>>1930201
>>Dress the wound properly

>Dress the kill
The bleeding has stopped so why not?

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244 KB JPG

>>1930215
>>1930217
I'll wait a bit more for the tie-breaker and some more players

>>1930201
>>Dress the kill and get cooking, you’re starving

>>1930201
>Dress the kill and get cooking, you're starving

this seems like a pretty cool quest. :)

>>1930217
>>1930241
The wound is closed and the cloth seems to be holding and moreover you’re starving, so the kill comes first. You take out the small pocket knife from your belt and start slicing out the long rope of hot intestine spilling out of the creature’s inside. The blade of the knife has dulled from unuse and while you can cut through soft flesh with relative ease, it will be harder to recover anything else. A shame really, you were hoping to dig out those claws to make some arrowheads.

You grab the pail of water near the fire and wash the blood from the meat. The water turns a delightful shade of red as you gently scrub the flesh with your thumbs. You grab the pocket knife again and cut out a single sausage sized clump of flesh, slicing across the middle to get out all the waste. You slice out some meat from the flank of the creature, scraping off the skin as best you can. You wash it, pack it in your hands and stuff it in the bit of intestine, squeezing shut the whole thing with your hands. It’s not gourmet cuisine but it’ll do.

You scoot toward the fire, wishing you had some kind of cookery. There’s some drift wood, leftovers from the ship--maybe you can make a skewer. Or it might just be easier to hold the thing as close to the fire as you can with your hands. Hunger is telling you to do the latter, but good sense tells you the sausage will cook better if you don’t have to worry about burning your hands.

>Attempt to cook it with your hands
>Attempt to fashion a skewer from the driftwood

>>1930286
>Attempt to fashion a skewer from the driftwood

>>1930286
>Attempt to fashion a skewer from the driftwood

>>1930293
>>1930303
Roll me a d20 please

Rolled 11 (1d20)

>>1930308
i got this my guys

Rolled 7 (1d20)

>>1930308
Just one?

>>1930318
It's best of 3

>>1930317
>>1930318
11 + [+1 Makeshift Skewer] = 12 (Partial Success)

You hold the makeshift sausage over the flame, weighing your hunger with common sense. In the end, common sense wins. You grab a piece of driftwood and using your pocket knife, you whittle out thin shard, long enough and thin enough to act as a skewer. You pierce the meat thorough and all that remains now is heat and patience.

In a few moments the flesh browns and darkens and the smell of roasted meat fills the air. When you can take no more, you plunge one end of the sausage in your mouth, partially burning your tongue. The taste is bitter and sour. Maybe you didn’t clean the insides properly, or maybe it didn’t cook long enough--it’s hard to tell in the dark--or maybe the years of fine dining have biased your tastebuds against the more brutal meal. Either way, it’s hard to swallow, so you chew faster and try not to think about it.

You lean back on your elbows, setting your legs long against the sand. The stars have changed. How long has it been now? You look near the fire: three pebbles in a line. Three days, soon to be four. The dry food from the ship is mostly gone, sunk into the depths and ruined. You still have a good barrel of hard liquor, so you can at least greet death with a smile on your face, but otherwise you’re in trouble. You never should have tried to come here. You should have listened to the warnings. At least you haven’t met any of the cannibals yet.

Excursions into the forest have given no indication to the actual size of this island--if it even is one. You’re not so sure anymore. You’ve tried to circumnavigate it but the beach ends at a cliff face jutting out over the sea on both sides. If you had a boat, or some climbing gear...of course it’s been almost a decade since your days in the seminary, but you’ve kept in shape; you’re still fit. You look at the dead creature by the fire. You have proof.

Even so, attempting the climb without gear, or worse, trying to swim through the waters is suicide. You could try heading deeper into the forest. Admittedly, you’ve only danced around the edges. But you have a feeling there are more creatures like this one waiting for you--maybe more dangerous creatures.

You swallow the rest of the sausage whole trying not to taste it and failing utterly. Your hunger is sated for now (maybe ruined is a more apt descriptor). It’s late and it’s dark and it’s been a long day. A clap of thunder booms overhead. Great.

>Head for the nearest tree and rest below what cover it provides
>Head into the forest to gather some materials for shelter

>>1930340
>Head into the forest to gather some materials for shelter
its about to storm, best to have as much of a shelter as we can get

>>1930344
You curse yourself for not fashioning a shelter sooner. The weather had been nothing but sunshine and cool nights since you got here, so it had skipped your mind, but it now it looks like a storm. With a groan you get to your feet and grab the oil lamp. You have only one canister of oil which means a only few hours of light. You were hoping to save it, but now is as a desperate time as any.

You concentrate your energies at the tip of your finger and a small gout of flame emerges like a little tongue, lighting the oil and casting a soft glow to your surroundings. The thunder booms again signaling the need for haste. You do a quick check of your possessions: your short sword, your pocket knife and of course the reason you came out here in the first place: your grandfather’s map, still neatly folded in your back pocket.

You move into the forest as the whole sky lights up with lightning, thunder crashing close behind. You gather fallen tree branches, the leaves are long and wide making for good protection against the rain and it requires no effort to simply grab them off of the floor. The few branches on the outskirts of the forest are not enough to shelter you however, and you must venture deeper in.

As the foliage grows thicker and thicker, darkness encircles you on all sides. You hear the calls of nocturnal birds, exotic and alien and you have a strange sense of being watched. As you reach for what you hope is the final branch you’ll need, lightning flashes again, illuminating the entire forest floor for an instant and revealing...footprints. Humanoid, and not your own and leading deeper still in the forest. And fresh.

Now you think you can hear some distant speech, laughter or shouting, you can’t tell. Maybe it’s just imagination. The rain comes down and you watch in panic as the waters start to wash away the footprints.

>Drop the branches and follow the footprints while you still can
>Get out the forest

>>1930380
>Get out the forest

>>1930380
>>Get out the forest
A proper shelter that only you know about is always useful

>>1930380
>Get out the forest.
fucking cannibals, man.

>>1930390
>>1930391
>>1930398

The footprints are tempting and you know you might not have a second chance after the rain washes everything away, but the lamp in the oil is dying and the rain is falling and your eyes are drooping. Everything is pointing you out of the forest, not deeper in and so, out you go.

You arrange the branches in a cone to make a simple hut. There are some leaks, but the blanket you pulled from the shipwreck (mostly dry now after leaving it out in the sun) minimizes that problem. As the rain starts to fall in earnest and the winds pick up, you drift off to a dreamless sleep.

You awake with an intense headache. The skies are clear and blue, showing almost no sign of the storm last night. You rub away the sleep from your eyes and head for the edge of the waters to wash yourself. Reflected in the water is the volcanic spire of Mount Dal looming like a giant’s bosom. You can almost laugh. You traveled how far, spent how much to get here? And the distance still seems unfathomable. You feel for the map in your back pocket. The smooth, waterproof texture of the parchment reassures you.

“A fool’s quest.” You mutter, splashing more water on your face. Then you notice something else in the reflection. Something strange. There’s a thorn sticking out of your neck. Not a small one either, not something that could’ve gotten there by chance. You pluck it out, but it takes some finesse. It’s much deeper inside than you initially thought and longer--almost 5 inches in length, and nearly half of it submerged in your neck. The thorn is unnatural. Too perfect, too sharp.

It was carved. It was manmade. There aren’t really cannibals here. That was just a rumor.

You turn around, searching the treeline for assailants, anyone that might be watching you. Nothing. Then you realize your kill is gone. The corpse has vanished. A trail of diluted blood and bits of gore leads into the forest--as though it were dragged inside.

So much for breakfast.

>Follow the trail
>Try and spear some fish for breakfast
>Write-in

>>1930421
>Try and spear some fish for breakfast

I think I'm gonna have to continue tomorrow it's getting late here.

alright man, is late here too. night.

>>1930421
Use the thorn to make a spear.
then
>Follow the trail

>>1930421
>Try and spear some fish for breakfast

>>1930433
>>1930521
>>1930583

Gon' fishin' it is then. Roll me a d20.

Rolled 6 (1d20)

>>1931691

>>1931718
I'll wait a little bit longer for a few more players to join.

>6 [-1 from arm injury, -1 makeshift tool] = 4; Failure

The trail will still be there after breakfast. There no sense in rushing these things--still, it’s a little unnerving to found out the island isn’t uninhabited. You hold up the thorn again, examining its craftsmanship. The tip is thin and hollow and inside there is some black residue, partially stained by your blood. It can’t be cannibals. If it were, why they didn’t they just eat you? Why they did they drug you and take your kill? Was it a message? What was the message, “Don’t kill the jungle animals”?

Or maybe it was a show of power. ‘We can get to you anytime’ kind of thing. Your hand automatically goes for the hilt of your short sword, fingers tracing the curled leather hide. You wince as you draw the blade--the wound on your arm hasn’t fully healed yet. The cloth now clings to the wound, stuck to it by dried blood. You’ll have to change it, or at least wash it at some point so it doesn’t get infected but before that you need muster up some breakfast.

You contemplate heading into the forest to do battle with the wildlife, but given the condition of your arm you’re more likely become some animal’s lunch then come away with your breakfast. You cast your gaze seaward where the scales of numberless fish shine like little coins in the sunlight. The storm must’ve pushed them your way, but catching them with your hands will prove difficult.

You spend some time fashioning a crude fishing spear out of your pocket knife and the skewer you made last night. You use one of the long leaves of the tree branches to secure the pocket knife to the skewer’s tip and wade into the waters.

You spend an hour trying to stab the bastards, but they simply flit between your feet or shimmy out of the way of the blade. You try throwing the spear too, that has even worse results. At the end of two hours of solid effort, you achieve nothing and have to return to the campfire hungrier, wetter and more annoyed then when you started. You’d welcome the bitter taste of those sausages with open arms (and mouth) now.

>Head to the shipwreck, maybe you can salvage some food you missed
>Try fashioning a net from the tree branches and leaves
>Write-in

>>1931822
>Head to the shipwreck, maybe you can salvage some food you missed
Or any other supplies too. I'm sure there'll be materials we can salvage that can be used to make better tools too.

Maybe cut off a bit of the ship's sail and use some of our remaining alcohol to sanitise it, making for a supply of new bandages.

>>1931871
You follow the coast toward the shipwreck. It’s a few minutes walk before the main mast of the small sloop (or what’s left of it above the waters) comes into view. You take off your shoes and your shirt, unbuckle your belt, sword and all, roll up your trousers and wade into the deep waters.

Taking a deep breath, you dive downward toward the belly of the sunken ship. It’s side has been ripped apart by an underwater rock formation, creating an easy entrance. Inside the ship has a few pockets of air, but it’s much smaller than the last time you were here. You head for the storage area of the ship, where all the food and preserves were stowed away in casks. Several of them broken open in the wreck, rendering them useless, but a few small ones are intact. One contains salted pork and another: dried beans. From their size, they won’t last you more than a few days, but that’s a few more days you’re not starving.

You carry the barrels back to the beach. Thoroughly exhausted by the effort, you sit down to catch your breath. Something flashes by the corner of your eye--your body moves before you can react, ducking and rolling away. An arrow sticks out of the sand where you were sitting moments before.

You look behind you. Another arrow sails out from the edge of the forest. You roll back and grab your sword. You can make out a humanoid form standing on a cluster of rocks near the edge of the forest.

Another arrow flits down from above. You roll again, and then run for cover, crouching behind a nearby boulder. You hear shouting. Three voices. One of them is getting closer fast.

>Remain where you are and draw your blade
>Run, leave the casks (and your clothes) where they are. Just get out of here.

>>1931959
>Run, leave the casks (and your clothes) where they are. Just get out of here
No way we can close the distance on open terrain whilst running on soft sand with a sword without getting hit by an arrow and rekt.

Run away from the archer though, and see if they give chase. Don't run into the forest where we might get attacked by more.

>>1931959
>>Remain where you are and draw your blade
See if we can use some splintered barrels as a make shift shield.

>>1931959
>>Remain where you are and draw your blade
If we keep avoiding these natives we'll just keep getting weaker and more injcapable of fighting back. Better to do it now.

>>1931959

>>1932371
seconded

>>1932371
>>1951216
>>1951264
You should run. You're outnumbered, injured, fighting in the sand, it's the obvious, rational move. But if you lose the casks now you're out of food and there isn't anything else to recover from the ship, save some waterlogged wood and maybe the sail.

You peek your head above the boulder, trying to mark their positions. The moment you do an arrow comes so close as to cut your cheek, leaving behind a thin trail of blood. You duck down before the archer has a chance to adjust his shot. You saw two of them coming down. One is running toward your position. He had a wooden club of some kind with shards of something sharp and black randomly dispersed in the wood, like a cactus. The other has cut across and is heading for your casks.

You wipe the water the from your eyes and grip your blade, biting down the pain coming from your arm. You will stay and fight. To run now would just be a prolonged death. Better a quick one. Better a brave one.

>Roll 1d20 (Best of 3)

Rolled 16 (1d20)

>>1953757

Rolled 11 (1d20)

>>1953757

>>1953757
rollan again to hopefully keep op posting

Rolled 20 (1d20)

>>1953757
>>1953878

New thread: >>1953997