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Skreigh | The Heartlands


Pundigirion

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His brown, beady-eyes shot open wide suddenly as he sat up much too fast. His hand rose to palm his forehead as he winced, sharply inhaling through his teeth. His eyes shut tightly again simultaneously, his free hand planting itself firmly on the ground to support him as he came to. "Ugh..." He grunted again as he fought to rise to his feet, his eyes opening once again as he first took account of his immediate surroundings. Where ever he was, this time, it still most certainly was not Algon. Where had he wound up this time? How long had he been here? How did he get here? With no immediate threat in his disoriented perception, he proceeded to check himself over for injuries. To his luck and surprise, some dried blood from several hours ago was found scattered about his entire form. Otherwise he was fine.

Next he checked his gear. His explorer's pack was missing, as was his great axe*. His cloak still hugged his shoulders and was also infused with dried blood throughout. Swatting flies out of his face, he grunted again, his back stiff from...Come to think of it, while he didn't quite recall just yet, his body did know this sensation. He fell, and as far as he could tell, from pretty high up. He was perhaps lucky to be alive from that alone, though obviously he remained untouched by whatever local predators loomed thus far. Perhaps he was a large and ugly enough creature to warrant them off. That or he was just lucky. Reaching up yet again he felt to make sure that the spiraled point of an ivory, unicorn horn was still proudly protruding from his skull.

His hand axes were still at his sides, his javelins lost with his pack, Zarak wasn't bare, but he was damn near close. Sporting only a loincloth beneath his owlbear skin cloak, his hands and feet bound in tarnished, dirty wrappings, now also stained in dried blood. His boots and bracers still very much intact. Without any respective leads and the light of the day already gone, he started searching in any one random direction. Thanks to his heritage, he could see just as well in the dark as he could in the light. Thanks even more to the divine for granting him the capability to see relatively well, in great discerning detail, up to approximately one mile away. Anything that could see him would likely notice upon closer inspection that his marred, leathery flesh was hairless head to toe, covered in old scars from blade and flame alike. A hulking figure around seven feet in height, and over 300 pounds of dense, well defined muscle. One of his most striking features being that of his small nipples, the likes of which he'd never seen any smaller. A testament to the strength housed within him.

Parting the foliage in his way, making a path as he almost shook off the difficult terrain, he undoubtedly followed his senses toward what was obviously a water source. It wasn't until he was aware of its proximity that he noticed just how parched he was. With a scratchy tongue he failed to licked his dry lips, a grunt of frustration escaping him as he realized his head was probably hurting because he was thirsty. He was almost just as certain that quenching his thirst would reveal that he was also hungry. Without his javelins, hunting was a little harder, though not impossible. It just took more work. Still, he had to know what was available before making a plan for a successful hunt. This lush green water world was not unlike his home world or several others he'd been to, though it was not a forest or jungle he felt familiar in.

Call it a hunch, but he did after all hold expertise in survival. 

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