that, I furiously began thinking of how to actually kill it. So far, I had been so focused on tracking it that my only plan was a vague idea of my running at it swinging my machete madly.

Obviously that plan would need some tightening up. From our first encounter, I knew that the piglet was quick on it's feet and sturdy enough to brush through vegetation that looked impassable to me. It's tusks, while not the size of it's parents, were still long enough that they could gore me. I thought about leading it into the river, but the chance of losing the corpse was too great.

I then decided that without the use of traps or ranged weapons, and the piglet being far faster, my only hope was to get in close and try to drive the machete into it's head. It's heart if the skull proved too hard to split in one blow. Maybe it's stomach if the ribs are too close. I started wishing I had made a spear for this.

So, trying not to think about how stupid this idea was, I leaped from where I was hiding and rushed towards the piglet. By some sheer stroke of luck, I managed to grab hold of it's back before it could flee and brought my machete up for a downward blow.

Honestly, I wish I could write down what happened next. But it was all a blur; fur and tusk and blood mixing together into a continuous stream of violence. I remember screaming my throat raw, as the piglet squealed and growled in equal measure. I think I kept a hold on it throughout the fight, and I fought more on instinct than with any coherent strategy. I know I had gotten the first blow, but the time between that moment and the one of me standing over it's corpse is as lost as my memories prior to this island.

My body was still functional, but not much can be said otherwise. Cuts and bruises covered my body, and at one point it's hooves had done a merry little dance on my chest, leaving it covered in imprints. The worst was a cut along my cheek that was sheeting blood down my face, splattering the ground. That would leave a mark.

The other guy was worse off though, given the numerous wounds along it's torso, as well as a brutal blow that had caved in it's head and was probably what won the fight.

It was...exhilarating. It's easy to forget, but this is how our ancestors hunted (well, perhaps a bit less amateurish), so of course there would be an evolutionary pressure to feel pleased after a successful hunt. Or maybe it was just my brain celebrating that it hadn't been the one to be caved in.

In any case, I collapsed onto the riverbank, laughing to myself in sheer relief that I was alive.

~~~
​

By the time I calmed down, the sun was well past it's apex. Not quite afternoon, I decided I needed to move quickly if I wanted to eat dinner and be back home before nightfall. A lot less worrisome, now that I had that lamp, but it was still best to avoid traveling too much after dark.

After slapping some river mud onto the wound on my cheek and some of the other lesser cuts, I heaved the heavy corpse onto my shoulders and secured it carefully with some vines. Thankfully, there was little blood. The head wound I gave it was likely from the handle of the machete (it looked a bit warped now) and the other cuts had already stopped bleeding.

For a moment, I thought of heading back to the cave but a better idea struck me. There was no way I could eat all of this pig in one go. Much of it would go to waste if I tried cooking it. But if I preserved this, it could last me for days! I didn't know much about preserving, and I don't think I had the right tools for it either, but my broken memory did give me a vague idea of how jerky was made. A lot of the steps could be skipped, so long as you dried the meat and avoided bacteria. Which required salt.

Which I could get from the sea.

And that's how I followed the river to where it met the sea, took out Pot and began boiling seawater. Starting a fire was hard at first, but I had carefully collected dry sticks and leaves on my way over. Boiling the seawater took the longest, but gave me time to collect pieces of flat stone to lay on the sand and began butchering.

It wasn't pretty. I'm fairly certain I could have gotten a lot more meat than what I ended up with, but hey. First time for everything. I recommend cutting against the grain when you're doing your first butchery. You get better cuts that way.

I laid down strips of muscle on stones near the fire, sprinkled them with seasalt and then collected the remains of my shameful attempt of butchering. Aside from some of the inedible parts, I think I could make soup out of them. The brain was still intact too, and I remembered that it contained a lot of fat. The bones still had their marrow and were still covered in meat that I hadn't extracted properly. In the meantime, I had to keep careful watch over my would-be jerky; some of them might accidentally get cooked and then they would be useless for preserving.

So, my jerky was slowly drying and I was trying to work out how exactly a soup could be made from bones, fat and gristle, when I heard something rustling from the treeline and I looked up at two eyes watching me.

For a brief moment, I thought they were the same eyes as from my dream, but no. They were a darker yellow, not the amber that haunted my sleep. Nor were they the deep blue of the Other either. And then I saw the rest of the person as they stepped out from the shadows: grimy blouse, torn jeans and a sturdy looking backpack.

It was a woman, looking terrified out of her mind and staring at the meat with a kind of desperate longing.

Choose One:
[] Be Aggressive: I lifted my machete and pointed it at the woman while slowly stalking warningly towards her. Never again.
[] Be Wary: I kept my machete close by, so that I could draw it in an instant, but I tossed her one of the pieces of jerky I accidentally cooked.
[] Be Friendly: Speaking softly and showing open hands, I enticed the woman to sit close by the fire, to warm herself up.
[] Write-in​

 

[Zhade]

We stared at each other across the fire. She didn't make a move, but a rising tension within made me want to act, to strike out and drive her away before something bad happened. It had happened last time, it would be prudent to deal the first blow, to surprise and ambush my enemy before they could do the same to me.

But there is a time for action and a time for caution. This was the second.

So, very carefully not loosening the death grip I had on the machete, I cautiously picked up a piece of cooked jerky and threw it at her. It landed on the sand, a few feet from the shelter of the trees.

Her eyes, still a startlingly dark yellow, twitched back and forth between my own and the jerky for a few minutes. Then, almost visibly, her hunger overtook her fear and she hesitantly took a few steps forward and grabbed the meat. There was no joy in her eyes when she ate it, just a little less desperation.

Now that she was out of the trees and in the waning sunlight, I got a much better look at her. Her outfit clashed rather spectacularly with the island. Her blouse was still intact, but caked and covered with filth, to the point where I couldn't tell the original color anymore. it seemed like pinstripe though. Her jeans weren't jeans at all, but the remains of a long tube skirt that had been stitched together. She had no shoes, and everything about her showed signs of extreme wear and tear, including her face.

Her eyes were the most striking part of her, a dark yellow that gleamed in the firelight and moved rapidly around even while she was eating. Her hair was a lighter yellow, a natural blonde that had been crudely hacked so it fell around her ears. Her face was pale, somehow untouched by the sun and sitting on the line between pretty and beautiful. Or at least so I thought; her condition didn't do her any wonders.

The only part of her that seemed to show signs of being taken care of was the backpack. It was a dark color, relatively clean compared to it's owner and firmly closed up. It would be really useful to have on this island...

I shook my head and signed. No. I'm not that desperate. Well, not yet anyway.

The woman had taken a seat not far from the fire; close enough that she could feel the heat but far enough that I couldn't reach her without giving ample warning. The jerky was a big piece, and it took her a few minutes to eat it all, devouring it in hungry, quick chomps. She chewed thoroughly. At least she wasn't completely uncivilized.

For politeness sake, I decided to wait until she had fed before I would start asking my questions. It was a bit strange, that this entire exchange had happened without either of us raising our voices. Only the crackling of the fire, the noise of the waves and the quiet sounds of my guest eating.

This is a far cry from my previous encounter, I mused. I still held onto the machete carefully, wary of her suddenly deciding she wanted seconds, but my grip wasn't as tight as it was before. Hunger is something I can empathize with.

With a silent sign, the woman finished the last of the jerky, licked her fingers for any last remnants of fat, slipped off her backpack (the movement prompting me to tighten my machete again), and then laid down on the sand with the pack as a pillow.

"Oh for-" I began. I stood up and walked around the fire to where my guest was starting to snore. "This isn't how this works. I have questions, don't just eat and take a nap!"

My guest didn't answer, already whisked off to dreamland. Her legs curled up into her chest like a baby, her face peaceful now that her eyes were closed. That just pissed me off even more. Where the hell does she think she is? Sleeping on an open beach like this is sure to get her killed! Not to mention completely ignoring the angry man waving a knife at you! It's a wonder she survived this long.

I started forwards, my footsteps angry, ready to start poking at her with the tip of the machete until she learned to listen, when I noticed a hand-stitched pattern on her backpack, stark and white against the black. Here, I'll draw it for you. Yes, it was a bit of a shock for me too.

I slowly moved her head aside, trying to get a better look at her backpack and for anything else that may give another answer (and another mystery), when the woman awoke suddenly.

It was an instant thing, the moment I touched her hair, her eyes snapped open and her mouth opened wide in a loud scream. It made me take a few steps away from her, my machete now once more in a death grip. I needn't have bothered.

The woman rolled around on the sand, screaming something, her eyes locked still and looking at something only she could see. She was screaming words, but I couldn't understand them. It was the same phrase (or two phrases rather) over and over again. I tried to write down what I heard, perhaps you might have a better chance then me of deciphering it:

De Wender! De Wender! Se commen durch de Wender!​

This repeated for over the next five minutes. I started at her, flabbergasted and a bit nervous, while she continued her breakdown. It's uncomfortable watching another human act so uncontrolled; it feels voyeuristic. Like I was watching something private. While I was still having such thoughts, her screams stopped suddenly and her eyes freed themselves from their fixed position, resuming their frightened, frantic movements.

Her hand quickly reached inside her backpack, made a twisting motion, and then she vanished. Well, not really vanished. She very swiftly got up and left the beach, striking rapidly into the forest. I know that, I remember seeing her do that. But back then, I didn't notice at all; it was like there was a mental blind spot around her. I went back to tending the fire, completely ignoring her presence as she scurried away. It was only a few minutes later, when the effect wore off or she ran out of range that I suddenly remembered where the missing piece of jerky had gone. At that point, of course, she was long gone.

Well. At least I now know how she managed to survive for so long.

At least she didn't steal any more of my jerky.


Day 6

A new day dawns. After making a shoddy soup that give me stomach pains for the rest of the night, I came back home with the rest of the jerky. Even after all that had happened and the amount I had wasted, I estimated I had enough to last me for another three days. A good stockpile, although I'm not so foolish as to think that such windfall would come my way all the time; I struck lucky with finding a piglet that both didn't have the protections of it's parents and was wily enough to hide from other opportunistic predators.

Not wily enough to hide from me though.

Moving on, I feel like my feet are on firmer ground. I don't need to constantly worry about food (although it should still be a priority) and I can now take a far more liberal approach to my activities on the island. It does feel like there's a lot more time in the day. Now, the question is how to go about filling it...

Choose FOUR actions to be done over the next two days:
[] Track: There are people or things I need to find before I can interact with.
-[] The Other: I have no hope of defeating him head on, but with some trickery...
-[] The Secretary: I'm unsatisfied with our last encounter. She must have some answers...
[] Scavenge: I have food, but it's always wise to find more. I'll stick to places I know, see if I can scrounge anything up.
[] Explore: I need to know more about the island, it's secrets and it's mysteries.
-[] Write-in Direction; leave blank for GM's discretion.
[] Craft: I should really make something to help me on this island, even if my skills aren't the best.
-[] Write-in
[] Train: My survival skills are lacking; I must fix that. The Island doesn't forgive.
-[] Write-in Skill
[] Interact: These people or creatures are interesting and perhaps helpful.
-[] The Runt: The Titanshell crab with a clam for a home is always slower than the others. It's pitiful, and perhaps more malleable than the others.
[] Experiment: There are a lot of interesting flora, fauna and items on this island. I should try to learn more about one.
-[] Write-in what you want to find more about.
[] Write-in: Actually, I think I'll...

 

[Zhade]

There will be a tipping point during your stay, a point when things will start getting familiar. You will still be cautious of the island, but you won't be as scared of it anymore. The brain is highly plastic, and can get used to anything. For me, it took a week. Of course, I wouldn't necessarily call it my home yet, and there are still a lot of dangers I have yet to conquer, secrets to uncover and mysteries to tame. But, if you're like me, then at this point you're past the first hurdle. So take heart.

Speaking of, the jerky from the pig's heart is extra tough. I recommend just boiling it instead of trying to make it into jerky.

There was very little left of the pig after the butchery yesterday. After I had my fill of the soup and collected the jerky, I buried the unusable remains. Believe me, if the stomach hadn't been mutilated in my process of cutting it out, I would have tried to use it as a water-proof container (no, I'm not cheating on Pot; it's just something on the side). All I had left from my first kill (aside from the jerky) were some stretches of skin that hadn't been cut to pieces. For now, I just removed the flesh from them and hung them on a wall in my cave. Maybe I'll make some gloves or shoes. Would need some needle and thread though...

I did manage to make something today, however: Spears! Three of them in total, I made them from saplings. I suggest you find ones that are about your height and smooth, a few centimeters wide and dead; otherwise they don't feel right. Then, stick the shaft into a fire and sharpen until it's black, stiff and pointed.

What? You wanted one with a sharp stone at the end? Doesn't work; trust me I tried. You need stronger rope than vines to make it work. It starts wobbling and shaking right after you tie it; completely useless for hunting or fighting. The whole thing might come apart after a few hard throws. The fire-sharpened sticks are cheaper and more reliable, until you find or make better rope that is.

The rest of the day was spent practicing with them, either as projectiles or melee weapons. While my familiarity with them wasn't as great as it was with my machete, I could definitely feel my body acclimatizing to them. My throws grew surer, my strikes firmer and I fumbled a lot less. I could definitely hurt someone with these, and maybe I won't even have to get up close to do it. The bruises on my chest throbbed in agreement.

Aside from the spears, today was a pretty slow day. I decided to stick close to my cave, cautious of any other castaways or natives. I had wanted yesterday to be a slow day, and yet I ended up fighting a pig and playing host to a deranged Neo-Nazi. Or a woman with a Nazi backpack. Whatever.

Today, at least, I didn't venture far, barely out of sight of my cave. I needed some to time to process recent events, center myself again, before I head out tomorrow. And when I do, it will be with these spears.

~~~​

This jerky is delicious.

Day 7

My dreams have been getting worse recently. I don't know if it's something I ate, but the golden eyes are still there, except this time they started calling me names. Thankfully, I don't feel any different when I'm awake, which I hope means I'm not delirious.

Moving on. Today, I'm heading out for another exploration and scavenging mission. I still have two whole days worth of food left, but that just means it'll take two more days for me to starve. I should probably institute a personal rule about that, like 'always go out scavenging if your food stores drop below three days worth'.

I headed south this time, following the curve of the mountains instead of the shore. I only had my three spears, my machete, the lamp and the harness on me. The rest I kept back at the cave (the jerky was wrapped in waterproof leaves, stored in a coconut and then buried), although I kept a few pieces of meat to chew on if I got hungry.

The woods immediately surrounding my cave began to clear up, but they didn't quite become like the open grassland. I traveled far that day, before the sun even reached it's apex, and even managed to reach a wide river. I decided not to ford it though, given the dark, oblong shapes slicing through the water. Eels perhaps? They weren't in the river back in my forest.

I mentally shrugged and started heading south. So far, I had found a few pieces of edible fruit, things that looked like bananas but bright red. And straight. I knew they were edible because I found their discarded peels around their trees. A few tests showed they were harmless, and eating one found them a bit tangy, but otherwise palatable. Finally, a vegetable that made sense! No bizarre motility or poison or the capacity to explode! Just some normal, non-domesticated fruits that are full of seeds. I carefully picked the seeds out before eating; only polite. And it seems that's what every other customer at this fruit stand had done, judging by the amount of seeds scattered around. I can get a hint when it's this obvious.

I grabbed a few and noted the location of the banana grove for later, and continued my journey southwards. I headed away from the river, seeking the shore, which is basically an edge-piece with regards to cartography.

We almost missed each other, both of us walking quietly through the woods. My feet were louder, but he seemed preoccupied by a wound on his hand. But my feet accidentally hit a patch a dead leaves and his head whipped towards me. The grunt of pain he made at the movement alerted me too, and then we both started at each other through the trees, scant meters between us.

"Gedra", the tattooed and face-painted native hissed. A look of wonder and wariness flashed across his face, almost too fast to see. He took a step towards me.

[] Write-in (Note: You can choose a name for yourself here, if you want)

 

[Zhade]

The man looked at me with something uncomfortably closer to reverence. I decided that adopting a friendly approach and trying to greet him was unwarranted. Instead, I stood my ground, leveled a spear in a manner so that I wasn't pointing directly at him, but wasn't leaving myself unguarded either. Body language is universal.

"Gedra" he repeated, almost plaintively. "Gedra, Gedra!" He started running towards me, heedless of his wounded hand. I shifted my spear towards him, making it clear he was going to get a few more wounds if he kept coming closer. He didn't care.

Once he moved close enough, I took a step forward and cracked the butt of the spear against his head. He went down immediately. Killing him was a bit much, but I was honestly getting a bit nervous about how excited he was getting. This didn't make any sense. Yes, I know this island doesn't make sense at all, but the man seemed to be looking at me with a greedy recognition, that he remembered me from somewhere.

My thoughts were interrupted as, with a snarl, he picked himself up and launched himself at me. The fight after was quick and brutal, and unlike the pig fight I remembered every second of it. It helped that my opponent was tired, malnourished and seemed desperately trying to capture, not wound me. I had no such disadvantages. After the third hit to his head, he was wobbling precariously and I decided that the fight would soon be over. Perhaps I may even have time to question him, unlike the last one.

With his chest heaving and blood pouring from a head wound, he began bellowing "Gedra! Gedra! Gedra!"

I realized my mistake then, but by the time I hit him hard enough to leave him on the ground groaning it was too late.

The rest of the hunting party caught upto me within minutes.

~~~
​

I was trussed and bound and brought to a cleared section of the forest, where the tribe had set up a plethora of tents around a central, marked stone. The skin stretched over them reminded me of the piglet skin I had back in my hollow, but far more professionally cleaned. Cookfires that didn't smoke were placed at strategic locations, and women were tending to almost all of them. Kids racing here and then, not playing but acting as messengers and couriers. Most of the people eschewed clothing except where practical, going for function over beauty, and they were uniformly small and brown. Their skin was a lighter color than mine, but their hair was darker, more curly. Tattoos, lines of red and white, marked their skin and they smelled of fruit and smoke.

As I was brought upto the central plinth, a growing crowd began massing as word spread. It was interesting to see; before they saw me, their faces were intent on whatever task they were doing at the moment, concentration and determination hardening their faces. But the moment I entered their sight, me and my captors, they would predictably drop their jaw, rub their eyes and then start walking dazedly with the rest.

By the time I was set on the plinth, excitement had replaced astonishment and an impromptu celebration was beginning. The words 'Gedra' was repeated so often that I wondered if it were my name, and a few of the older ones started openly weeping. My repeated attempts to communicate were ignored, and for the moment they seemed to caught up in their reveries to pay me much attention. Not that it did any good; these people knew their knots.

"Hail." A woman walked alone upto the plinth, unconcerned with the festive atmosphere behind her. Colorful paints and what looked like alcohol was being brought out. The woman looked up at me in curiosity. "Hail to the Lamb, the Savior. Hail to the Wildhearted, the Many-Souled, the Dreamer's Key. Hail, and let the prophecy be fulfilled and the Island weep."

The fact that she was speaking my tongue sent me into shock, but in the end I reacted more to the faint mockery in her tone. I levered myself up, so I was sitting and not lying on the stone, and nodded at her with all the dignity I could muster. "You may approach."

She stared at me for a moment, her eyes suddenly calculating, and then smiled. "Forgiveness, Soft One, but your coming was fortold but never expected. This one is left at a loss for words at your splendor." Unlike the rest of the natives I saw, she was dressed far more elaborately. Her voluminous robes were made of white leather, and her face was unmarked, but possessed a haunting beauty. Things rattled within her robes where ever she walked.

My naked butt was cold against the stone. "My mercy is rare, but I will grant it on this most holiest of days. Pray tell me, where did you learn my speech from?"

She laughed. "From a man long dead and from scrolls long burned. But the knowledge is remembered and can be passed on, and this one has been marked by Zendar." She opened her mouth to show me her tongue, upon which lay a scar in the form of a snake.

"Zendar?"

"The Mark of Zendar. Not many take it, but I offer it to all, as Understanding is one of the few gifts that may be given without restraint." She reached within her robes and retrieved a small talisman that had a matching snake on it.

I stared at it for a moment, considered. Finally, I relented. "What does it do?"

"Zendar's Tongue speaks to all, and comprehends all. Speak with it, and know your words will be heard." She smiled at me, and I realized I was still talking in English, but she wasn't. Her mouth didn't match the words. The village, uncaring of either of us, had swelled to more than a hundred strong and were starting to chant. Act quickly, some part of me warned.

I leaned forward and stuck my tongue out.

"Awake!" She muttered to the ring on the hand holding the talisman. Smoke flitted out from the snake's coils and the entire thing began to redden. She held it uncaring and pressed it firmly onto my tongue.

Searing pain roared through my nerves, my mouth filled with blood and my nose with smoke. It was the worst pain I had ever felt, as if the snake was crawling from the talisman through my tongue and into my brain. Lances of fire spiked all around my head and I could hear the distinctive sound of flesh being cooked.

I didn't flinch and continued to stare at the Witch. She seemed a bit taken aback at my lack of reaction.

And then it was done. I spat out the blood and ash in my mouth, as I heard the sounds from the festival before us come back into focus. Their chants remained unknowable for a moment, until I shook my head and they resolved.

"The Lamb! The Lamb! The Lamb!"

I turned towards the Witch. "What are they talking about?"

She started, seemingly lost in thought after marking me. She turned towards the gathering and then hissed. "The Tiö are approaching their frenzy. We don't have much time-"

"No. Answer me. What is this about a Lamb? What do these Tiö want with me?" I could practically hear the umlauts. And I wasn't feeling charitable at the moment, trussed up like a lamb to...huh.

"They wish to be one with the Island, merge with it and so not suffer." She hissed frantically. She withdrew a goblet of silver from her robes and began pouring a red liquid from vials into it. A ruby on the front gleamed at me. "They seek to open the Door to the Wild in their hearts. A Lamb is said to open it, a Lamb of dark skin and light hair. They seek shelter through it."

"How can I give shelter when I have none myself?" I responded dryly, but internally the fires of fear were stoked. It didn't take that much to guess how exactly they sought to open the Door.

The Witch's preparations were done. She took out a stick and broke it into two, shoving half into my hand. "Drink, and for a brief moment you will be like a beast. It will help you escape. Your belongings are with me, follow the Twinned Rod tomorrow at dawn and I will be there."

I stared at her suspiciously for a second. She signed and then took a sip from the goblet before shoving it back into my face. The chanting from the Tiö was getting louder. The man that I had clobbered in the head so long ago was in the center, froth speckling his lips as blood poured freely from his wounds.

I drank.

"Do you have a name, Lamb?" The Witch asked, breathing a sign of relief.

"If my parents gave me one, it is long lost." I replied, feeling the liquid settle into my stomach and start spreading it's warmth. It tasted like iron. Blood.

"Then hear this, Nameless One. I am Shelog, exile of the Gän and student of the Nās. I swear, by my Twinsouls, by the Lost City, by the Dreamer (troubled be his sleep) and the Scaled Folk and their rulers in the sky. I swear, on all the stars above and horrors below, I need you alive." The last word was hissed, and her eyes narrowed, the iris reddening for a moment.

And then she was gone and the Tiö were approaching.

You have drunk from the Hunter's Chalice and so can transform into a creature for ten hours (total). Transformation itself is instant, but there is a cooldown period. Choose a creature and write your escape plan.

[] A scurrying of claws and black fur; run and hide, little one
-[] Write-in
[] A great thundering of wings and tearing of beaks; fly far, old one
-[] Write-in
[] A mad howling and slavering of fangs; fight your way out, great one.
-[] Write-in​

 

[Zhade]

The Tiö stampeded towards me.

A hard, red light flickered within me.

Knives of stone and bone flashed in the evening sun.

My mind's hands tremebled as I reached towards the distant light.

Their appearnces blurred, shadowy arms merging with their weapons to form bestial claws.

I grasped the light and felt it's warmth, it's power, flow through my arteries and into my own heart.

They're claws are inches from my face.

I change.

~~~
​

It happened almost instantly. One moment, I'm tied up tighter than a drum, looking into the many faces of my death. The next, black feathers sprout from my arms, a cruel beak erupts from my face and my feet twists into claws. It was excruciating for a brief, hellish moment as I felt my body literally rip itself apart, following the directions of the red power within me.

And then the ropes split apart and I can move.

One flap of my massive wings lifted me onto my claws and sent the first wave of the my would-be killers reeling. Another flap lifted me higher and buffeted the entire mob, blowing a few of them off their feet. A third flap and I crested the trees around me and the Tiö below scatter, most likely searching for something to strike me with.

But by then I'm fleeing, heading towards the sun to blind any sharpshooters and raising higher and higher.

I don't think I can adequately describe how flying feels like. It's like describing the thrill of swimming to someone who has never seen water, or the joy of running to a paraplegic. Not only is it impossible, it's almost a bit cruel. Suffice to say, feeling the warm updrafts buoy me high, the sharp wind slicing through my pinions and seeing the island fall away below through my bird eyes.

I felt like I was giving gravity the middle-finger, and it was glorious.

My wings beat the air black and blew as I strained to fly higher. There was an audible sound as they slammed through it, a distinctive noise that sounded like a leathery drum. They petered out as I stabilized and glided back around, the trees below me like toothpicks. The Tiö were lost somewhere in the dense jungle and I did a few loops to celebrate.

My new body was massive. I knew most creatures on this island grew to much larger sizes then normal, but this bird took it to extremes. I would be able to hold my old body in a single claw easily and my black wings could blot out the sun for most creatures. I briefly wondered what type of creature this was; was it something conjured about in the Witch's mind? Maybe she took the blood of this creature to wear it's skin herself? Or perhaps she summoned up a platonic ideal of a giant raven and bound it to the chalice?

Speaking of, the red flame in my mind's eye continued to hold steady. My mental hands were outlined by arteries of red that flowed through them and into my body. Instinctively, I knew it was supporting this transformation, literally filling my body with it's power so that I had this chance to fly. I also knew that this was limited, that I couldn't stay in this body forever. Already I could see the that the flame was smaller than when it had first ignited. Not small enough that I would start worrying, but it was a noticeable change that acted as a warning. Eventually, the transformation would end, either when I took my hands from the flame or it sputtered out.

But in the meantime, I could fly!

I screwed a lid on my excitement and calmed myself. Right now, the most important thing was to get back to my cave as soon as possible. I had been granted an incredible gift. Not only did I have a second chance at life, I could return home without worry of being tracked or followed. Not to mention the great view I had of the island, which would do wonders for the map I was drawing.

The island spread out beneath me. I could see the glimmering coastline to my left, made vague by the encroaching cloak of night, and land curving upto breath-taking mountains to my right. I knew the mountains had been big, but I didn't realize how big. Their flanks were carpeted by green vegetation, which melted into a band of cold rocks which then gave way to snowy tops. There were two of them I could see fully, but I could also spot a third and even a fourth one in the distance. There was also a large plateau nestled between the two sets of mountains and very evidently above the snow line.

I started swooping in for a closer look. The mountains had been one of the more mysterious landmarks ever since I woke up, and finding more about them would be helpful-

NO

The sheer size of the terror I felt in the crow's brain sent me reeling away from my new flight plan and back onto the one that would bring me closer to home. I didn't know what that was; there was nothing I had sensed. No shadows or figures that could send such a massive apex creature into hysterics. But when the bird with a 40 ft wingspan is shrieking in terror, you listen.

But still, you have to wonder. Whatever was in those mountains was terrifying enough to imprint itself onto the instincts of this bird, as important to the bird as how to fly. But whatever it is, those mountains were off-limits until I learned more about them.

My gloomy thoughts had a reprieve when I came onto a familiar line of beach. Locating the spot of forest after that was easy. Landing was as easy as flying, even though I did end entangled in some vines and being forced to cut the transformation early. My body turned into black smoke and I fell a few feet to land in front of hollow.

It's good to be back home.

Warning: You have seven hours of transformation left, and it decays at the rate of one hour per day. If you wish to use it during any of your activities, make note.

Choose two actions for the next day:
[] Track: There are people or things I need to find before I can interact with.
-[] Write-in
[] Scavenge: I have food, but it's always wise to find more. I'll stick to places I know, see if I can scrounge anything up.
[] Explore: I need to know more about the island, it's secrets and it's mysteries.
-[] Write-in Direction; leave blank for GM's discretion.
[] Craft: I should really make something to help me on this island, even if my skills aren't the best.
-[] Write-in
[] Train: My survival skills are lacking; I must fix that. The Island doesn't forgive.
-[] Write-in Skill or Stat
[] Interact: These people or creatures are interesting and perhaps helpful.
-[] Shelog the Witch: She has my belongings and perhaps some answers.
-[] Write-in
[] Experiment: There are a lot of interesting flora, fauna and items on this island. I should try to learn more about one.
-[] Write-in what you want to find more about.
[] Write-in: Actually, I think I'll...​

 

[Zhade]

Day 8

I looked at the smooth stick resting in my palm. A straight line of wood, it had been sanded and smoothed until it was pearly white. Lines were carved into the wood twisting around each other, but never meeting, until they ended abruptly at the snapped end. My memory of what happened last night was rather disjointed after I awoke; a fact that makes me glad I wrote down what I recalled in my journal before sleeping. Witness testimony becomes increasingly unreliable the longer you wait, especially if they were part of the incident.

But the clearest parts of my memory surrounded the Witch, what she said and what she did. The brand on my tongue and the flickering fire in my heart proclaimed her existence loudly. The stick did the same, but in a more quiet manner. Grasping it made one aware of a faint tugging sensation, like holding a paperclip above a magnet, only with no danger of it flying off. There as no doubt in my mind that it would lead me to her.

The sun was just beginning to rise, cutting the night back up into individual shadows. Insect noises shifted, changed, as the day shift traded places with the night shift. Bird song flitted about here and there, rare but present. Similar songs, which didn't suggest any sort of variety in the birds on this island.

Never actually seen one myself, curiously.

I got up and brushed myself down, feeling naked without any of my things. One more reason to meet with Shelog then.

I began to head out, following the tug of the stick, when I paused. It was heading in a direction I hadn't gone before, southwest while hugging the coastline. If that was the case, I could probably kill two birds with one stone here.

It only took a short while to find a place that was relatively clear of trees and only a few seconds to grasp the flame and beat my way skyward. My wings smashed through a few tree limbs that were in the way, but no lasting damage. A few moments later and I was clear, feeling the soaring freedom that is flight.

Feeling yourself direct another mind is a fascinating feeling. There were a thousand tiny inputs that called for attention a hundred different flight muscles that must all be controlled consciously. The bird brain took the brunt of that though; I simply thought what I wanted to do and the brain (and body) responded. It was like walking; you don't really think about lifting and placing each foot while doing so. Instead, you simply will your body forward and well-worn tracks in your mind do all the heavy lifting.

It was like that, except I didn't have the lifetime of training and experience that would cause those tracks. It's hard to explain, so just take my word for it.

The stick was held inside my mouth, pushed by my tongue against the roof to prevent myself from swallowing it. It took a bit of guesswork, but eventually I figured out in which direction I need to head in. The crow's eyes were useful in this regard. They moved separately of the other, swiveling in their sockets to give a wide field of view. Coupled with the bird's high visual acuity, and my mental map of the island grew ever clearer. I couldn't see in the dark, but I could movement at a far higher capability than before. I could even see the movement of the sun across the sky!

Eventually, the stick began to press down on my tongue, nudging me towards a copse of trees with a ring of stones surrounding them, on the border between open and closed forest. The place was equidistant from the grasslands and the clearing where the Tiö were. I circled it for a few moments, trying to see if she had arrived, but things looked abnormally still within. No shifting of leaves, no movement in the grass. Here was one location where these bird eyes were uniquely unsuited for.

I approached silently, weaving between tree trunks,and landed on soft loam at a distance from the copse. I spat out the stick and released my grip on the flame, letting my outer skin dissolve into smoke. The trees were quiet here, and large. Their trunks soared high, and even though there was plenty of space between them, the forest was shadowed in their gloom. It didn't have the quiet emptiness of my own forest, or the pungent vibrancy of the deep jungle.

Instead, a deep melancholy was here. I walked carefully into the copse, the stick practically vibrating in hand, trying not to disturb it's unnatural stillness.

She was sitting on top of a tall, flat rock under on of the trees, white robes wrapped around so it looked like she was made of marble. Her eyes were fixed on a ring laying in her palm, but she stirred at my approach. She lifted granite grey eyes towards me, then tossed a bag from behind her wordlessly. I caught it and cautiously began rummaging inside.

"Don't come too close or else the Rods will fly towards each other and become useless. Inside that is all your belongings. Keep the bag. The-" She began, not budging from her vantage point.

"Where's my spears?" I asked. The bag contained everything except those, even the loincloth I had been wearing before my capture. "I had three spears with me."

She stared at me, nonplussed. "Those were spears? They looked like sticks. They were broken up and used for tinder."

"I spent a lot of time on those", I grumbled. "Hours now forever lost".

She stared at me for another moment, then signed and shook her head. "I'm sure you did. But I must speak to you about the spirit you have bound."She gestured at the lamp I had retrieved. "The spirit and it's owner are one and the same, bound in desperation and death. I attempted to commune with it, but it's age is too great and I know nothing of it's origins. The grip the world has on it is waning; it's help will last only a few nights, a week if you're frugal."

I stared at the lamp. The candle inside was unlit, but I could almost see it being a bit shorter than when I had first found it.

"Now, I know you must have questions, but the Tiö will notice if I'm away for too long. Ask quickly, but know this won't be our last meeting."

Choose Three Questions:
[] Ask about Her
[] Ask about the Tiö
[] Ask about the Other
[] Ask about the Secretary
[] Ask about the Lost City
[] Ask about the Scaled Folk
[] Ask about the Gän and the Nās
[] Ask about the Island in general
[] Ask about the plants or animals of the Island
-[] Write-in a specific one, or just ask for general knowledge
[] Ask about the Chalice and if you may drink from it again
[] Ask about the Dreamer She won't answer
[] Write-in