I spent around six days inside, eating next to nothing. In that time, my leg, arm, and head finally healed. So aside from being severely malnourished, I was okay.
I closed my eyes and focused, trying to see the magic circle again. After some effort, the faint shape began to glow in my mind, and eventually, it appeared clearly:
Name: Ivan
Magic: None
Titles: Lost One
Proficiencies:
Medical Equipment (7/100)
Crude Lumber Tools (15/100)
Polearms (2/100)
Basic Craftsmanship (10/100)
Crude Leatherworking (2/100)
Crude Mapping (1/100)
Weapon Masteries:
Crude Spear (1/1000)
Crude Bow (1/1000)
Status Effects:
Cold
Paranoid
Malnutrition
Brain Damage
Wendigo's Curse
If I ever want to kill that thing… I need to get better. Much better—with the spear and the bow.
I carved a routine out of survival. Every morning began the same: I gathered pine cones from the forest floor and dropped them into a dented old pot filled with snow. While the snow melted and the cones boiled into a bitter, barely-drinkable brew, I punished my body with push-ups and sit-ups—hundreds if I could manage. The pain in my limbs reminded me I was still alive.
Once the "tea" was ready, I drank it slowly to warm my core, then moved to weapons training. I started with my bow. I would pace backward from a target tree, marking different distances with notches in the snow. At each mark, I would lose a set of arrows, aiming for consistency and power, adjusting for wind and the trembling of my weakened hands. Then came the spear. I repeatedly drilled movement patterns: quick jabs, wide swings, and sudden thrusts. My focus was speed, not just hitting the target, but striking fast enough to live. I knew that even if I landed a fatal blow on the Wendigo, it would mean nothing if it killed me too.
Around midday, I would pick out a small tree and begin chopping it down with crude tools. From its branches and bark, I stripped fibers to spin into twine, my fingers stiff and raw from the cold. That twine was slowly twisted into rope—a little more each day. It became a sort of progress marker, a tangible sign that I was building toward something. Day by day, foot by foot, I was preparing—not just to survive, but to kill.
After about a month, I had:
45 feet of rope
127 small logs
A leaner, stronger body
A tighter grip on switching between bow and spear
Name: Ivan
Magic: None
Titles: Lost One, Trap Smith
Proficiencies:
Medical Equipment (7/100)
Crude Lumber Tools (28/100)
Polearms (7/100)
Archery Weapons (3/100)
Crude Traps (10/100)
Basic Craftsmanship (21/100)
Crude Leatherworking (2/100)
Crude Mapping (3/100)
Weapon Masteries:
Crude Spear (22/1000)
Crude Bow (19/1000)
Status Effects:
Cold
Paranoid
Brain Damage
Wendigo's Curse
With my growing skills, I began to form a plan to kill the Wendigo.
The idea was simple: pitfall traps and swinging logs using the rope near its cave.
After preparing my tools and provisions, I made the two-hour trek through snow and bitter wind. I cleared out the cave entrance and fashioned a crude wooden door to block it off. Then I got to work.
I looped rope over sturdy branches, cut smaller trees, and fashioned them into weighted logs. I tied them off and repeated the process four more times. The log traps were ready.
Next came the pitfall traps.
The snow in this forest has layers:
The fresh top layer I walk through daily
A hardened crust of ice I often slip on
And the compacted, ancient layer below that—almost impossible to break without effort
I managed to dig one pit and covered it with sticks. Later, I would layer snow on top. Over the next few days, I dug more, memorizing their placement before camouflaging them.
But I also needed more arrows.
I hadn't seen birds in weeks—probably because my ground traps weren't working. That's when it hit me: sap traps.
The trees in this forest have a strange kind of sap. It's warm to the touch and doesn't freeze, no matter how cold it gets.
I smeared the sap on high branches and waited.
Within three hours, two birds were caught. I harvested their meat and plucked their feathers to make arrows. By nightfall, I had crafted seven more.
That night, the magic circle returned again:
Name: Ivan
Magic: None
Titles: Lost One, Trap Smith
Proficiencies:
Medical Equipment (7/100)
Crude Lumber Tools (28/100)
Polearms (7/100)
Archery Weapons (3/100)
Crude Traps (10/100)
Basic Craftsmanship (21/100)
Crude Leatherworking (2/100)
Crude Mapping (3/100)
Weapon Masteries:
Crude Spear (22/1000)
Crude Bow (19/1000)
Status Effects:
Cold
Paranoid +1
Brain Damage
Wendigo's Curse +1
I stared at the glowing names and numbers, feeling both proud and terrified. I was improving… but so was the curse.
The next day, I did my usual training. But halfway through crafting more twine, I paused.
Fishing.
Why haven't I thought of ice fishing until now?
That's today's new plan: cut through the frozen lake, drop a line, and pray something down there is hungry.
Would you like me to continue with Ivan's ice fishing plan or help you brainstorm what he might find under the ice?