The Terror of Middendorf's Folly

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

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Solo.

Tomas had been running for what seemed to him like ages. Snow from the days of hasty travel had crept into his boots, melting and freezing again, making his feet tingle with the sensation of frostbite. The intense winds that swept the northern tundras had chilled him to the bone. He was numb, hungry, and incredibly exhausted--the only thing that kept the hunter moving was fear. Death had dogged his every step as he fled from the mining camp; his fellow workers picked off one by one as they made their escape in gruesome fashion.

The miner never did get a glimpse of what it was that was giving chase, but he imagined it to be incredibly big and vicious. Ever since he saw the mangled corpse of Mikaeus, bloodied pickaxe still clutched tightly in his hands and a look of twisted horror permanently frozen on his face, his imagination ran wild with the possibilities.

Each night as he tried to sleep, he had horrific dreams of giant shadows chasing him around the icy wastes of northern Salvar. Sometimes, Tomas would lead the shadows into the forest, only to lose his way and startle awake in a cold sweat just as giant claws appeared out of nowhere. Other times, the hulking darkness would easily catch up to him, prepared to deliver a swift death.

Eventually, the poor unfortunate soul forced himself to stay awake and keep moving, his will to survive overriding his body's desire for rest.

The miner's boots crunched in the freshly-fallen snow as he pulled his considerable furs in tighter in a futile effort to keep the cold out. His breath was shallow and ragged, his eyesight blurry in the midday sun as he followed the tracks of a small trade caravan (one that provided supplies to other mining operations, he surmised) that he happened upon the night prior. He followed the trail for several hours until, in the distance, he could make out a small collection of buildings. His mouth stretched in a smile and a laugh--more of a gasp, really--escaped his lips, and his body surged with hope and energy as his pace quickened. I'm safe, he thought to himself as he made his way towards the village.

It was to his great disappointment that all of the buildings had long been abandoned and stood in rotting disrepair.

That wouldn't stop him from taking shelter from the... the thing that he was certain was still stalking him, days after he made his escape with the others from the camp.

Tomas tore through each of the buildings, desperately hoping beyond all hope that there were some sort of provisions that hadn't spoiled with age left from the hamlet's previous citizens. He found none.

Eventually, he gave up. But if he couldn't eat, then at least he could be warm and rest for a while. The miner set about barricading himself in one of the abandoned homes, fortifying the doors and windows so nobody or nothing could easily enter while he regained what strength he could. He broke down several pieces of old, rotting furniture and lucked out when he found a box of flint and tinder on top of the fireplace mantle. With some encouragement, the fire caught, and soon began heating up the room.

Tomas smiled for the first time in a while as the dancing flames chased away the bitter northern cold. He threw a few old, tattered blankets onto the floorboards in front of the fireplace and sat down cross-legged. He tore off his gloves and rubbed his leathery, scarred hands together to warm them. The old miner then rubbed his arms, trying to get his circulation going again.

His thoughts turned back to his family in Archen--would he ever see them again? Would he ever again get to feel his wife's loving embrace, or to hear the laughter of the twins as they played with each other in the yard and conspired to steal a snack before dinner? The man's mood suddenly darkened as he mulled over the probability of fully evading the monster that was pursuing him, and he pushed the thoughts from his hazy, exhausted mind. To distract himself from thoughts of loved ones, he began thinking about what he was going to do about his hunger. Handling his thirst was easy--just melt some of the snow over the fire and drink that. But for food? He figured he could probably cut out a small piece of his leathers and boil that.

The fire had worked itself into a considerable size. Tomas added another chair leg to it, and felt himself becoming drowsy as he became acclimated to the warmth of his work. His eyes became heavy, and he slouched forward. His mind grew foggier with each passing second, and he felt sleep beginning to take him.

The miner's eyes were closed for only a minute when he heard a thunderous crack erupt behind him. A different kind of chill sent a jolt down his spine. Tomas snapped to attention, his drowsiness suddenly purged from his body and replaced with sheer, unadulterated terror.

Another crack echoed throughout the house. He turned to see the front door buckle, the chair he had wedged underneath the handle buckling under the force of whatever was on the other side.

So, the beast has found me, he thought grimly, biting his cold-chapped lips.

He frantically turned back towards the fireplace as the terror doubled its efforts to break into the abandoned house.

Crack!

Tomas spotted the woodcutter's axe he used to break down the old, dusty furniture to use as firewood.

Crack!!!

Quickly, he rose off the blankets on the cottage's floor and reached for the tool.

CRACK!!!

The miner, his knees buckling with fear, a desperate energy flowing through his veins, tightly gripped the axe's shaft and turned towards the doorway.

The last sounds he would ever hear were the final, thunderous shuddering of wood and a deep, unearthly roar as the beast burst into the abandoned house.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

-~- Archen, three weeks later. -~-

I was the only one of dozens in the mead hall whose drink was a dark amber rather than a light gold, and boy did the locals not let me forget that. As a stranger in a strange land, I opted to just keep to myself and quietly nurse my dwarven whiskey as I waited for my contact to arrive. Cloak hood up, Maddy dear, and don't make eye contact with anyone--who knows what kind of fuss they would make if they discovered your... transformations.

From the outside, it looked like someone had upturned an old shipping vessel, raised it high into the air, and built walls underneath; but from the inside, the mead hall was a far more inviting place. A long, rectangular fire pit burned brightly in the middle of the establishment, casting ample light throughout and giving off enough heat to make all my furs and cloak unnecessary. Arranged around the fire pit were tables and benches that sat the place's tall, pale, muscular patrons. Every so often, one would cast a glance my way, notice my drink, and then turn back to their buddies and mutter something about out-of-towners' lack of appreciation for a good Salvic mead. Rich, red-heavy tapestries hung from the walls and were evenly spaced around the entire perimeter of the hall.

All in all, despite the whole, y'know, overturned boat construction design, it felt much like the Radasanth taverns I would haunt on a nightly basis before my self-imposed exile.

For once in my life, though, I wasn't here for pleasure; rather, I was embarking on a sort of business and research venture. Once I revealed my plans to Nell, my assistant, she of course objected to the idea--doubly so to the suggestion that she come along and see the sights of Salvar.

You see, I've heard tales about the sort of wild things that live in the Skavian wilds. There was one creature in particular that caught my interest--I heard a story about the vicious animal from a couple of loggers in a tavern in Tirel. I didn't think anything of it at the time; but more and more, tales of the beast began to reach my ears as I ran my errands around town and grabbed a few nightly sips at a random tavern. As I started to piece together details of the animal, I began to do some research in the city library myself. I found a few accounts of the animal in folklore collections pretty easily.

While the details varied, the stories told of a towering, vicious, bloodthirsty, and--if you were to believe a couple of the more alcohol-infused accounts--nigh-invulnerable bear. On all fours, he stood at anywhere between five foot five to seven feet tall (putting him at anywhere between intimidating and pants-shitting terrifying when he rose to his full height on two legs). Reports had him weighing anywhere between one and two thousand pounds. But all the stories agreed that the bear was an absolute monster. The animal possessed incredible speed and strength. It could chase down and absolutely destroy your average able-bodied Salvic man, who is already cut from a hardier cloth than most, in seconds flat. The terrible creature had a penchant for bursting through dense foliage, the sides of tents, and even cabin doors when you least expected it to, catching its prey off-guard. The two details that scared me the most, however, were that the bastard was incredibly intelligent and cunning, and that stories conflicted as to whether or not it was nocturnal.

That last detail in particular bothered me the most, because if I was going to be taking on a giant fucking ball of fur and murder, I wanted the sun's rays to grant me all the extra speed and strength I could muster.

Also, the uncertainty would make it just a bit more difficult to actually plan our approach without alerting the bear; but those were details I would discuss with my contact as soon as he arrived.