Troubling news

It was the night of a great banquet. Villagers male and female danced around a bonfire with boisterous laughter all throughout the settlement. They raised their drinks in toast to his name.

After the encounter with the huge… entity, he was left with the cadaver of the owlbear. Hastily patching himself up with what he had on hand and foraging more of what is readily available in the near vicinity. He swiftly made his way back to tribe for more hands to help him carry it back. Leaving the cadaver wasn’t an issue. Owlbears had distinct stench that would permeate in the area the longer they linger.  Whether prey or predator they wouldn’t dare approach an owlbear as they’re on the higher ends of the food chain; even those that would in theory match it wouldn’t try to attack it. Especially with the smell of blood, as they’re notoriously fierce defenders of their food. Whatever that approaches the scent of blood and an owlbear is either mad or so desperate that their only choice is to tempt death.

Upon his return they received him like a hero. The returns of the recent hunts have been meager so a big catch like an owlbear was a sight for sore eyes. Not to mention the accomplishment of hunting one solo.

Removing the wood splinters that had dug deep into his flesh was a painful operation, thus he was in the teepee of the witch doctor having a numbing salve applied beforehand. Trinkets, fetishes, masks and dolls lay everywhere. Calming scent of herb mixture emanated from the wooden censer, hung above. The witch doctor Sardak was also the chieftain of the tribe. Clamoring outside sounded distant from within. Sha’ko was here not just to be treated, but also to report his findings.

Examining the body of the owlbear revealed long numerous puncture wounds. Inspecting further they had curved shape upwards. The beak and claws had tufts of fur and dried blood not just of his own. Monster that attacks the bears are few, if any. And the evidence he found pointed to only one option. 

Warboars… they normally wouldn’t attack owlbears with their smaller size. But there is another option. Warhogs, a larger species of the same kind, their distinguishing attribute being their deep black fur rather than the maroon hue that it’s lesser cousins have and of course their towering size. They’re born as a rare variant amongst warboar communities.

If warhog was born then it would explain their recent aggressiveness and growing numbers. It means that they expanded their territory so much that they collided with the owlbear, and managed to even drive it off from it’s territory. Their horde could seriously threaten the safety of the tribe and disrupt the local ecosystem. The fleeing owlbear just happened to have come across him. He could consider himself luckless had it not for his unexpected saviour.

Which is the second topic he reported to his chieftain. A white spider unmatched in size, possessing intellect and the most notably bearing the visage of human female that saved his life.

• “Gaargh!” the moment he finished describing it to the chief he groaned in pain.
• “Wh-What did you say?”

The old chieftain asked him with energy not seen before in recent memory. Perhaps not even in his prime was he this vigorous. Contrary to his normally calm and quiet self. In his outburst he mistakenly ripped off a wooden splinter without care. Thankfully his yell was drowned out by the bustle of the party outside.

• “Excuse these shaky hands… but  are you sure about what you saw? Did you not ingest hallucinogenic fungus?”
• “I swear it with my spear, I am sure of it.”

Pausing for only a moment chieftain continued to deftly remove the splinters.

• “I see… Bring me to that creature next time you go out…”
• “What do you mean?! Do you not believe me chieftain?”
• “It is because I believe you that I must meet it in person.”
• “What about the tribe? What will happen without you?”
• “Hmph, by the time they know I'm gone, we’ll be back already.”
• “We? You mean to bring along just me?”
• “I am sure you can protect me well enough.”
• “Though it shames me to say this but I cannot guarantee your safety. Please reconsider this!”
• “My mind is made up. Speak nothing of this until the day of departure.”

With that, nothing else he says will make a difference. He had no choice but to accept.

• “You say they wanted cooked rockbirds? Get more of it, we’ll give it as an offering.
  Did you do something special with it?”
• “No nothi-… wait… one side of it was burnt by the charcoal.”
• “Peculiar loa… though I must say not the strangest offering required.
  We shall move in 2 days. For now rest and recover your strength.”

With all of the embedded splinters extracted and the treatment done, Sardak exited the tent. The lone hunter was left laying down, pondering what is to come…

Pockets

It wasn’t long ago since Alicia didn’t have any hands. She was exhilarated to have them back. But it wasn’t all a good thing. She didn’t know where to put her hands. Normally when walking on two feet her arms would swing back and forth naturally. Normally that is. With her current lower body she couldn’t really swing her arms in rhythm of her steps since she was either creeping, crawling or skittering somewhere.

It was abnormally awkward to have her hands just hanging. Usually she would put her hands inside the pockets of her trousers… That wasn’t a viable option. Keeping her hands crossed was a solution, but she wasn’t quite used to it. And keeping it on her hips was… even more jarring.

• ‘If trousers aren’t a go then shirts will have to do… What are those hoodie pockets called again… Sacks? Waist pockets… No… Muff pockets! There we go. Alice we’re making hoodies!’
• ‘…?’
• ‘Until then I’ll just have to get used to either having my arms crossed or learn how to leave them hanging…’

She chose crossing her arms… Which much to her dismay contributed to the certain image hers that she later came to dislike…

And of course, the horrifying realization of lack of zippers dawned upon her much later, pouring cold water on her fantasies.