UnReal World forums
UnReal World => Stories => Topic started by: Brygun on April 19, 2020, 01:59:45 AM
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Cornan the Barbarian
An Unreal adventurer started during the Corona Virus* shutdowns and self isolation. May you enjoy the reading or even just read it for something to do. Perhaps try acting out his adventurers in your living room. Its also to give myself inspiration for writing practice.
Fair disclosure as this is a writing project this isn't a purest iron-man play through. Reloading game saves may and has happened, for example when numb in the real world I didn't notice how much ice he had fallen through. There are times when reloading won't happen and that will be his end. However that likely will mean I take another break from playing for other activities. If someone is a pure one-death type feel free to read up to a death note then ignore the rest of the thread. The goal is self fulfillment, writing and sharing experience with the community.
*: aka Covid-19 or SARS-CoV-2
As for the name its a pun on both Corona for the virus and Conan.
Comments are welcome in the thread. It lets the author know people are reading. Just show general respect for each other.
As keeper of the BAC mod it will indeed be used in this play through.
A few posts will be reserved to show character stats and such.
Links to my other stories:
Calle
https://www.unrealworld.fi/forums/index.php?topic=6953.0
Tuukka
https://www.unrealworld.fi/forums/index.php?topic=6082.0
Kylpymies
https://www.unrealworld.fi/forums/index.php?topic=6076.0
Pekka
https://www.unrealworld.fi/forums/index.php?topic=6016.0
Iltros
The island challenge
http://www.unrealworld.fi/forums/index.php?topic=6007.0
Cornan
An adventure to emulate Conan
http://www.unrealworld.fi/forums/index.php?topic=5461.0
Novrus
A long adventure establishing a first winter house
https://www.unrealworld.fi/forums/index.php?topic=4640.0
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Character design:
Culture: Sartolaiset feels like it matches the Cimmerians seen at the start of Conan the Barbarian (Original Arnold movie). Driik were debate as his father was a sword smith. Really though swords is something Cornan learns about during his life.
Sex: Male, its Cornan after all
Season: Winter
‘Cause lets play on hard
Stats: Rerolls for a high strength and okay elsewhere.
Initial rituals:
General Sacrifice
Bear Skull Rite
Fox Trap Favoruableness
Rod Fisherman’s Sacrifice
Start location:
Randomized to be as if dragged toward Nerj lands
Scenario:
Runaway Slave
This is Cornan escaping from the gladiatoral uses
Game Course:
Advanced adventures
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reserved 2
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reserved 3
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Yesterday evening he had seen the knife on the way back. Dropping wood got him a scuff across his head. Nothing compared to the fight wounds he suffered in gladiator style matches. It was into the boots the knife was slipped at the risk of cutting his ankle. Now it had set him free.
Last night one of the slavers had barked at him. The language wasn’t well known to Cornan. Something about what is best in life. Then exhaustion had taken him in the night. How Cornan wished he had awoken at night as first planned. Now morning, the camp was stirring. If today was the sacrifice he had to leave. It has to be now.
East. East into the rising sun. Powerful legs pushing him as powerful curses roared out from the slavers. Lamentations of the enemy.
Into the trees. A twisting dash between trees to throw off any archer’s aim. So far no arrows. Another shout behind him.
“Be Free!” a slaver said.
A confounding thought to riddle the steel out of later. Deeper into the forest Cornan ran. A dead end of spruce! His heart leapt as he swirled a few steps back to get around. Glances still showed slavers in sight. Rocks, stones, large branches and the starts of plants were seen. All things he might soon need. It wasn’t time. Flee.
<Cornan 001 into the woods>
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Thoughts skip into Cornan’s head. Where was he? Running toward exhaustion in the wood. He had to get his thoughts under control to live. The slaver’s outpost was now west-south-west of him but where in the world was that.
The boots the slaver gave him looked like Reemi make. The slavers had come from back from the east with those. The cloak had come from the north with the tribe “Kiesse” on the slaver’s lips. That would put the Kaumo to the north east and the Koivula west. Cornan’s home Sartola was far away to the north west.
Shuffling winds stirred the spruce. Hair on the back of his neck pricked up. Spirits, slavers or winds it didn’t matter. Cornan resumed moving. Walking to keep a reserve of energy in case other slavers stumbled upon him.
The frozen pond came to view. He could chip it open to get a drink. Too risky. This was where he had been so many times forced to carry water back to the camp. They would come this way sooner or later.
Next of note was a marsh. Where his weight pushed in deeper ice cold dripping made their way over the top of his boots. Struggling to get them out Cornan realized how deep the foot prints were. Any one could follow these. He had to get back into the forest.
Late morning a tinkling sound of water pouring from a water skin made him freeze. Carefully peeking around the tree he could see who it was.
A man Relieving himself on a birch tree.
Dressed for war with mail under a fur over coat. A battle axe was holstered on one hip with a mace on another. A shield guige strapped to his back and a spear against the tree. Turning the man stepped out view speaking in a foreign tongue.
Traders!
Fur traders or slave traders?
Cornan approached warily calling out a greeting to what was now two of them.
“Name Farabert,” said one, “Want furs winter. Steel give.”
Fur traders then. A broken conversation found the other to be called Bevisward. They knew little of the area so were glad of the warning of the slavers. It was not their goals to fight only to bring furs back to their head man across the seas. At least though for a moment Cornan was safe.
<Cornan 002 found traders>
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The ease of safety began to fade. Cornan’s mind started to ask questions. What if the traders had come to witness the sacrifice? What if they told the slavers in which direction he fled. Perhaps this was all nothing. It was nearing noon. This time of year there was limited daylight. Best to move away then make a first night’s shelter from the cold.
Withered tiny lumps of berries made their way into his hand as he walked. He had no idea what they were. A few grandfather phrases came to mind like “know a mushroom or it will kill you” and “bog plants have a habit of burying you.” Though in general most berries were safe to eat its not true of all of them. Perhaps if he saw animals eating them.
Like those wolves!
Wolves!
Oh that’s just wonderful! A pack of hungry wolves in winter! Cornan ran for a kilometer. The traders could have wolf furs if they wanted a fight. The slavers might shelter or fight the wolves. So long as wolves didn’t chase him. It was Cornan who was alone from the herd, so to speak. Easy prey for a wolf pack.
He stopped running when the spruce gave way to a patch of heathland. Here he could see better. There were plants here. Young shoots that maybe edible. Certainly not the dangerous bog plants.
This spot was a blessing. A hope that the spirits were with him. Just over there was a birch sapling. Seemingly all alone among the heath pine and spruce. As if placed there for such a rescue as this. With the rusty knife he cut it down then shaped it into a withe. At least he had his first cordage.
How did it go again? The five C plus one of survival.
Cutting. The rusty knife was that. To take things apart.
Cordage. He now had at least the withe to tie things together.
Cover. His clothes, the fur cloak and he could make a lean to.
Carry. A means to carry things. This was a problem. Only doubling over his cloak was doing that.
Combustion. A means to start a fire. This would be desperately needed. Rocks scattered might make sparks. The rusty knife’s back side might too. He gathered whittlings from the withe and dried winter pine branches for kindling.
The plus one “C” was care. This was lacking. Bandages of any sort to clot wounds. He had neither wounds nor bandages. At least battering in fight practice gave a chance to observe bandaging. As a boy before the capturing never was much time spent cooking with mother or gathering with sister. Care also meant herbs he didn’t know for poultices and herbs he didn’t know for teas.
As a slave he had learned sword fighting for when the gladiators games were more lethal. They had also had him fight wood on wood to train the other slavers. One thing he also knew from his youth was archery. He boasted to the slavers of being a better shot than them. It amused them to let him compete with them or with visitors, all with a spear near his back should Cornan think of changing to a living target.
Those young days came to mind. This momentary freedom like a fresh spring wind. Days turning steaming ash into the soil for new fields. Chopping at wood for shapes that could fit together. As a boy he made a low shed for a favored dog. Small it may have been it did take the same joints as a full house would.
A chirping bird awoke him back to the now. He was in a heathland nearing noon. There were “C” to fill out to survive the first night.
He avoided a patch of unknown mushrooms, “know a mushroom or it will kill you.” A few dry grasses nibbled like a crude salad. A few rocks and stones were gathered for crafting. Perhaps to make a stone-axe soon.
Bright colors appear through the trees. Cornan rushed over to lingonberries! This was a blessed heathland he’d run to. Enough moisture form the the berries would make good on needing to find drinking water. He’d need meat in a few days or malnutrition would set in. This was a chance to at least start. Gathering them led to a mushroom he did know, yellow coat an edible for flavor useful in soups.
<Cornan 003 blessed heathland>
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Added to post 2 attachments for stats, skills and starting position.
Added to post 3 pic of the initial in game position.
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Berry harvesting is inefficient they say. Its true. The slow rate of picking for the nutrition is best done to give variety when you have other food sources. The grasses he was eating and the mushrooms were fairly weak on their own.
Pondering this Cornan looked to the sun. It was already afternoon! Cornan had also become cold. Lacking proper clothing without a fire in Dead month winter risks frostbite. He best get started on a shelter. A few spruce trees would provide the cover and bedding.
Man spruce twigs woven together make a crude matting. It at least keeps one off the ground. The classic three bar lean-to with two upright and a cross bar would be the shelter. A young pine laboriously whittled with the rusty knife provided these. More spruce would be laid along one side to make slanted wall. Twisting the spruce twigs so they arc downward would help shed water, or snow.
Low ground would mean cold air flowing in though blocking of the wind was better. Most important was a place for a small fire that wouldn’t be easy for searchers to see.
This was tiring, time consuming with numbed fingers faltering in their grip. The sun was down without the shelter completed. Stumbling in the evening dark Cornan made a ring of rocks and stone to safe guard a fire.
It was a failure.
He fell asleep on the spruce mat without the lean to made. His staggering mind focused on this task. It wasn’t until the early afternoon the lean to was done. Pathetic Cornan thought to himself. What had kept him warm was the small fire, the fur cloak and the spruce mat. Well the latter two he could carry and make new fires elsewhere.
He was starving now too. The thin diet of lingonberries and whatever grass wasn’t going to keep him going. If he stayed he would soon die here.
A fear crept along his skin. A different fear. It wasn’t the surging fear of swords clashing in a gladiator duels or the pounding of punishments. It was the question of whether he was fit to live. Did he know what he needed to live? Could he figure things out? Did he matter?
Thirst was clawing at him as well. The berries weren’t going to be enough. Weak Cornan gathered a more rocks, stones and branches. He laid out branches for markers. Three singles then a cluster of three to give the direction like an arrow to the shelter.
Another small fire in the shelter with its mat made him sweat in the fur cloak. His muscles were weaker now from a day without meat. One can survive a week or two like that. It was water that was maddening him. He simply couldnt eat enough berries for that. That night he carved a length of pine into a staff. Sleeping with the cruelty of that deep thirst clawed at his soul. Over and over again he woke up knowing he needed to drink.
Finally the thin morning light made travel reasonable. To the east there is a pine mire. Pools of iced over water. Crazed muscles pounded on the ice. It broke through. Like a desperate dog Cornan pushed his face into the icy water. The chill was nothing compared to two days of drinkless berry munching.
He rolled onto his back.
Well, he wasn’t going to die of thirst after all.
<Cornan 004 first drinking>
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After contemplation Cornan rose to his feet. He hadn’t thanked the spirits since even finding the rusty knife. He set out flowers from the grasses next to the hole in the ice. Perhaps animals could come here to drink.
“Spirits it has been long since I spoke to you. I do not know if you helped me or not. If you melted the snow on this knife or if was for your own sake. For what I do have now I thank you. If it was your purpose to leave me so long a slave… then to hell with you.”
Walking off Cornan realized he was heading southeast. This was toward the Reemi tribe, the coast and toward revenge on the slaver’s people. It was away from the blessed heathland whose blessing would have also slowly killed him. Back to the west was too dangerous with the slavers. The north was an option but would it not be even colder to the north? South east then.
Walking with his thoughts Cornant remembered to snatch up edible flowers, a few berries and cut a few saplings into withes. “Gather as you go” is an ancient wisdom.
In the late morning he saw a river. It was running from the north to the south east. Now he could follow it with good chances of entering Reemi lands. With the staff he would be able to get water.
Food or rather meat was still a challenge. There were tales of travelers like Beodrin and Novrus who each night put out loop snares and lever traps. Though not each night there were times they woke to squirrels and birds caught. Fresh roast meat in the morning sounded so good. Like the second time in your life you smell frying bacon. The first time you didn’t know what it was. It was the second that your mouth watered. Cornan laughed deeply.
Less than an hour later Cornan was cursing.
It wasn’t a river! It was a lake! He stared out over the slushy snow covering. There was nothing to do but to press on without a river to follow.
Noontime discovered more lakes. If some fed the rivers to Reemi he didn’t know. It did force his path to twist to avoid risking crossing them.
Early afternoon an elk was in view. His hand was growing numb as well. On an open mire he stood no chance of closing on the elk. It somehow disappeared like a spirit in the mists.
That night he camped near a random lake. The spruce matting beneath to separate him from conduction heat loss to the ground. His fur cloak pulled around over top like a blanket. A small fire ringed with heat reflecting rocks that also gave off their heat once the fire was out. A few cranberries from the shore added to his lingonberry and flower chewing.
He awoke nicely hot. It was the thin light of early morning. Faint snowing was coming down. If it continued he certainly would need to make a lean to. Staff and hands brushed against trees to make slow progress walking on.
Later morning the sun was rising farther. It glimmered on a thin line of smoke. A settlement!
<Cornan 005 found settlement>
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Smiling as his staff helped him walk Cornan moved toward the houses. Another settlement could be seen before had even reached the first one. Stepping out from the spruce he could see they were Reemi.
Antti was the first Cornan spoke to. Indeed Antti was a Reemi tribesman. The second person was a young lady named Rauni. Cornan continued introducing himself. All he could trade for now was the news of the slavers, traders and elk. This did not gain him meat. This village showed little kindness to Cornan.
Searching the fields and pastures found nothing to eat.
It was though at the second village there was talk of work needing to be done. Leemus gave a task of gathering. Quickly done for strong Cornan. The very work the slavers had him do so often. In return he took up a bag of broad beans. While not meat the nutrition was good and they won’t spoil over the next few days. He ate a full pound to satisfy his hunger. Seeing the hunger Leemus also let Cornan have six cuts of meat.
A road leading out westward led to several other settlements. Cornan decided he could stay in this area for weeks to trade with them all. The last of the villages was “Juniper forest” where he would sleep indoors for the first time in months.
In the morning so as to not over stay his welcome Cornan made to a pair of small lakes to the south. There he set to making a lean-to shelter. He should be safe enough to making this an improved camp with traps. The two lakes came very close to each other. He had chosen there as a place to make a trap fence. Once the ice melted animals would be directed by the water into where a pit trap would come to be. The distance to down also made sure there would be no accidental accusations of thieving.
The shelter work was still a struggle. It wasn’t finished until after midnight. Cornan slept through much of the day as a result. It was now, according to the villagers, Day 2 of the 10th week before midwinter point. The snow had come down heavily. The world of this camp was now layered in the white blanket. Cornan would have much trouble getting through winter on his own. The nearby villages were sure to be of great assistance.
With guide markers already laid out he could move about chores without fear of losing track of shelter. His next task was to shape the staff into a javelin. It was a great time consumer taking into the next day to finish.
He laid out the first lever traps. A light style for catching squirrels, birds or making noises to alert the camp of danger. A fallen tree was cleared of branches then rolled near the shelter. It was in a partial circle of spruce the shelter had been placed. These blocked the wind, limited spotting and would limit attackers should it come to that. It was perhaps not the most densest defense but raiders would hopefully take more interest in the villages than the camp of an impoverished woodsman like Cornan.
He also made another matting of spruce to use as another way to wrap up inside the lean-to. For this early winter the two mats in the lean-to with a cooling fire with rocks was proving enough to awaken rather warm. Deepest winter might still require sheltering in the villages who it is hoped would be far more understanding in those conditions.
Day 4 of the 10th week to Midwinter Cornan gave a happy squeal. One of the traps had caught a bird! Now he was starting to get his own meat. By eating a mix of flowers and berries with only occasional beans he still had several pounds of the broad beans left. It was a black grouse of perhaps two pounds of meat, bones and feather. With so little meat Cornan sacrificed flowers to the spirits. Hopefully they would understand.
<Cornan 006 Improved camp started>
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Tip:
Placing the shelter in a partial ring then filling in most or all the gaps with traps helps both your defense and creates a passive "income".
There are a few more traps not in view near the camp. It was one of those that caught the bird.
As you are near the camp doing chores and crafting the game's detail mode is active. Birds especially will in those conditions blunder into the traps now and then.
The improved camp is easier to manage the the shelter, fire and sorting squares if there is several tiles you can see. In a travel camp instead go for a minimal amount of space for the shelter and fire to give better defense.
Mind you the game now allows multiple enemies on one square which reduces the benefit of this tactical planning. (Wasn't a fan of that change myself but there were exploits the other way in the player attacking a settlement vs this method of defending the player's camp)
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It was noon now with fist deep snow.It was just on edge of freezing. Cornan’s breath misted in the air. The snow worried him. This depth was shallow yet it would thicken. Finding things on the ground would only get harder. Both the covering and how deep snow fatigue those moving.
In theory he could make skis. That is if he wasn’t so miserable in crafting. It took ten hours to turn a staff into a javelin. He had kept whittling it to get a balance that was still clumsy. The fire hardened point was stronger yet it had come off badly enough to have trimmed it shorter to reheat a fresh end. Skis needed foot leathers, the boots, and a ski pole needed leather too. The single small bird was as much as a start as a filling a barrel with a spoon.
Circling the north part of the smaller of the two lakes he gathered here and there. These flowers and berries would wither soon. Then they would be gone. It wasn’t really worth it to treat them like farm crops. Too inefficient to gather. They were normally fetched when the real crops didn’t need tending. More rocks and stones. The heavy stones would provide the weight force for more traps. Turning inedible stones into edible meat. Another fallen tree was found which he rolled closer to the camp. Eventually getting it there would be better than felling a tree with whatever crude axe he could one day muster. He slept with a small smokey fire heating the rocks to continue to emit heat to him.
In the morning he awoke hot. A healthy sign for now. With lake water from his regular ice breaking spot he could drink to make up his sweat. Flowers, berries then finally a small portion of beans made up his breakfast. At the water hole he stretched the bird hide as the last stage in its tanning. It was a tiny amount. At least he could use it to tie a corner on his shirt as a crude satchel.
Light was minimal. Cornan decided to use the thin light times to split the spruce branches. The winter ones were drier. Started with the rusty knife, then pulling carefully with the knife to help with knots they paired down. Now they could be twisted as primitive cordage. He hadn’t done this in years. Each was turned back on itself to make a loop snare. Crude miserable loop snares. Success would lay in numbers. Berries, flowers and his camp cooking smells would draw in animals. Hopefully small animals not bears or that pack of wolves.
With rising light he trudged along the west bank turning east to follow the south bank of the smaller lake. More stones, berries and flowers. A few saplings and a useful shaft of pine completed the load carried back. It was over a hundred and fifty pounds in all that. His time as a hard worked slave and his natural size of over six feet had its advantages.
Returning he smirked merrily. Another bird was caught in another trap. This was how the sagas of Novrus spoke of improved camps. Until you can bring down big came scatter cluster of traps and snares around your work sight.
Going to start cleaning the catch another bird was caught. One in the freshly made loop snares! This was a good day for eating! Cornan also wondered if this was a migration that would thin out as the days past. He put out a sacrifice of berries with a short prayer of thanks.
Rain came pounding down around noon. He was out cleaning the two birds. In his starvation he realized he had snapped them apart for meat before skinning! A foul curse he slung out into the world for his own mistake. Skin first, butcher second!
Gather was done in the afternoon. Into the evening he started progress on returning that tree trunk.
Spoolsh!
All in the forest heard his guttural whooping. He hadn’t seen the mire pond for the snow on the ice. The tree went in and so did Cornan! He was soaked in bitter cold. It was no more than waist deep. He had been pushing the log which went in and he fell head first all the way in as well. Panicked cold drove him out only to collapse into more thin ice. It was a wider pool. He had walked by it a few times but only a few times. The fading light, the snow and his own bliss had led to this.
Stepping now onto firm ground his first thoughts were to save the tree. Later he would laugh at saving a tree from floating. He pushed it just a little ways before abandoning it. He hurried to the shelter to start an emergency fire.
To stay awake he carved stakes from one of the pine shafts. Cornan was worried if he fell asleep too soon before drying it would be his end. The work also kept his mind off of death. Finally done he was dry and it was dark. That is all he cared about. When he awoke it was the afternoon.
This day was one of reflection. Another bird trapped being sure to skin it first before butchering. Reseting traps to clear the snow. Just being alive. Barely alive after that freezing drop.
Thoughts drifted to slave days. Being beaten for not acting when they said things in their own language that he didn’t know. Bruises straining on aching muscles to carry loads of firewood. Long march with the a mountain sized bundle of goods when the camp moved. Cornan could carry. Cornan could haul. Cornan had moved in the ice covered tree to the camp with little thought.
He did gather the presence of mind to save some of the bird meat to bait a medium sized lever trap. It might catch something more productive.
Leaning back in the late he thought of his family. Years since they had been seen. His father took up a recently made sword to chop off a raider’s arm. Another raider’s axe wounded father then the sword pierced the raider’s throat. Having been a gladiator now Cornan realized his father’s sword lessons had seem like normal child’s play. The truth sunk in that his father had a warrior’s skill. It was a swarm of dogs that pulled down his father. Arrows from a neighbor wounded the dogs. Cornan’s mother picked up the sword shielding the boy Cornan with her free hand. He had hid his eyes from the monstrous looking raider with the calm eyes. When mother’s hand slid away Cornan opened his eyes to see her unmoving eyes looking up from the snow where her head was no longer with her body.
Taking a breath he put out sacrifices to his parent’s spirits then dozed off to sleep.
This day, day 7 of the 10th week to midwinter point, was a gentle day. Cornan explored a short distance east doing more gathering. The berries were now of use as trap bait. A stock of them was now in the shelter. He still ate them at times between roasted meats. Perhaps five pounds of beans remained as a reserve.
Starvation slightly weakened him. It was a fighting balance. Like two gladiators making minor wounds seeing who would bleed or weaken first. Cornan was fighting this battle. It was dangerous. He could win. He could live.
The next day was a routine. Another single bird caught. Various traps reset. Gathering nearby. Soon he’d have enough leather to make a stone axe. As a precaution he placed out pairs of branches around that mire pool he feel into. The safe path was marked with spruce. Let there be no future accidents.
Into the evening he held his hands out. They were steady. He had over come the slight starvation with the roasted birds. One might think the battle was won. Cornan knew better. With deep winter coming this was just the first match. Meaner, stronger, bigger fighters were coming with the deep winter storms. Tonight he slept contented knowing this battle was won. The second victory if you count escaping in the first place.
<<Cornan 007 out of stavation>>
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Day 2 of the 9th week before midwinter.
No birds in the traps this morning. Still there is a stash of berries, flowers and reserve beans.
Morning chores start with taking the birds hides into a session of splice, braid and twist into a leather rope. Next selecting a stone from the gravel pile of two score rocks and over a dozen heavy stones for an axe head. One of the two slender trunk shafts is chosen. The straighter one will be a stronger handle. A length of the leather rope is cut off estimated for needed size. A meal of berries with flowers then the real task. Four hours later the stone axe swings in his hand.
Death to two trapped birds serve as the stone axe’s birthing ceremony.
Reseting traps and a short gather bring the day to an end. It was now numbingly cold to be out of the shelter for long. Minimal fires were no longer enough to sleep through the night. The battle for survival was far from over.
Next morning the first chore brings the pounding of the stone axe on one of the collected tree trunks. He broke it down into blocks. One he split again then using the rusty knife scooped out shapes for bowls.
These came out well. Cornan could make more of these. Then take them to the towns as trade goods. He didn’t have to be in self isolation all the time. The next pair of bowls wasn’t so good. Defects in the block he hadn’t accounted for. It was a days work without new birds. Still he felt it would be worth while now to plan on stocking up a trip into town.
<<Cornan 008 made bowls>>
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The next day was also without birds. The lack of meat was again starting to burden Cornan. He ate beans reducing the reserve he had hoped to keep to the deep winter.
By da 5 of the 8th week to midwinter the starvation was far worse than before. Only one bird in a few days. Crafting took time away from gathering. Traps had been reset with the a few relocated to make a new L like catch zone. With only a few bowls and fox board traps it would have be time to go to the towns for assistance.
The nearest town’s sage told Aimo needed help. Perhaps the sage had taken pity on Cornan. This would be good as the trade items amounted to getting all of three arrows. They are a lighter trade item which is helpful. Without a bow they wouldn’t do much.
Old Aimo wanted to make repairs to the sauna. A stack of thirty stones would be needed. Fetching these from the pastures and fields would also be helpful. It worked out to worth a second bag of broad beans. A crucial need with the first bag’s beans all consumed. Cornan was back to his camp by mid morning. The snow was now ankle deep.
Putting his hands on his hips Cornan had to think. If it was that the bird migration had moved on then he needed to trap land animals. The freeze had already taken the ground even if he had a shovel to dig a pit trap with. Still the narrow between the lakes had been a deciding factor in where to setup. If the thought of the improved camp’s trap as the convenient trap line it was time to lay sets by the narrow. Grandfather might call it a near trap line. One you could walk too in a few minutes with that distance stopping your camp activity from spooking the animals away.
Gathering for this task a black grouse flew overhead. A good sign. Then he saw an anthill. There is legends about anthills though he never learned the proper ritual. So Cornan put on the anthill berries. A gesture to the ant spirits and the forests for mutual feeding. Sadness also came to Cronan seeing that new shrubs of berries he had been eating were now withered from the cold. They could no longer be relied on to sustain him, meager as it had been.
At the narrow half day old ermine tracks revealed this idea would be a good one. Using the ermine’s tracks Cornan could better imagine how large animals might travel across the narrows. Placing traps today was to cut off the alternates. Later they would funnel game to where a pit trap would go. Light lever traps were made into an array along one shore with the other having a larger trap more suitable for an ermine. For bait there was only berries. Cornan’s stomach grumbled in complaint at leaving them. His mind spoke back that this was an investment capable of greater return.
The next morning he returned adding a few more traps. With the ice already thick enough on the lakes he felt for now he should put in a trap in the planned path. It was then that it occurred to him he could make a triple trunk pyramid trap in this place. Such a trap was meant for bears though it might wound an elk that pushed into it.
An accident occurred moving the third trunk. With the traps arranged Cornan had brought it along the ice. The path was solid only at first. As before when the ice did break he was dumped in. The temperature in the air was just above freezing. Perhaps this is what had thinned the ice. With this in mind Cornan made an emergency fire to continue working. This and his his own exertions soon dried him and got him warm, at least in the milder air. There was now over a dozen traps in this nearby line. Bait was limited though with the heavy dead fall triple trunk being the priority.
<<Cornan 009 traps in narrow>>
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ooc: Added a link in the first post to the story blog of Novrus
Link to earlier story of Novrus:
https://www.unrealworld.fi/forums/index.php?topic=4640.0
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Leaving the traps Cornan wondered how to get food. If he stayed away from both sets of traps for a while game might come in. He would need shelter though. Following ermine tracks he found sparse cranberries still edible on the bush. They the tracks became numerous and pushed cleaned up. Minutes later he had the ermine in sight.
<<Cornan 010 ermine in sight>>
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Cornan slid back a few steps. He tried to circling south then west. The camp was somewhere to the north and a little east. The chances of a javelin hit were slim. Pushing it toward the camp traps gave a second chance of a kill. Both odds were slim. Stealth and cunning brought Cornan to four man heights.
Now was the time to throw!
A miss. Frustration flowed through his heart. Now the ermine was alert. It had also run the wrong way.
The hunt was over. Cornan let a deep breath out. At least the ermine had led him to scatterings of cranberry bushes. Those berries he ate quickly.
Cornan laughed.
What ever he ate was just a little more to encourage the ermine into the traps. He laughed with a mouth dripping in berry juice.
He went back to chores at the camp. A squeak to the west would be the ermine. If it was this close then it would smell the baits.
Working in the evening Cornan looked at the flowers he had been eating. Finally a memory from grandmother came to his mind. Heather they called it. It could make a tea to help with lung issues. If he caught a winter cold it would come in handy.
The next day found a bird caught by the camp. A necessary meal. His hands were shaky again. He needed several days eating meat to recover now. Ice fishing was a possibility except Cornan had only stories of it. He could well starve trying it. Today was a day to tend to the the rest of the camp traps. The nearby traps at the narrows would be left alone to give animals a chance to explore.
At noon Novrus looked at the fox trap he had set up. The notches at the top would catch a paw as the fox leapt for bait. He knew a ritual to leave the board for a time where women would walk on it. Cornan decided to visit one of the other Reemi villages in hopes of work. He’d take the fox board there as well.
There he put the fox board in the doorway. An older woman nodded while a younger looked confused. Cornan went about making torches to trade for three for a cut of meat and six for a smoked lavaret fish. These he ate hungrily needing proper nutrition for a change. He spent all the next day doing the same. Torches and labor for meat and fish. He could feel his body restoring itself. Also he had been away from the traps for some time so the next day would be time to go check them.
<<Cornan 011 torches for meat>>
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In the main hall Reko the sage of this Reemi village handed white flakes to Cornan.
“Soap. Wash best you can then sleep in here.”
“Thank you.”
Cornan was trying to figure out how much of that was an insult and how much of that was a kindness. The momentary looks from the other villagers were focused on the sage. The sage, their elder, had just said he could sleep inside again.
Using a bucket of water Cornan washed his upper body then shirt. Villagers glanced at him. He was taller than them. Thick muscles were notched with fading scars. Scents of spruce floated in the air. It must have been mixed in with the soap.
A woman scowled taking the bucket outside for dumping. A minute later she returned with fresh water. It had been meat for a soup! Cornan’s shoulders hunched giving her an embarrassed nod of his head. A child came asking of the soup stamping his foot that it wasn’t ready. The woman’s glance to Cornan was as frigid as falling into icy water.
Cornan stayed quietly on the side as villagers talked in the evening. Soon they all drifted into sleep.
The morning would be day 3 of the 7th week to midwinter point. Cornan could still himself slackened by the starvation. These villagers had been kind in their way and profiting from his need for labor. He wished he was in better standing. With slow steps he moved as quietly as could to slip out into the dawn. There were traps to check at the camp and narrow.
With the blackened javelin for a walking stick he probed through a mire. Berries were still managing here. He gathered a few perhaps delaying an hour.
At the narrows his heart was sad at the unsprung traps. Then Cornan chuckled as he turned around the trees. The ermine was there! Wiggling is trap, its leg pinned by the stone weighted wood shaft. To avoid forgetting he first changed the bait on the triple log trap to a cut of bird meat. With the stone axe the ermine was soon dispatched. It took another hour to reset the traps, clearing gathering snow and making berry baits were in good spots.
At the camp there were no captures.
“Good thing I went out,” said Cornan.
His eyes glazed in depression. Had he stayed the last few days here rather than work in a village he might be close to death now. Maybe the legends like Beodrin and Novrus could live like this but Cornan had to accept he new little of trapping.
Taking a breath he also reminded himself those legendary survivors were not always magnificent. They to had once struggled to live through their first winter. Novrus had left home with tools. Beodrin had his tools plus those of his bear killed father. Cornan had fled with only a rusty knife.
Setting up the fox board he had carried and reseting the camp tramps took into the afternoon. This land’s northern position meant that already the sun was halfway lost to the horizon. Hurrying to the third closest village might be possible. He had no trade goods ready anyway.
Taking pause of himself he put heather flowers on top of the lean-to as an offering to the local spirits. They camp hadn’t been ransacked. They might also help draw in game.
Simple labor of binding torches finished the evening.
Waking late in the morning Cornan went exploring a short way. To the south east a heathland still had lingonberries and heather suitable for harvest.
<<Cornan 012 from the village>>
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The night went quiet. A night alone. A night to his own choices. No tugs on his leash. No punishments for not understanding a language he didn’t know.
To the heathland he roamed. This patch had heather though was devoid of berries. Exploring on a lone farm house with fields, a stead appeared. Cornan strolled over to visit them.
They were friendly enough. A pair of pigs mucked about a snowy pen. Their store house was full of many bags and boxes for trade. A wondrous site to a starving man!
Cornan haggled with old Jerkko. The name fitted the snarling trader. Cornan wanted meats and a smoked salmon. Jerkko took a now empty bag, a bowl and torches. Settling on the amounts though had taken multiple barter of more of this or less of that. Cornan was happy to fill his mouth with meat and walk away from Jerkko.
Villagers talked of a cave to the north west near Scrutchland. Cornan decided to explore at least a little with his new meats. The traps would have new calm times to catch animals again.
Around noon he spotted a high cliff. High up Cornan saw an elk. With no bow nor skis he knew he couldn’t hunt it. Thoughts of one day being wrapped in furs from head to toe warmed his heart.
Looking for more cliffs Cornan thought he saw a flash of red. The color of the slavers. It was only for a moment. He might not be alone. With the few weeks it might not be a slaver but one of their kinfolk hunting the elk.
His circling came back around without finding more cliffs and certainly not the cave. He arrived at what he recognized as the village of Black forest. This would be the third nearest his camp. It was the early evening. Time for the custom of trading stories for warmth.
Among the houses Cornan explored. Opening one found stocks of food. By a peg on the back wall hung a pair of fur mittens.
His body sagged and mouth drooled in anticipation. No more cold fingers! Calling over a man named Asko they bartered. Cornan gave up two of the three trade arrows, a wooden bowl and the ten torches he had.
Sliding the mittens on he was so proud. Cornan patted his covered hands together. Seams glided smoothly. It was a skilled hand that made these.
To the mooing of cows Cornan went to the main hall. There they traded stories by a large fire in its chimney.
<<Cornan 013 got mittens>>
OOC: You know its a real survival game when you are dancing around the real world because your Unreal world avatar got mittens!
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Heading back to his home zone found no catches in the narrow’s traps. These he cleaned and reset. He started to wonder if large game was in the area at all but then he remembered seeing the elks. They were around not just in the traps. The home traps were likewise empty.
Cornan would spend a few days crafting and trapping. A bird was caught again. The real source of food would be the Reemi stead and villages. Food traded for by the crafting. This wasn’t his ideal but it was survival.
Which would be great if he didn’t go to look in at an elk and meet the pack of wolves stalking it!
<<Cornan 014 wolf pack>>
OOC: Awww crap
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“Spirits of the Earth!” Cornan cursed.
He spun on his heels running to make the fur cloak billow out behind him. He glanced pack the wolves were at least three seemed to eye him in puzzlement. Running more then looking back it was now four wolves!
He had a thought. A way to live. To lead them to the elk. His lungs burst for air as charging through the ankle deep snow only added to the strain.
<<Cornan 015 wolves at elk>>
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There was the elk. The wolves mixed in purpose turned heads between the elk and Cornan. The alpha made its choice. Snarling wolves made for the elk.
Cornan shifted in dread. Now what? It was an open mire. He shuffled to a meager pine tree. There he dove into the snow around it. The ankle deep snow pitiful at hiding him. His lungs gasping made noises he dreaded the wolves would hear.
A flicker of time perhaps yet each breath was measured in agony.
Movement on the snow to the west. Where the elk and wolves had gone.
A firm breath in as Cornan grasped his stone-axe and fire blackened javelin. What was coming?
A weasel.
A thin tiny weasel bounding on the snow. It too fleeing the wolves. It ran closer. Its head popped up halting its body. It had seen Cornan. A long clumsy javelin throw showed it off.
Going to recover the javelin Cornan found blood splatter. Mixed around it is the foot prints of elk and wolf. They had indeed starting fighting each other with a weasel panicked out of a snow burrow.
<<<Cornan 016 bloody and trails>>
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Cornan walked along the trail. His own breath was still heavy. A hundred yards or two there the small elk lay dead. Partially eaten by the wolves.
This was the best deepest rarest hope he had. To get such a swath of fur and mounds of meat. That is his only if the wolves don’t return. Then there is the risk they track him back to the camp. Traps there might make a toll on the wolves.
<<Cornan 017 elk slain by wolves>>
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Conan tried lifting the elk. It must be over three hundred pounds. He got it off the ground. No way could his legs walk him along.
He started the butchering it was exhausting. Ripping branches from a nearby tree a small fire given life. Would it attract the wolves for scare them? Cornan started a few cuts to roast. Foolish as the cooking smells carried.
It was into the fearful setting light of winter evening when a wolf came near. The carcass still had much meat on it. However, with organs and a few bones tossed out Cornan found he could carry what remained. He tossed to the ground bleeding meats in hopes it would fill the wolves belly.
Struggling steps slipped then were recovered. The half butchered elk across his shoulders poured blood over his partially clothed body. Red pools chilled on the snow. Fearful glances could only be done by turning around. In the dim light the wolves could be within javelin throwing distance and he wouldn’t know.
Evening darkened as an ever thicker cloak. Cornan came to a lake shore. He had missed the camp only slightly. Following the shore the camp was reached. Its sets of traps a crude defense from the wolves.
One such trap made a crude door to his camp’s inner sanctum. This is set. It might not kill or even hold a wolf. It would at least make noise if nothing else.
Cornan began a hurried yet flowing processing of the animal. A fire to roast cuts. More cuts were hung off the shelter to dry in the winter air. For this he used withes made in earlier days knowing that one day they would be useful. His belly was filled with much of the roasted elk. It was midnight when he the laziness of digestion won over his willpower.
When Cornan awoke the sun was directly over head. He had slept peacefully. It was then he realized he didn’t make a sacrifice for the elk. Unless you counted the large side of meat tossed down to appease the wolves. To honor the elk he put out a turnip from the Reemi stead. It represented the food that the elk eats so he hoped the elk spirit would see this as a kindness.
Now came the work of tanning the elk hide. It would have been a yearling calf. With all the wolf chomps and hurried skinning it was quite ragged. Useless in trade. For winter clothing and making skis this would suffice. Planning what portions for what had best be done wisely. It took many hours to clean the hide then rub in fats for tanning. There was a little raw fat left which Cornan used to replace berries in one of the medium sized traps.
Cornan now was in a very different way. Enough roasted elk would last a week at least. The rest could be traded before it rotted though there wasn’t that much spare. Drying other elk cuts would take over three weeks. Now considering the numbers there would be a gap. Newly trapped animals could cover that.
Of course the reminder of wolves in the forest had clearly been made.
Cornan could be glad at least his belly full. His body moved freely. Enough had been eaten to restock the inner nutrients.
<<Cornan 018 elk processed>>
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Wiping his nose with a fur mitten Cornan noticed the smell of blood. When carrying the elk the blood carried all over him. This scent could be caught by the wolves. There was only one thing do. One dangerous thing: an icy bath.
He went to his regular watering place. The stomps into the water were horrid. He plunged himself under the water. This was the shore line without the risk of being sucked under. He washed himself and his clothes. Perhaps ten minutes of cruel freezing grip. In his youth they used to run between icy water and saunas. Pity he didn’t have a sauna.
He should have started the fire first. Wood was on hand as cut firewoods, branches and spruce. Fingers fumbled with the flint and knife to spark. He felt a confusion coming over him. The mind’s temperature falling taking away meaningful thought. Worried he might pass out Cornan pushed a large block of wood onto the fire.
To keep busy he started carving out more bowls. Huddled there in the lean-to with spruce mats to sit on in front of a roaring fire. The choice of a camp nearly surrounded by close in spruce trees held up the winds like a shield wall. Slowly he felt himself improving. By noon a pair of bowls was done and Cornan was starting to get uncomfortably hot. He laughed a deep hearty chuckle.
Cornan strode to the nearby traps. The walk was far tiring than he expected. His body had been pushed hard the past few days. It was still the afternoon when he curled up to sleep.
In the morning the elk calf’s chewed up hide was finished. Hours of stretching the tanned and rinsed hide with stones over a tree trunk. During the work there was a snap and a yelp. Something was trapped.
Wandering over was a hare. That was good. Cornan hadn’t seen any squirrels in his time here. The birds had thinned. Now if the hares were coming out there would be both meat and furs. After skinning and butchering Cornan was mindful to put out a piece of meat for spirits. Before cooking the rest of the hare Cornan realizes he should use it for bait in various traps.
To his surprise there was a dead bird in one of the traps. In the cold weather it was still fresh enough to use. Cornan decided to shift this trap where it was more useful.
The next few days were simple ones. Plenty of elk meat, traps to reset and a few catches in the traps. Most important the elk calf’s hide was transformed into clothing. There were many holes from the wolves and his clumsy skills with a rusty knife. Still he had done much to shield himself from the deep winter. There should hopefully still be enough left for the skis.
Furs for a hood, mask, shirt and furs tied on over top of his boots for a little more warmth. With his fur mittens, fur cloak, wooled trousers, linen undershirt and leather Reemi boats he was pleased.
<<Cornan 019 fur outfit>>
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Awakening to a new day Cornan was warm though the air was well below freezing. Snows had thickened to calf deep making long walks tiring. Skis would be needed soon.
While the roasted elk was lasting things were a steady routine. Thinking bow hunting would be good he began preparations trimming thin strips of elk hide into a pair of bowstrings. They weren’t very good but should work. It was then he realized he no longer had the fur for making skis. That is at least until he caught more animals.
Day 3 of the 4th week to midwinter Cornan went to the stead. He traded for a beans and fish. Then he went wandering westward spotting another settlement. On the return stroll a humming voice started.
An enemy in an iron helm. A bow was on his back. There was no shield, spear or sword. Signs of hunting.
Cornan went quiet sliding next to the rising ground. The hunter didn’t see him until there was only a half dozen yards separating them.
<<Cornan 20 enemy hunter>>
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(*cough* die, reload, die, reload, die, reload)
The last steps are a blink of an eye. Cornan threw his javelin for a hit of little affect. Jumping onto each their shoulders smashed each other. Each warriors free hand grabbing the weapon hand of the other. Ice under snow skidded them apart. Stone-axe tumbled from Cornan’s hand and the gleaming broad knife from the hunter.
Cornan’s hands were faster for the broad knife. Snarling the helmed hunter took up the javelin. They fought in a flurry snow. Cornan taking wounds the hunter little. When the javelin broke the hunter took out a club. Its shape was more fitting for scrunching drying hides than fighting.
Cornan wished he had avoided this fight. He should have known better. Only the noble warrior men afforded such helmets. This hunter was a skilled fighter out for leisure hunt!
Rocks were tossed and smashed inside fists. Cornan’s ragged furs tore open seams. Somewhere in the fighting Cornan managed a few minor hits.
Neither could bring death to the other. Had the hunter another weapon it would not have been the case. Cornan backed up when he could. The hunter wanted his knife back! Down into the snow each tumbled.
Cornan remembered gladiator fights like this. He started saving his strength. Kicks and empty handed punches thudded into his furs.
Finally after what seemed hours the hunter shifted away in the fading light. Words in that foreign language were scowled. With the hunter still having that bow Cornan ran as fast as he could. Around a few trees then hiding among them.
Cautiously he retreated onto a mire where he could see a long distance. He wanted to know if he was being pursued. Perhaps foolish if the hunter had come to shoot but he hadn’t.
Cornan staggered into the woods dazed on which direction to go. A vision of a village with its healer came to mind. In the moon light the hunter’s broad knife shimmered.
<<Cornan 21 escaped with knife>>
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OOC Tip:
Your new characters are not your old characters. Don't get in fights that the old ones could handle that the new ones can't!
Tip 2:
Dropped weapons are fair game. Plus it stops them from stabbing you with them.
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As I forgot to put it in the original post I've added it now and posting it here for those already reading:
Fair disclosure as this is a writing project this isn't a purest iron-man play through. Reloading game saves may and has happened, for example when numb in the real world I didn't notice how much ice he had fallen through. There are times when reloading won't happen and that will be his end. However that likely will mean I take another break from playing for other activities. If someone is a pure one-death type feel free to read up to a death note then ignore the rest of the thread. The goal is self fulfillment, writing and sharing experience with the community.
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Late afternoon the possibly dead Cornan stumbled into the village in the Juniper forest nearest his camp. Elder Tuomas the sage was milling around whispering for spirits. Cornan held up his hands palms showing in submission.
“Fell down a ditch?” asked Tuomas.
Cornan said, “With a nerj in an iron helm with a pretty knife.”
Grinning Tuomas slide out the gleaming knife turning it handle first toward Tuomas. Aged hands captured the knife. Old fingers slid along the steel and the carved handle.
“He lives,” said Cornan, “better than I. He wasn’t hurt too bad. He could have used his bow.”
Toumas tilted the knife to catch distant light from distant torches.
“Respect. Perhaps he came to respect you. Perhaps he was frustrated. Perhaps he had other knives making this not worth the trouble. Perhaps you will meet him again.”
Cornan felt worried. He really could have died.
“Time for a sage’s skill on a warriors wounds,” said Toumas passing back the knife.
Toumas led Cornan inside the main hall. Chanting softly to spirit helpers scented water was pressed over the wounds. Thus the wounds were washed. Cornan gave over heather which was ground then sponged over the deepest stab. A stressful sleep followed troubled by bumping bruises in the night.
In the morning Cornan took to doing local chores seeking to earn meals while staying close to the healer. The villagers were quite understanding of this. Danger and death are well known to these people. After seeing Tuomas again Cornan spent another night in the villager’s care.
As the crept up Tuomas said, “There is no signs of infection. No fever nor oozing puss. The spirits have kept you safe. You can go back to your camp now to your self-isolation”
Cornan smiled, “Thank you Tuomas. You, spirits and the community have been kind.”
Good relations were important. Before they could be strained Cornan returned to the camp. There were no new catches in the traps. He went about resetting him. A strange happiness came over him. Knowing he was alive meant more. Had it been the near death in the fight? Had it been the kindness of the villagers? Had the spirits kissed him on the cheek? He did not know only that he was happy.
Cornan was back to a survival routine. Bits of fur left were shaved with the new knife. These he cleaned carefully to make two bandages. A few pinches of heather was now what he had for the sixth C of survival: care.
In a few days work he had put together a birch short bow. His self made bow had its issues. Having the better knife certainly made the task easier. Trading had again brought him to three arrows. This made a possible bow hunting set. He still lacked skis which would take replacement furs.
After visiting the village to trade for food Cornan felt like being in the wild. He went hours walking to the north west. A sense of being of in no-man’s land called to him. The emptiness of being far from settlements even his own primitive trap strewn camp. It was on this walk that in the minimal light of the late evening he came across elk tracks. This with his new bow in hand!
Open mire winds danced the falling snow. Fresh tracks circled as the elk had been grazing on scant berry bushes. Cornan was as quiet as he could which is to say only just so.
Grandfather was sitting at the fire in a memory. Thick furs cushioning both him and young Cornan.
Grandfather said, “When nearing the hunt calm yourself. Rest. When the blood pumps hard in your body it shakes the hand. Rest. Breath steady. Be patient. Be silent. Be waiting.”
Cornan on the snows was now amid trees. Deep darkness had clad the world. He waited, advanced on tracks, paused on sounds and waited. This he repeated several times. Then a tree came toward him with its shape transforming into that of the elk. Cornan’s arrow let fly striking it in a foreleg. The elk bolted. Cornan took a breath then patiently followed.
It was turns and loops. Tracks lost and tracks found. When the tracks were lost he followed the teaching of cutting a piece of pie from the center. Turn slightly to one side, walk out a ways, cross over then come back. If one slice of pie didn’t find the lost trail make another to the side or cut a bigger slice.
With the light so poor Cornan changed weapons to one of three bone spears he had made at the camp. The bones of the wolf-killed elk made the spear tips. This was a taxing stalk. His body started to ache for sleep. If he was tired then he hoped the elk was too.
(OOC: taking a short break. My eyes are all squinty from looking for black tracks on a grey night screen, and that with the setting for night brightness turned up)
<<Cornan 22 Elk bump>>
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Into the night Cornan stalked in the darkness. Finally he stumbled from tiredness. Picking himself up he moved into a semi-circle of trees to hide his sight and limit the wind carrying his scent. When he awoke he started on the tracks, which of course had been aging with snow fall starting to fill them in. Somewhere the elk still had the arrow in it.
By early morning the tracks where again very fresh. With streams of daylight Cornan resumed being ready with bow and arrow. Then he could hear it running. He resumed his quiet steps.
He had almost no food with him but one bream and a fist of berries. A few cranberry bushes were still valid. Those the elk had been eating too.
Energy failing he had to lay down again. The elk was gone. The next few days were draining and depressing. Perhaps a curse for having wounded the elk. Did the spirits not realize he had done all his meager skills could do? Food ran out and starvation began to weaken him. He crafted what he could. A second new bow was garbage best used for kindling.
Then came a happy night when the drying wolf killed elk meat was done drying. He ate heartily of it. He had food for weeks again. This was now the last day of the third week before midwinter point. The harshest days had food in stock. It was also on this day that while going to the village he spied a Nerjpez north west of the town. Was food scarce for them so they were roaming out farther? Was it the same noble warrior or a servant come looking for the knife?
Cornan thought of how close his death had been and did want to go to that fight alone. He did go to the village and warn them. The villagers also had a wounded adventurer in their care, much like they had cared for Cornan. He rubbed the remaining bruises that still made themselves felt. He couldn’t find the wounded adventurer though the thought had come to him that a group of the villagers might hunt the Nerjpez it wasn’t yet his time.
He hoped to craft enough to be able to trade for a spare hand axe in the village. He was close, very close to getting it. Plus it would be better fighting weapon.
<<Cornan 23 close to hand axe>>
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Supplied with dried elk Cornan resumed crafting. The threat of the slavers worried him. He needed to be smart about this. A god of the earth would be patient, planned, prepared, strong and mighty.
It pleased Cornan to whittle a wooden comb. To tend his hair and his furs. Being clean promoted health which encouraged strength. The stone-axe was clumsy in the wide shaping while the captured broad knife allowed smooth trimming. Certainly better than the rusty knife that had brought him his freedom. He still carried it for practical reasons and someday to include it in a ritual. Perhaps then it or one like it might find its way to free another.
Several days in when checking the narrows traps Cornan found elk tracks on the lake. Two sets with the smaller likely a calf. He spent an hour tracking them before turning back. Resuming crafting by refining a radial board his eyes leapt wide when an elk wandered into view.
<<Cornan 24 elk at camp>>
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Cornan quickly notches as the elk steps away. Flying swift the arrow cuts the elk’s abdomen coming out the other side. A glancing though painful cut. Cornan is quickly after it taking a hold of the arrow. Blood splatters are mixed on the trail though thinning as the wound clots.
Snow deep as this thighs slows Cornan. Each step a thrust to part feet of snow. The elk’s long legs gracefully moving in and out. Its child, the calf, circles to return to its mother. Cornan’s exhaustion has his breath pounding and hands shaking. There isn’t a chance of finishing. Cornan is saddened at having hurt the mother but in life wounds happen. Something a gladiator experienced over and over.
On a trade visit it appeared the slaver was still watching the village. This might need dealing with. When warned the villagers reward Cornan by an elder explaining of the great forest spirits. The elder told stories of how the grey man may come as one who speaks for the trees.
Cornan went to his matters of trade. All the while the risk of the village being attacked was on his mind. Leaning against a store house wall he held his chin. He thought and he thought. The slaver might simply be acting like a slaver perhaps even looking to replace Cornan with a new child. There were boys and girls in this village. They had been kind to him. He thought and thought some more.
It came to be Cornan decided to use the trade goods to hire an visiting adventurer. Erkki had a crossbow. A weapon known for piercing even the thickest mail. It took only a little discussing to get an agreement. A share in the findings and food for the next few days.
<<Cornan 25 hired Errki>>
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Cornan then added Kimmo, a hunter from this Reemi village, to their adventure. Now they would be three to hunt the slaver. It would mean less of a share for Cornan. This fight was more about the village, its safety and deep down revenge.
<<Cornan 26 hired Kimmo>>
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Off the trio went. He lone slaver’s tracks proved elusive. Had he seen them mustering or just hiding during the daylight? Criss crossing in wide sweeps the watcher proves very cunning.
“Badger,” said Kimmo, “foraging.”
Kimmo pointed out badger tracks. Cornan had promised the pay. It was thus necessary that they try for the badger. Both to have a means of paying them and feeding all of them. When they saw it Cornan fired and missed while Kimmo started chasing. Kimmo also missed running to stay close. Cornan recovered both arrows returning one to Kimmo.
Regrouping they continued to track the small badger. When they saw it again both Kimmo and Errki chased. This time they succeeded. After skinning and butchering they took shelter in another village Kimmo told them of to the north west.
Cornan wished to set the hide to tanning at the main camp. Surprisingly a lynx was caught in one of the larger traps. One Cornan had built after fleeing the second pack of wolves. More roast meat to keep them going after being sure to put fresh bait in that trap. The other traps didn’t have a catch here nor at the narrows.
Returning to their patrol it was Erkki who called out. To the south west an elk was moving very close to the camp.
Kimmo said, “That is the third good game in little more than a day. The spirits may have opened their heart to us.”
Errki added, “By driving off the enemy we are showing the spirits respect. This isn’t the adventure I prayed for.”
To this Cornan replied, “It is the adventure we have.”
Staying vigilant for hunting and for enemies they began to hunt the elk. Though when they got to the sighting place it had moved on they easily found its tracks. A hazel grouse flying caught their eyes to look skyward. Looking back there was the elk. It had a healing wound on its belly. The very same as Cornan had inflicted. Their chase began.
<<Cornan 27 hunting trio>>
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Into the afternoon they tracked. This elk was cunning. Kimmo explained how it had looped back many times to confuse its tracks. It moved easier in this three feet of snow than them. They had put in a hard fight.
Erkki said, “We should go back to where that slaver was. That’s who we are really hunting.”
Cornan, “Agreed. We will rest at my camp. The badger and lynx hide should not be allowed to go to waste.”
At the camp Erkki was used his carving axe to bring down trees and split good boards. Far better work than Cornan could do with his self-made stone axe. These would make far better skis and other goods. Clean crisp edges all along the boards.
Cornan says, “Now we make our move.”
Erkki and Kimmo looked to each other then back to him.
“As in?” asked Erkki.
“Another elk?” asked Kimmo.
Cornan grinned, “Raiding the slavers.”
Erkki the adventurer spoke next.
“That could be where the scout went. Clever raiders might slip in and kill just one.”
Kimmo was more pragmatic, “Clever ones not vengeful ones.”
Moving swiftly they left the Cornan’s camp. If the scout had been watching he would be hard pressed to get to the slaver’s camp before them.
<<Cornan 028 going on raid>>
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OOC:
Not even sure luring one off is even possible. :o
But I am trying to work in movie quotes ::)
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OOC:
Fair acknowledgment. This didn’t go so well. Its pretty hard to get the camp to split off.
Companions like to rush enemies even when you put them on the stay command. On one attempt I told them to stay in a low point where they couldn’t be seen which they wandered out of. The wandering out was to start a fight with the whole camp. *sigh*
I’ve also had an incident when putting the companions in hiding position Cornan walked forward to be ambushed by one Nerjpez. Running back to the others we did have a fight, with Cornan getting several hits during the run. By then the rest of the camp started showing up.
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OOC:
Wanted to acknowledge Sami's great work for 3.63 might solve Cornan's situation with:
- fixed: companions that were commanded to stay put did still engage into fights
However I am now committed to another project and may or may not resume Cornan. Though I should mention the fix so that newcomers wouldn't think that issue was still around.
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OOC:
Quick shout out to another reason I favor doing the frequent saves, that is breaking from the pure "rogue like":
From:
https://www.unrealworld.fi/forums/index.php?topic=5468.0
Got this fixed (with Cornan from Brygun. Thx!).
I seem to have flipped certain routine parameters which then broke bloodscape timestamps. It's back to normal now, which means bloodscapes are removed after two days from their first appearance. Would be better if they faded gradually, and according to elements - maybe to adjust that in the future.
Fixed - persists in 3.62.
While I get the idea of a reader wanting a pure story the effort to make the story is pretty huge. This isnt the first time sets of saves I've sent in have cleared up bugs in the game. If I didn't make those "side saves" we'd never have those check points.
I do see single player games as something we can do more of a play our own way especially since with modding. My doesn't have to be your way and vice versa.