Chapter 7: Chapter Seven: If you can’t find God, build him.

Time ticked by, Marl had hidden the note for his daughter in the umbrella she left outside at her favourite picnic spot, despite her captivity Edna and the Mayor would have to let her out occasionally to maintain appearances. Their goal in mistreating her was to break her spirit rather actually hurt her.

The letter instructed her to buy a large amounts of leather and oilskins and go to secret location and pull a hidden string, this was attached to a bell which would alert Marl. They would communicate using letters left at shifting locations and a cipher which translated to Latin instead of the common Anglish. As he had trained her as a doctor since childhood she was well versed in Latin, despite this breaking the law he’d believed a day women could practice medicine would come. He never imagined such ignorance that forget about women practicing medicine, he’d be executed for Maleficium.

His days were filled with research or sleep, his altered body created interesting opportunities in various scientific fields, for instance, the study of burns on flesh. Granted it was magically altered frog flesh that regenerated quickly, but the research papers he was writing didn’t need to mention that. He studied how the burns healed when unimpeded by infection and drew up ideas on grafting flesh that he would test, ideas for grafting techniques and medicines. It was one of the only things he could do to retain his former mind. He’d drawn up ideas on clothing, food and how to make the marl pit more livable but aside from the clothes they would all require a raid on the town. Said town being on high alert put such action out of the question until at least one more trip to The Fey surgeon. Meat and templates were his current concern until his daughter could help him.

His curse of knowledge was very helpful in hunting, by knowing where his prey was going he could head them off. He wanted to construct some ropes for noose traps, but found little skill in rope weaving so far. He was on the look out for three particular creatures, a hero shrew, a snake and an owl. His assumption being these creatures would boost his resilience, flexibility and awareness respectively, the first creature he came across was a mosquito however, he’d been killing them them the whole time. Finally having the idea to eat it he unlocked a new template, a lesson to him to eat everything he could get his hands on. Following this logic and having more success in stealing a fishing pole than crafting a rope he used it. He caught an eel and some fish which he cooked and ate with great satisfaction, unlocking a fish and eel template. It was his hope the eel could give him the flexibility he sought from the snake if he couldn’t find one. As the days past he ended up finding a snake in the tall grass near his pit as well as a dead elk that he was able to consume the carcass of, it afforded him no template but brought him an enormous amount of meat.

Shockingly he finally did catch only one mouse and decided to use it as bait to catch an owl, it worked spectacularly well and soon he had devoured the feathered unfortunate. It was around this time that he had returned to gorging on the fallen Elk’s rotten carcass. Suddenly, he was struck. An arrow had plunged straight through his chest into his heart! His attackers were Amil Scuggs and his bloodhound Wilma, the arrow had obviously thrown him massively off balance and more than halved his strength, he would die for certain if his brain was pierced. Amil was a seasoned hunter and a veteran of a number of wars, he was able to instantly dodge the spike launched in retaliation by Marl’s body. He loosed Wilma to distract Marl as he readied another crossbow bolt. Wilma was every bit the expert Amil was and managed to bring both of Marl’s arms down to clear the way for the bolt to Marl’s head despite taking fatal lead chip filled slashes. By the time Marl understood the actions being employed against him a bolt was already headed to his glabella, Marl tensed in fear and got lucky. His tail being tensed had pushed him up off the ground and the arrow pierced his neck drawing a massive fountain of blood. If Marl didn’t end this or escape he’d died from blood loss ceasing his brain functions. Marl hugged Wilma to his chest, the exposed arrow that protruded from his own chest pierced the dog's heart and he used it’s body to extract the arrow which allowed his heart to begin healing but it would take far too long to have any affect in this fight.

Against an expert hunter like Amil every second counted, it was why he’d used the dog to extract the arrow, it killed two birds with one stone so to speak. Or in this case, dog. Marl used his tail to hurl himself toward Amil hoping that he could catch him flat footed trying to get another arrow off. No such luck against a foe like Amil, the cross bow had dropped from his hand and his readied a machete. Marl thinking he had the advantage in strength drew closer and discovered his error, this steely blue eyed old man in a flat cap could match his every strike, Marl losing at least five fingers spread across both hands in the exchanges. What Marl did have however was reach, his tail allowing him to move in for strikes and retreat before his body could be struck, but Marl was fighting at a deficit and knew it. This unflappable old man hadn’t even broken a sweat. In desperation Marl tried something he’d been thinking about for situations like this. He ignited his fists which caused his claws to heat up and become molten and then simply allowed them to collide with the hunters machete which splattered them both in molten lead. The old man far more fatally wounded than Marl who had just barely survived. Marl crawled over to the hunting hound and began to gorge himself on it until he heard laughing, carefree and happy.

It was Amil, he spoke between chuckles “Ha! I know Wilma, I’m coming, just give me a bit, quit licking my face!, hehe he.” The old man then propped himself up against a near by tree and began smoking his corn cob pipe. One of his steely blue eyes had been burned out by molten lead that was still burning into him, his remaining one looked at Marl and began to tear up. He spoke somberly. “Eat well demon, I wasn’t good enough to join the wild hunt, but soon Theodoric or Wodin will lead a wild hunt to take the life of a beast so great as you. Just don’t waste our kills.” Marl snorted and replied to the air as he continued eating. “I’m not a beast, I’m your doctor you idiot. It’s me, Hawthorne.”

Amil bolted up on two legs before his femur slipped out of a hole made by the lead and he fell back down. A long pause of silence only filled with the sounds of the consumption Wilma’s body filled the air. Amil spoke to the empty air saying “Calm down Wilma, I need to have a talk with the doc.” Looking up from the dog’s corpse Marl spoke. “What do you have to say? Are you going to curse me?” Amil laughed, he began to converse with Marl and told him a great many things. His daughter Mathelany had been executed for witch craft just as Marl had been years before they’d even met. It was not something Amil enjoyed speaking about, but now, dying on the forest floor he chuckled and raged and cried and Marl felt so very human again. He listened intently, despite the arrow in his neck.

It was Marl’s death that had caused Amil to return to the woods, he was hoping to die out here, but it wasn’t suicide. As Christianity had taken root Amil had been ever quieter about his families beliefs, his daughter had not been so cautious which resulted in her death at the stake. All these years later, seeing Marl die had triggered old wounds. He found he could no longer remain in the company of the people of Castabury, he sought the old Gods, the old ways, to join the wild hunt his mother spoke of in whispers. Now, he lay here dying and the old Gods were silent. Technically Marl had what he was looking for, the very were very much like the old Gods of which Amil spoke. This was the thought on his mind as he looked at the dying man.

Marl felt the arrow in his throat and checked his scroll, he’d gained feats from the fight, but not nearly enough.

“Fey, would you heed a request?” Marl asked and It was the strange Fey with a rhombicosidodecahedron head that answered confusingly. “Yes, if the answer is no. Tell but do not speak.” Marl was about to inquire as to his meaning when he felt as if hands were digging through his mind. The rhombicosidodecahedron Fey began to speak again. “Interesting and boring. Binding the old man to the arrow as a spirit to create your own wild hunt, but you cannot afford the curse before the old man dies so you seek a loan. I like Cats. Only by failure will you fail, success with bring you your goal. This can be done if you do for me. I like cats. In Castabury there is a young boy by the name of Dillion Rathbone. I like cats. He held a cat down. I like cats. He took a stick. I like cats. He put it through the top of the cat’s eye. I like cats. He pulled it out slowly. I like cats. He laughed, saying it looked like a cocktail olive. I like cats.” He handed Marl a stick covered in bark and bugs with a very dull point and a black cat with a painfully infected looking missing eye from thin air. “Only by failure will you fail, success will bring you your goal. You have a fortnight. It will be the first of three favours. The cat’s name is Noir, he will now be your cat. Love him. Save him from the infection. Or else. I like cats.” The Fey's voice faded out. Marl noted on the scroll from his hand mirror he now had enough feats with the word (LOAN) bolded beside it. 4,800 feats, exactly enough to max the pincushion curse and bind the old man's soul. Looking over at the fading old man, Marl decided to at least ask him. “Amil, would you like to be Wodin?”

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