[Brygun] Iltros and the island challenge

[Brygun]

Character name: Iltros

Objective: Fresh play with game changes, writing practice

Rules of play: It is another writing practice so I might reload after a death like for accidents. Example: If I’m real life tired and not paying attention then walk onto ice that breaks and drown.

MODs: BAC
Might add a weapon trainer mod later.


Culture:
Driik

Attributes:
Well… I did do one where I did a lot of rerolls not for a superman but at least not crippled. Rereading the rules for Bouddia’s challenge I deleted that character. This new one was on the first roll set and at least not a cripple. This one wasn’t a reroll.
On a scale of 1-5
Intel 3
Will 4.5
Str 2.5
End 2
Dex 4.5
Agility 3
Speed 3
Eyesight 4
Hearing 3
Smell/taste 3
Touch 4




Rituals:
General Sacrifice
Bear Skull Rite - place a bear skull in a tree to return the bear spirit
Net favorableness - have your sheep walk over a net
Blood stanching incantation - recite to stop blood loss



Skills:
Wanted to have a concept of a viable pre-adventure life. Did lower his skiing skill reflecting mostly in the Driik area or out fishing. Settled into high “skilled” for fishing and carpentry skills. During the warm seasons out fishing with the family who made their own boat. Other laborers were hired to fell logs (timbercraft). They made clinkered punts for themselves or sale. In the winter time they worked on carpentry (or other skills using that score).


Scenario:
Hurt, helpless and afraid

Game Course:
Unreal world

Wounds: on a scale of 1-5
Deep cut in left eye, bright red, 5! (GAAAH!)
Minor puncture in fight forearm 0.5
Fracture in left eye, 3
Shallow cut in abdomen, 2

Backstory:
His family were boat builders and fishermen among the Driik. In the warm seasons they fished more. In the winter they built more. They among the few that made the larger clinkered punts. Laborers were hired to do the timber craft like felling logs while they built the boats. If boat work wasn’t needed they crafted other things or worked with the iron smith.
This winter time Iltros was hired to sail traders among the islands. The trader’s own ocean craft wasn’t expected until spring. This was their effort to make a few more trades over the winter.
While among the islands a great storm blew up. Giant waves tossed about. One might see shapes in the foam of faces of people, horses and octopus. They say a foreigner with a fishing trident walked amid the storm waves.  Iltros fell out of their boat and was speared by the stranger, in his left eye! As blackness of pain was overtaking him Iltros recited the blood-stanching ritual.
Iltros woke up on the land, naked, hurt and afraid.He was limbs spread over a knoll on the ground looking up to the open the sky. Looking that is with only his right eye.
His left eye was caked over with blood and salt. He worried he would his sight in that eye. Yet he could remember a tale that in other lands of a man who gave away one eye to see in the spirit realm.
This is how Iltros remembered being brought into the island challenge.


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

[Brygun]

saved for admin or pics

[Brygun]

extra admin section

[Brygun]

The first day

Day 4 of the 11th week before winter
Beginning of dead month

Iltros lay limbs spread upon a knoll looking at the sky. His pondered if he was alive or had he returned from the real world to this one. He was not sure how low long it had been since that storm. The icy cold when he fell off the his boat with the traders. The sea man with the trident stabbing him to pluck him out of sea. A haze of death had pressed around him.
Now his hand felt the cake of blood and salt upon his left eye. It might be lost. He couldn’t even tell if the tender mass inside was his eye or some other mass. The lid refused to open. He might lose its sight.
Once and twice he failed to sit up. It was the third try he managed. A memory of traveller’s tale of a distant warrior giving away an eye to forever see into the spirit realm. Iltros chuckled. Perhaps he was unwillingly tossed onto an island challenge.
Only his right eye could see. Fresh snow covered him and filled any tracks that might explain being here. Iltros wasn’t a tracker really. His family were fisher folk, boat builders and in deeper winter craftsmen of many trades. His muster of wilderness skills was basic.
There is a rock over there by trees. “Carry a rock,” the ancestors would say. Turning he say various usable branches and slender trunk snapped by the wind. Stumbling he circled the knoll, gathering rocks and branches. There was even an ant hill poking up. There were tales of ant spirits or was it spirits the friends of ants? Iltros left one of the rocks with the ants as the best offering he could make.
This act of kindness was rewarded with a blessing. A larger stone stood up out of the snow. One he might use to shape or weight or just to sit on out of the snow. He sat upon it looking at the stones he had. One was swirled with bands of color marking it as a very solid one. The other was sparkled and it gave chips when struck. The first as a striker he shaped the second into a crude knife while sitting on the stone.
Cold was numbing now. The stone knife did decent bringing down a sapling spruce. That brought him into sight of water. He stumbled over to drink. It was cold over his tongue and chilled his throat. His depleted stomached shifted in a spasm.
“Shelter,” he mumbled.
The cold would kill his naked body. Gathering parts alone was freezing him. A small fire was started to warm him where he worked. Deepening cold shuddered his limbs. Blackness of death circles the sight of his one eye. Some of his gather was burnt in a moderate fire. Its warmth a desperate comfort. Its light letting the work continue.
A basic form he remembered of three thick sections leaned together with spruce twigs woven over top. The opening faced the fire. On the other side a boulder. This he remembered, “Stones take warmth to give it back, just as we must give back when we take from the world.” He repeated that as in his fireside shelter he fell asleep.

[Brygun]

Day 4 of the 11th week before winter
Beginning of dead month

Iltros lay limbs spread upon a knoll looking at the sky. His pondered if he was alive or had he returned from the real world to this one. He was not sure how low long it had been since that storm. The icy cold when he fell off the his boat with the traders. The sea man with the trident stabbing him to pluck him out of sea. A haze of death had pressed around him.
Now his hand felt the cake of blood and salt upon his left eye. It might be lost. He couldn’t even tell if the tender mass inside was his eye or some other mass. The lid refused to open. He might lose its sight.
Once and twice he failed to sit up. It was the third try he managed. A memory of traveller’s tale of a distant warrior giving away an eye to forever see into the spirit realm. Iltros chuckled. Perhaps he was unwillingly tossed onto an island challenge.
Only his right eye could see. Fresh snow covered him and filled any tracks that might explain being here. Iltros wasn’t a tracker really. His family were fisher folk, boat builders and in deeper winter craftsmen of many trades. His muster of wilderness skills was basic.
There is a rock over there by trees. “Carry a rock,” the ancestors would say. Turning he say various usable branches and slender trunk snapped by the wind. Stumbling he circled the knoll, gathering rocks and branches. There was even an ant hill poking up. There were tales of ant spirits or was it spirits the friends of ants? Iltros left one of the rocks with the ants as the best offering he could make.
This act of kindness was rewarded with a blessing. A larger stone stood up out of the snow. One he might use to shape or weight or just to sit on out of the snow. He sat upon it looking at the stones he had. One was swirled with bands of color marking it as a very solid one. The other was sparkled and it gave chips when struck. The first as a striker he shaped the second into a crude knife while sitting on the stone.
Cold was numbing now. The stone knife did decent bringing down a sapling spruce. That brought him into sight of water. He stumbled over to drink. It was cold over his tongue and chilled his throat. His depleted stomached shifted in a spasm.
“Shelter,” he mumbled.
The cold would kill his naked body. Gathering parts alone was freezing him. A small fire was started to warm him where he worked. Deepening cold shuddered his limbs. Blackness of death circles the sight of his one eye. Some of his gather was burnt in a moderate fire. Its warmth a desperate comfort. Its light letting the work continue.
A basic form he remembered of three thick sections leaned together with spruce twigs woven over top. The opening faced the fire. On the other side a boulder. This he remembered, “Stones take warmth to give it back, just as we must give back when we take from the world.” He repeated that as in his fireside shelter he fell asleep.

>>>>

Darkness brought fear of blindness. It was only late night. Sleep had faltered as chill winds slipped in the sloppy shelter. The fire had gone out. The opening let in the cold. Stumbling and half blind Iltros cut branches off the nearby spruce trees. These he wove into a mat to keep him off the ground. Another to lay over him. This still wasn’t enough for his naked body dabbled in goosebumps. More gathering was managed for a larger fire. Sleep was needed, food was lacking and the waters next to him seemed to look back at him with the face of the sea-man.

When he awoke the next few times the fire was still going. Still he pushed more wood in. He couldn’t risk freezing.

Finally when he woke there was the glimmer of daylight. As if to mock the day was even colder.

With daylight Iltros could see to work. Spruce and spruce mats were better fitted to block wind. Being a fisherman he looked at the water knowing it could feed him.

Struggling in the freezing to keep the fires going…


He died

[Brygun]

Well that was humbling.

Dead on the second night.

 

Thanks Bouddia.

Been a while since I had to deal with the deep challenge of basic survival. Actually makes me appreciate what Ive learned and modded in. Even with the whole BAC you can die.