[Aylasa Caves] The Breaking of a Man (Closed)

[Sturlin]

Over the next five days Sturlin came to several shocking realizations. Some of which came about as he regained his strength, while others required only the passing of time to reveal themselves.

Mr. Pickles' mood had improved drastically along with Sturlin's. That made sense, of course. Mr. Pickles had always been a sensitive soul. He was also, after all, only a cat. It seemed logical to Sturlin that the cat, having spent his entire life with Sturlin, would base the majority of his emotions on the hunter's own. The burden of the cat's acid tongue was lifted as the magician's spirits lifted. By the fifth day the cat was downright pleasant to talk to again.

Once he was healthy enough to go searching for clues, Sturlin was also able to guess where the boy might have come from. He had narrowed it down to escaped slave or some sort of refugee. The clothes left on the corpse were too old, too torn, and too dirty for their appearance to have been caused by violent death alone. He had heard rumors that slavers wandered the wild places of Sylira, but he found it unlikely that they operated this close to Syliras. When Mr. Pickles brought it up, though, he had to admit that the boy could have escaped from slavers just about anywhere. Escapees tend to run, and usually they don't care what direction they run in.

He also had managed to discover that the boy had never stood at all after his original death. The remains of his obsidian spell were found shattered on the walls of the cave. Given how close he had been to the dead man when he had cast the spell, he found it nearly impossible to believe that he had simply missed. When combined with other evidence it was clear that some of what he saw had never happened at all. Not a comforting thought.

As time passed he also found it difficult to continue wearing the same pair of leggings. It became necessary for him to change clothes, and that in turn revealed what was wrong with his legs. The front and back of his thighs, the front and back of his shins, and the top of his feet all bore strange looking plates. They did not touch, leaving the very sides of his legs, his knees, and his ankles covered with normal flesh. Upon testing them he decided that these plates were made of the same granite that he has used to cast his spell.

Sprinting would never be in his future again. Carrying the equivalent of a granite slab around on your legs may seem like an excellent idea to an idiot, but in truth it was probably heavier than any metal he could have armored his legs with. Even at full strength he sometimes found it difficult to put one leg in front of the other. Eventually he would be able to walk as normal, but running was no longer an option. He guessed that even if he learned to run again, he'd never be able to run for long distances. The thought of trying to swim made him shudder.

[Sturlin]

It was on the fourth day, while Sturlin was still getting used to his legs and needed something to do with his hands, that the hunter resumed his normal work and began repairing and replacing the traps which had been neglected during his recovery. Almost seven days worth of hunting was lost to him, and he would have to redouble his efforts if he was going to bring in any mizas when he went to Syliras.

Gathering the materials was a slow and arduous process. When he located a vine which seemed suitable to him he would sit next to it and work with only what he could reach. When finally he could reach no more then he would edge himself closer and begin anew, repeating the cycle as necessary. Anything that could get him off his feet would help him to cover ground, so to speak, at his normal pace.

Snares were the easiest to replace and the easiest to make, so he put those together first. Normally he would count off the steps so that he never had more snares set than he could check in one hour. Anything longer than that and many animals could chew their way out of an improvised snare. Unfortunately he would have to run the risk. With his calloused fingers driven nearly to blistering he doubled the number of snares to be set, hoping that the ones which got away would be offset by the extra traps.

Once he had finished the snares, but not yet set them, he wracked his brain to remember his old hunting territory in The Bronze Woods. He would be moving back there from these caves, which no longer held any promise for him. Mentally noting which places he would need to lay the pits, he gathered his snares on the fifth day and packed them away with the rest of his possessions.

He should never have left his original camp. It was time for he and Mr. Pickles to return there and start anew. Once he had recouped his losses and adjusted to his new life then he would consider moving into the city. "This wilderness was causing me more trouble than the solitude is worth." Though he said this with great conviction as he led Francis away from camp, Mr. Pickles knew better.

A wry look twisted the wrinkles on the cat's face as he looked up at his master. "Seriously? Can you see yourself holding a normal job?"

~Thread Finished~

[Gossamer]

. Character: Sturlin Experience: 1 XP Meditation, 4 XP Reimancy, 1 XP Wilderness Survival Lore: Lore of Living in Caves, Lore of Knowing Your Arcane Limits and where the point of overgiving will be. Additional Note: I enjoyed the nice little touches like juggling res etc. Nice demonstration of overgiving. Interesting accident with the granite slabs on your legs. I'm a little iffy if someone can survive with their legs having slabs of granite on them or not... .