I sleep deeply, like a man who has finally earned his rest. My stomach is full, my thirst quenched. The thrill of my first successful hunt still lingers in my chest, pulsing through me like a second heartbeat. And yes, the release before sleep, that raw, primal act that drained me of tension, left me heavy but satisfied. Yesterday was survival. Today must be progress. I wake knowing the day will be demanding, and my mind is already racing with plans.
The tasks swirl in my head like a storm: food, tools, armor, water. All things a man needs not only to live, but to dominate. I must craft a waterskin, prepare my meat, forge a helm from tusks, drape a hide across my shoulders. These are not just objects. They are symbols. Proof that Ragno is no simple wanderer but a man of strength, a man who bends this savage world to his will.
I start with the water. I grab my spear and make my way down to the pool where the boar fell. The carcass is heavy, stiff, but still useful. I slice open the stomach and intestines, rinsing them in the water. The smell is sharp, sour, but I push through. I scrub them against stone, flush them clean, until the stench fades. Slowly, carefully, I shape the stomach into a pouch, test it with water. I wait. No leaks. I grin. In this primitive world, I have made a vessel of life. I tie it with the crude bone needles I carved last night, bind it with fibers twisted from bark. It holds. The weight of it in my hands fills me with pride. No longer will thirst drag me to the pool every time. Now, water comes with me.
[+50 XP]
Intelligence +1
New Skill Progress: [Primitive Crafting Lv.2]
Back in the cave, I turn to the meat. The boar's body is a mountain of flesh. My hands ache as I slice through it, blood dripping down my arms. The smell is thick, iron and musk filling the cave. I carve the choicest cuts, laying them aside. The rest I hang. I bend and shape branches into hooks, jab them into the rock walls, and hang strips of meat to dry. Fat glistens in the light, droplets falling and sizzling in the embers. Smoke curls upward, carrying the promise of preservation.
The finest cuts I bind together with cord, stacking them neatly. This will be my offering to the tribe. A gift of strength, proof that I am not empty-handed, proof that I can hunt, that I can provide. When they see the meat, they will see not only flesh but power, and the man who brought it.
[+40 XP]
Endurance +1
New Resource: [Boar Meat Stockpile]
But meat alone is not enough. I need armor. I need a symbol of terror and dominance. The boar's tusks will serve me well. I drag the skull into the firelight. With a sharp stone, I chip away the flesh that clings to it. The smell is foul, acrid, but I do not falter. Sweat pours from my brow, dripping onto the bone. I pry the tusks free, long and curved, their edges gleaming with menace. I hold them in my hands, feeling their weight, their promise.
I take the skull, scrape it clean, carve small holes with my spearhead. The stone bites into bone, grinding with each push. Slowly, I make the sockets, then line them with fibers. I tie the tusks into place, fixing them as horns. I shake the skull, testing it, and the tusks do not move. They hold fast. I cannot see myself, but I can imagine it: a man with horns, a warrior draped in blood and hide, eyes burning with hunger. A demon to some, a leader to others. Either way, a figure to be feared.
[+70 XP]
Strength +2
New Skill Unlocked: [Intimidation Lv.1]
I clean the floor, push the scraps aside. My body aches, but I am not done. The hide awaits.
I cut deep into the boar's skin, peel it back in thick strips. My spearhead scrapes muscle from flesh, separating what clings. The hide is heavy, damp, but I drag it outside to dry. The sun hardens it, the smell lingering in the air, sharp and wild. Hours pass, sweat soaking me, but finally it is ready. I lift it onto my shoulders. It is heavy, pressing against my back, but I welcome the weight. The boar is part of me now. This cloak is not just warmth. It is armor. It is a declaration.
I walk to the entrance of Ragno's Haven, the skull helm in my hands, the hide cloak on my back. For the first time, I feel not just like a survivor, but a chieftain.
And then I see them. Eyes in the brush. Figures in the distance. Men and women of the tribe. They watch from behind trees and rocks, their whispers drifting like smoke. I catch the glimmer of recognition, the tilt of a head, the awe in their gaze. Word of me has spread already. Perhaps the two women told them. Perhaps they simply followed the scent of blood. Whatever the reason, they are here.
They think they are hidden, but I feel their eyes like fire on my skin. They stare at the tusks, the cloak, the spears. They study my muscles, the way I move. They see a man who kills beasts, who drinks from the earth, who crafts weapons and armor from nothing. They see a man who should not exist in their world. But I ignore them. I let them watch. Let them wonder. My hands do not falter. I keep working, binding, preparing. Their whispers mean nothing yet. Tomorrow, they will mean everything.
[Character Sheet Updated]
Strength: 7
Endurance: 6
Intelligence: 6
Charisma: 4
Night comes. The meat hangs drying, the skull helm rests against the wall, the hide cloak draped across my shoulders. I sit by the fire, staring into the flames. The crackle echoes in the silence, sparks dancing upward like fireflies. I breathe deep, the smoke filling my lungs, my eyes narrowing as I think. I tally what I have: water, food, shelter, weapons, armor, strength. What I lack, I cannot name. For the first time since waking in this world, I feel whole. A man complete.
Tomorrow, I will approach the tribe. Tomorrow, I will step into their world not as a beggar, not as prey, but as Ragno. I will bring gifts, meat, proof of my power. I will show them that I am not a threat to be feared but a force to be respected. And if they cannot see that, then they will see what happens when they defy me.
The fire dies down. Shadows dance along the walls of Ragno's Haven, stretching long, reaching toward me. I pull the hide tighter across my back, feel the weight of the skull helm beside me. My chest rises and falls, exhaustion heavy in my limbs, but inside me burns something fiercer than fire. Enough watching from the shadows. Enough whispers. Tomorrow I will step into the open. Tomorrow I will meet them face-to-face.
And as my eyes grow heavy, only one thought remains: what will tomorrow bring?