Nyyrikki knows only the howling snow - to burrow beneath for warmth and slumber, where to look for small game. The snowy wastelands of Uelthham are not for the faint of heart, but they are all Nyyrikki cares to know. At night, daemons ooze up from the snow - bussemand that leap and snatch, and snaga, nimble and hungering.
Once, Nyyrikki even saw a Wraith stalk and ensnare a patrol - it choked them to death and devoured their souls, leaving lifeless corpses behind. Nyyrikki has scavenged from the bodies - a handgun, and bullets. Some rations. Cold-proof inners, which they wrapped around their hands and feet.
Over the past cycles of moon rise and set, however, Nyyrikki has seen something new. Patrols in airships, carrying massive crates. The patrols did not see Nyyrikki, hidden under the insulating snow, watching them. They even heard one of the patrollers say that they hoped the 'daemon traps' would catch something interesting.
Idiot patrols. Catching daemons is bad luck. But the daemon traps had an interesting effect - they drew in game, of many sizes. Ptarmigan waddle right up to the cold metal boxes, inspecting and pecking at their reflections. Foxes stalk the ptarmigans, and eagles swoop at the foxes. And if there's game, Nyyrikki is interested.
They stalk the ptarmigan, crouching low over the snow, before pouncing all at once. Nyyrikki breaks the neck of the bird and scurries back away from the cage. It is precious warmth and energy, and Nyyrikki carefully plucks it clean beneath the shelter of a pine thicket.
A lone fox watches carefully from a distance and to it Nyyrikki throws the intestines and entrails. The meat is cooling fast and chewy, but it is delicious. Nyyrikki scrubs their hands and face with snow, and then eats the pink-stained snow, determined not to waste a drop.
That night, as Nyyrikki dozes fitfully beneath the snow, a daemon wanders into the trap. The bussemand howls louder than the wind and they startle awake. There's an awful metallic tearing noise, and the bussemand pack shrieks in return. Nyyrikki cowers under the snow as the daemons above holler and scream, metallic crunching and dull thuds echoing across the night.
tear your skin to taste your beating heart
Once, Nyyrikki even saw a Wraith stalk and ensnare a patrol - it choked them to death and devoured their souls, leaving lifeless corpses behind. Nyyrikki has scavenged from the bodies - a handgun, and bullets. Some rations. Cold-proof inners, which they wrapped around their hands and feet.
Over the past cycles of moon rise and set, however, Nyyrikki has seen something new. Patrols in airships, carrying massive crates. The patrols did not see Nyyrikki, hidden under the insulating snow, watching them. They even heard one of the patrollers say that they hoped the 'daemon traps' would catch something interesting.
Idiot patrols. Catching daemons is bad luck. But the daemon traps had an interesting effect - they drew in game, of many sizes. Ptarmigan waddle right up to the cold metal boxes, inspecting and pecking at their reflections. Foxes stalk the ptarmigans, and eagles swoop at the foxes. And if there's game, Nyyrikki is interested.
They stalk the ptarmigan, crouching low over the snow, before pouncing all at once. Nyyrikki breaks the neck of the bird and scurries back away from the cage. It is precious warmth and energy, and Nyyrikki carefully plucks it clean beneath the shelter of a pine thicket.
A lone fox watches carefully from a distance and to it Nyyrikki throws the intestines and entrails. The meat is cooling fast and chewy, but it is delicious. Nyyrikki scrubs their hands and face with snow, and then eats the pink-stained snow, determined not to waste a drop.
That night, as Nyyrikki dozes fitfully beneath the snow, a daemon wanders into the trap. The bussemand howls louder than the wind and they startle awake. There's an awful metallic tearing noise, and the bussemand pack shrieks in return. Nyyrikki cowers under the snow as the daemons above holler and scream, metallic crunching and dull thuds echoing across the night.