A Pagan of the Good Times

You bash through the ice and the cold soothes and numbs your skin. It is halfway through the room you feel woozy and look down, seeing the ice below you stained with blood. Behind you, now spinning, you see the streaks of your own blood melting down the broken and jagged ice. As your vision tunnels, the guide runs to your side and all you can think about is how warm her tears are.

You awaken out by the lake, battered and beaten and so. so cold. A familiar form kneels beside you, tending your wounds. It takes several blurry moments to realize this is not your guide, but a cluster of fireflies in a cloak the same color as your guide's fur. Your injuries ache, but you will heal fine; you can tell somehow by the way the fireflies buzz around you.

You realize loosely how little sense that makes and you wonder if this is real, but a warm force closes your eyes and bids you to think of home, of safety. When you awake next, you are in a safe place, one which you might have imagined.

You've made it out alive, though not without injury. You notice a lightness to your tail, the very tip of it gone and bleeding freely. Likewise you feel you've lost some knowledge along the way, losing 4 Intellect skill points. Any items you've found lay beside you, and will be revealed later.