As soon as Norman returned home, he got back to work on his spells. The little break had helped refocus his mind.
He checked to make sure his magical reservoir was still working, and it was. Although, he did notice the feeling wasn’t quite as powerful as it had been the day before. It appeared that the energy was indeed bleeding away. Norman had expected that outcome but it still made him annoyed.
Norman ignored that issue, for now. He wanted to ensure he always had a way to cast his spells on hand. Along with his little vial of healing potion and the tooth necklace that contained his armor, Norman now sported another small vial of blue dust. He was gathering quite a collection of weird necklaces. And he was likely to add a few more in the coming days.
Seeing as he had recovery and defense covered, Norman needed something to attack with. Not that Norman wanted to go around murdering things. But he did want an option for self-defense in case he needed it. His only option on that front was Orb of Decay.
The spell called for a rotting skull and brain matter. Having a human or large animal skull hanging from his belt was not really Norman’s style. But the spell didn’t specify the size of the skull, so Norman wanted to try something.
He first checked the garage traps but didn’t find anything in them. So he scooped the traps up and tossed them into the wagon along with his last remaining live trap. He also tossed an expired jar of peanut butter into the wagon. It’s what he always used to bait his traps.
He covered everything with the blanket and strapped it down, then rode to the city dump.
Norman would have preferred to do this where people couldn’t see him. But he didn’t want to spend an entire day trying to capture field mice when the dump was practically overflowing with vermin.
The gate was open so Norman rode through. The guard sleeping inside the little shack didn’t even stir as Norman passed. There were a few people unloading carts and wagons filled with refuse. Nobody bothered to look up as Norman kept riding by. He decided to swing around toward the back where there would be fewer eyes on him.
He found a quiet spot and set out the traps. Norman didn’t have to wait long to snag the first rat. The problem was, the mouse traps were designed for mice. The traps weren’t strong enough to kill the rats. Norman had to chase the stupid thing around while it was stuck in the trap. Then he had to bludgeon it to death.
His actions drew unwanted attention and people were giving him dirty looks. Someone must have taken personal offense at what he was doing and went to wake the guard. Norman spotted the overweight man lumbering towards him. Norman sighed, he didn’t much care for people in authority. Most just abused the little power they had over people, and judging by the swagger of the guard, he wasn’t going to be any different.
“I’ve received complaints that you are over here causing problems?”
Not so much as a hello, or a greeting, just straight to the accusations.
“I’m not bothering anyone, I’m just killing some rats.”
The man glanced at Norman’s wagon and the single dead rat inside. “For what purpose?” the man asked in suspicion.
“Do I need a reason to kill rats? They’re rats.” Norman thought it was quite weird for anyone to care this much about getting rid of some vermin. Then again, Norman didn’t exactly look innocent.
“Uh-huh. Maybe before the fall, sure. But now, with magic, who knows? You could be creating a plague that wipes out the entire city.”
Norman wished he had this man’s imagination. If anyone had been capable of magic to that level, they would have used it by now. Especially the elves. Magic was neat and certainly powerful but Norman had only ever seen localized examples of it. Magic didn’t seem to exist in a vacuum. It required a power source, which seemed to either be a person, or an item imbued with that power from what he observed so far.
“I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”
“I’m a tax-paying citizen just like anyone else, I’m allowed to use the dump.”
“Yup, and if you want to use the dump to… dump stuff, then by all means. But if you plan on using it as a sick little playground, then you aren’t welcome.”
“And if I refuse to go?” Norman couldn’t help himself, the guy was annoying him.
The man smiled and popped open a pouch on the side of his belt, lifting a large can of mace from the holster. “Then I get to use this… so, what’ll it be, young man?”
Norman grumbled but packed up the rest of his traps and left the dump. He could have probably avoided the man and his spray-can-of-justice, but it would have made collecting any more rats tedious at best. Besides, he could just return when the place was closed and collect some more then.
Since the dump was a bust at the moment, there was one other place Norman wanted to visit while he was out and about.
After riding another hour, Norman returned to the area he had visited for his bone wall experiment. He had prepared a ‘spell anchor’ – it was the name he decided to go with for the bones that stored the prepared spells – to hopefully reabsorb the wall.
He made his way toward where the wall was. As he neared the clearing, he paused. The wall was fully in view by now and Norman could see it had been knocked over in places. Those sections also seemed to be chewed on or flat-out missing.
Getting a bad feeling, Norman reached up and crushed the spell anchor for his bone armor. The liquid white flowed across his body and hardened. It was just in time as a large Rycor came barreling out of the underbrush toward him, slavering jaws wide open.
Norman screamed and threw his arm up to protect his head and neck. The beast didn’t care as it happily latched onto his arm with a loud crunch. The pressure of the rycor’s jaw was immense, but the bone armor held. That didn’t stop the creature from trying to tear Norman’s arm off though.
With a great shake of its head, Norman was jerked back and forth like a dog toy. He heard the snapping of his bone before the pain hit. The motion of being tossed about was uncomfortably familiar to Norman as he recalled being shaken about in a dog's mouth.
Norman nearly blacked out from the pain of his arm breaking, but he knew if he did he was gonna die. So with an effort of will – he never knew he had – Norman threw himself on the creature's huge neck and gripped it between his legs for all he was worth. It was the world's most uncomfortable piggyback ride but Norman wasn’t about to let go.
The rycor kept trying to tear his arm off, but with Norman gripping its neck, the beast couldn’t get the leverage. That didn’t stop the creature from clawing the shit out of Norman’s calves and backside as he hung below its neck in an effort to dislodge him.
Norman didn’t bother gritting his teeth through the pain, instead, he screamed right in the damn thing’s ear as he reached around with his free hand and drew the only weapon he had, the little pocket knife he always kept on him.
His scream seemed to startle the creature into stillness long enough for Norman to flick the blade open and begin to stab it into the side of its neck. Still, the rycor refused to let go, it was clamped onto his forearm like a damn alligator. Norman really wished he had kept the gun right about now as he screamed and stabbed for all he was worth.
The rycor bucked and twirled, trying to throw Norman free but that just made Norman redouble his efforts at stabbing. If Norman released the rycor, he knew the best outcome he could hope for would be the loss of his arm. Norman liked his arms, and he didn’t think his healing potion was good enough to regrow limbs. And he was not welcome in the churches anymore.
Slowly the rycor began to slow, then stumble as its blood pumped from its veins. Norman tried to hang on until the end, but his legs were burning from the effort and shaking from the pain. Before the creature died, Norman fell to the ground, completely spent.
Despite its wounds, the rycor never let up as it slowly dragged him a few dozen feet into the forest before it succumbed to its wounds.
Pain from his wounds was lancing through Norman’s body but he clung to consciousness. It wasn’t nearly as bad as what he experienced from the magical overdose. With great effort, Norman reached up to one of his necklaces and pulled the tiny bottle free. He fumbled to remove the small cap with only one hand. With a frustrated growl, he just shoved it in his mouth and bit down on the plastic cap, allowing him to twist it free.
The life-saving liquid poured into his mouth, causing him to almost cough it out. Norman resisted the urge and swallowed painfully.
He could feel his skin knitting back together and the dirt and debris being pushed out of the wounds. It was a wholly uncomfortable feeling, but it beat the burning, searing pain that it replaced.
That left only a burning pain in Norman’s arm, when he looked over, he saw it was twisted completely around, and the only thing holding it on was the skin and muscle.
Norman winced at seeing that but quickly repositioned his body so the arm was back in its normal position. As soon as he did that, he heard the bone pop back into place and a wave of relief hit him.
He just lay there for a bit as his body finished healing itself. He should have known better to come out here by himself. Especially after leaving what was essentially bait. Of course, something would show up to enjoy the free meal.
It was only through sheer luck and some fast thinking that Norman had managed to survive the encounter with the massive creature. And his issues weren’t over yet.
Norman glanced back to his arm, it was still trapped between the large beast's powerful jaws. Even in death, the damn thing didn’t let go.
Norman tried to press down on the lower jaw as he pulled up with his trapped arm, but the jaws didn’t budge. He tried pushing down with his foot and yanking the upper jaw up, but that only ended up with him cutting his fingers and nearly severing one of his toes as the sharp teeth cut through his flip-flops.
Norman hopped around in pain for a bit until the potion healed those wounds as well. It didn’t seem like forcing the jaw open was going to work. Norman glanced about for his knife, it had fallen from his hand sometime after he fell off the rycor’s neck.
He spotted a glint of the blade ten feet away. It was sitting in the disturbed dirt caused by Norman being drug across the ground.
It took Norman thirty minutes to drag the rycor corpse back toward the fallen knife. The damn beast must weigh five hundred pounds. Only the slick leaves of the forest floor allowed Norman to even do that much.
Once he had the blade, Norman began to cut through the skin around where the rycor’s jaw hinged. This took another thirty or forty minutes, Norman lost track of time. But eventually, Norman severed the muscles that held the jaw closed. The immediate loosening of the jaw made Norman fall back, where he lay for a minute to collect himself.
Slowly, painfully, the feeling returned to Norman’s previously trapped hand. It had started turning blue, despite the earlier healing. Cautiously, Norman flexed his hand. It was painful but it seemed he would be alright after a couple of minutes.
Norman climbed to his feet and looked around at the mess. There was a trail of blood from where he had been attacked, a mix of his and the rycors. Norman kicked the stupid animal, then he kept kicking it until his anger was spent and his foot was throbbing.
Having vented his anger, Norman got to work, he managed to break off one of the rycor’s teeth by smashing it with a rock. Then he carved the spell into the exposed jawbone. His knife was becoming so dull, it was almost impossible to even do that much, but Norman persisted.
He touched the tooth – that he converted into a spell anchor – into the jawbone after it converted the rest of the corpse. The bone was sucked inside the tooth, leaving the symbol pulsing. Norman tucked it into his pocket for now as he made his way back to the chewed-on bone wall. It was why he had come out here in the first place so there was no point leaving it behind now.
The original spell anchor, Norman had prepared, touched the wall. But nothing happened. He sighed in irritation. He didn’t know if it failed due to the spell matrix wearing off or the fact that the wall had been damaged.
Had his trip back out here been for nothing? Then again, maybe not.
Norman dug around in his pockets until he pulled out the spell anchor designed to retract his bone armor. He always carried one on him. Norman carved the spell into the bone wall, which was more difficult than he imagined due to the splintered bone. But he found one spike large enough to accommodate the spell. Norman could have recarved the bone wall spell matrix but seeing as he had the backup made from the rycor corpse, he didn’t see the need for a third.
The spell activated and the bones and viscera were sucked into it. Norman tapped the spell anchor to the bone and it all vanished inside.
“At least something positive came out of this mess,” he tiredly sighed before making his way back toward his bike and the trail.
As soon as Norman returned home, he got back to work on his spells. The little break had helped refocus his mind.
He checked to make sure his magical reservoir was still working, and it was. Although, he did notice the feeling wasn’t quite as powerful as it had been the day before. It appeared that the energy was indeed bleeding away. Norman had expected that outcome but it still made him annoyed.
Norman ignored that issue, for now. He wanted to ensure he always had a way to cast his spells on hand. Along with his little vial of healing potion and the tooth necklace that contained his armor, Norman now sported another small vial of blue dust. He was gathering quite a collection of weird necklaces. And he was likely to add a few more in the coming days.
Seeing as he had recovery and defense covered, Norman needed something to attack with. Not that Norman wanted to go around murdering things. But he did want an option for self-defense in case he needed it. His only option on that front was Orb of Decay.
The spell called for a rotting skull and brain matter. Having a human or large animal skull hanging from his belt was not really Norman’s style. But the spell didn’t specify the size of the skull, so Norman wanted to try something.
He first checked the garage traps but didn’t find anything in them. So he scooped the traps up and tossed them into the wagon along with his last remaining live trap. He also tossed an expired jar of peanut butter into the wagon. It’s what he always used to bait his traps.
He covered everything with the blanket and strapped it down, then rode to the city dump.
Norman would have preferred to do this where people couldn’t see him. But he didn’t want to spend an entire day trying to capture field mice when the dump was practically overflowing with vermin.
The gate was open so Norman rode through. The guard sleeping inside the little shack didn’t even stir as Norman passed. There were a few people unloading carts and wagons filled with refuse. Nobody bothered to look up as Norman kept riding by. He decided to swing around toward the back where there would be fewer eyes on him.
He found a quiet spot and set out the traps. Norman didn’t have to wait long to snag the first rat. The problem was, the mouse traps were designed for mice. The traps weren’t strong enough to kill the rats. Norman had to chase the stupid thing around while it was stuck in the trap. Then he had to bludgeon it to death.
His actions drew unwanted attention and people were giving him dirty looks. Someone must have taken personal offense at what he was doing and went to wake the guard. Norman spotted the overweight man lumbering towards him. Norman sighed, he didn’t much care for people in authority. Most just abused the little power they had over people, and judging by the swagger of the guard, he wasn’t going to be any different.
“I’ve received complaints that you are over here causing problems?”
Not so much as a hello, or a greeting, just straight to the accusations.
“I’m not bothering anyone, I’m just killing some rats.”
The man glanced at Norman’s wagon and the single dead rat inside. “For what purpose?” the man asked in suspicion.
“Do I need a reason to kill rats? They’re rats.” Norman thought it was quite weird for anyone to care this much about getting rid of some vermin. Then again, Norman didn’t exactly look innocent.
“Uh-huh. Maybe before the fall, sure. But now, with magic, who knows? You could be creating a plague that wipes out the entire city.”
Norman wished he had this man’s imagination. If anyone had been capable of magic to that level, they would have used it by now. Especially the elves. Magic was neat and certainly powerful but Norman had only ever seen localized examples of it. Magic didn’t seem to exist in a vacuum. It required a power source, which seemed to either be a person, or an item imbued with that power from what he observed so far.
“I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”
“I’m a tax-paying citizen just like anyone else, I’m allowed to use the dump.”
“Yup, and if you want to use the dump to… dump stuff, then by all means. But if you plan on using it as a sick little playground, then you aren’t welcome.”
“And if I refuse to go?” Norman couldn’t help himself, the guy was annoying him.
The man smiled and popped open a pouch on the side of his belt, lifting a large can of mace from the holster. “Then I get to use this… so, what’ll it be, young man?”
Norman grumbled but packed up the rest of his traps and left the dump. He could have probably avoided the man and his spray-can-of-justice, but it would have made collecting any more rats tedious at best. Besides, he could just return when the place was closed and collect some more then.
Since the dump was a bust at the moment, there was one other place Norman wanted to visit while he was out and about.
After riding another hour, Norman returned to the area he had visited for his bone wall experiment. He had prepared a ‘spell anchor’ – it was the name he decided to go with for the bones that stored the prepared spells – to hopefully reabsorb the wall.
He made his way toward where the wall was. As he neared the clearing, he paused. The wall was fully in view by now and Norman could see it had been knocked over in places. Those sections also seemed to be chewed on or flat-out missing.
Getting a bad feeling, Norman reached up and crushed the spell anchor for his bone armor. The liquid white flowed across his body and hardened. It was just in time as a large Rycor came barreling out of the underbrush toward him, slavering jaws wide open.
Norman screamed and threw his arm up to protect his head and neck. The beast didn’t care as it happily latched onto his arm with a loud crunch. The pressure of the rycor’s jaw was immense, but the bone armor held. That didn’t stop the creature from trying to tear Norman’s arm off though.
With a great shake of its head, Norman was jerked back and forth like a dog toy. He heard the snapping of his bone before the pain hit. The motion of being tossed about was uncomfortably familiar to Norman as he recalled being shaken about in a dog's mouth.
Norman nearly blacked out from the pain of his arm breaking, but he knew if he did he was gonna die. So with an effort of will – he never knew he had – Norman threw himself on the creature's huge neck and gripped it between his legs for all he was worth. It was the world's most uncomfortable piggyback ride but Norman wasn’t about to let go.
The rycor kept trying to tear his arm off, but with Norman gripping its neck, the beast couldn’t get the leverage. That didn’t stop the creature from clawing the shit out of Norman’s calves and backside as he hung below its neck in an effort to dislodge him.
Norman didn’t bother gritting his teeth through the pain, instead, he screamed right in the damn thing’s ear as he reached around with his free hand and drew the only weapon he had, the little pocket knife he always kept on him.
His scream seemed to startle the creature into stillness long enough for Norman to flick the blade open and begin to stab it into the side of its neck. Still, the rycor refused to let go, it was clamped onto his forearm like a damn alligator. Norman really wished he had kept the gun right about now as he screamed and stabbed for all he was worth.
The rycor bucked and twirled, trying to throw Norman free but that just made Norman redouble his efforts at stabbing. If Norman released the rycor, he knew the best outcome he could hope for would be the loss of his arm. Norman liked his arms, and he didn’t think his healing potion was good enough to regrow limbs. And he was not welcome in the churches anymore.
Slowly the rycor began to slow, then stumble as its blood pumped from its veins. Norman tried to hang on until the end, but his legs were burning from the effort and shaking from the pain. Before the creature died, Norman fell to the ground, completely spent.
Despite its wounds, the rycor never let up as it slowly dragged him a few dozen feet into the forest before it succumbed to its wounds.
Pain from his wounds was lancing through Norman’s body but he clung to consciousness. It wasn’t nearly as bad as what he experienced from the magical overdose. With great effort, Norman reached up to one of his necklaces and pulled the tiny bottle free. He fumbled to remove the small cap with only one hand. With a frustrated growl, he just shoved it in his mouth and bit down on the plastic cap, allowing him to twist it free.
The life-saving liquid poured into his mouth, causing him to almost cough it out. Norman resisted the urge and swallowed painfully.
He could feel his skin knitting back together and the dirt and debris being pushed out of the wounds. It was a wholly uncomfortable feeling, but it beat the burning, searing pain that it replaced.
That left only a burning pain in Norman’s arm, when he looked over, he saw it was twisted completely around, and the only thing holding it on was the skin and muscle.
Norman winced at seeing that but quickly repositioned his body so the arm was back in its normal position. As soon as he did that, he heard the bone pop back into place and a wave of relief hit him.
He just lay there for a bit as his body finished healing itself. He should have known better to come out here by himself. Especially after leaving what was essentially bait. Of course, something would show up to enjoy the free meal.
It was only through sheer luck and some fast thinking that Norman had managed to survive the encounter with the massive creature. And his issues weren’t over yet.
Norman glanced back to his arm, it was still trapped between the large beast's powerful jaws. Even in death, the damn thing didn’t let go.
Norman tried to press down on the lower jaw as he pulled up with his trapped arm, but the jaws didn’t budge. He tried pushing down with his foot and yanking the upper jaw up, but that only ended up with him cutting his fingers and nearly severing one of his toes as the sharp teeth cut through his flip-flops.
Norman hopped around in pain for a bit until the potion healed those wounds as well. It didn’t seem like forcing the jaw open was going to work. Norman glanced about for his knife, it had fallen from his hand sometime after he fell off the rycor’s neck.
He spotted a glint of the blade ten feet away. It was sitting in the disturbed dirt caused by Norman being drug across the ground.
It took Norman thirty minutes to drag the rycor corpse back toward the fallen knife. The damn beast must weigh five hundred pounds. Only the slick leaves of the forest floor allowed Norman to even do that much.
Once he had the blade, Norman began to cut through the skin around where the rycor’s jaw hinged. This took another thirty or forty minutes, Norman lost track of time. But eventually, Norman severed the muscles that held the jaw closed. The immediate loosening of the jaw made Norman fall back, where he lay for a minute to collect himself.
Slowly, painfully, the feeling returned to Norman’s previously trapped hand. It had started turning blue, despite the earlier healing. Cautiously, Norman flexed his hand. It was painful but it seemed he would be alright after a couple of minutes.
Norman climbed to his feet and looked around at the mess. There was a trail of blood from where he had been attacked, a mix of his and the rycors. Norman kicked the stupid animal, then he kept kicking it until his anger was spent and his foot was throbbing.
Having vented his anger, Norman got to work, he managed to break off one of the rycor’s teeth by smashing it with a rock. Then he carved the spell into the exposed jawbone. His knife was becoming so dull, it was almost impossible to even do that much, but Norman persisted.
He touched the tooth – that he converted into a spell anchor – into the jawbone after it converted the rest of the corpse. The bone was sucked inside the tooth, leaving the symbol pulsing. Norman tucked it into his pocket for now as he made his way back to the chewed-on bone wall. It was why he had come out here in the first place so there was no point leaving it behind now.
The original spell anchor, Norman had prepared, touched the wall. But nothing happened. He sighed in irritation. He didn’t know if it failed due to the spell matrix wearing off or the fact that the wall had been damaged.
Had his trip back out here been for nothing? Then again, maybe not.
Norman dug around in his pockets until he pulled out the spell anchor designed to retract his bone armor. He always carried one on him. Norman carved the spell into the bone wall, which was more difficult than he imagined due to the splintered bone. But he found one spike large enough to accommodate the spell. Norman could have recarved the bone wall spell matrix but seeing as he had the backup made from the rycor corpse, he didn’t see the need for a third.
The spell activated and the bones and viscera were sucked into it. Norman tapped the spell anchor to the bone and it all vanished inside.
“At least something positive came out of this mess,” he tiredly sighed before making his way back toward his bike and the trail.
