Draconic Awakening

Ragnar's eyes scanned the bottom of the Black Mesa again and again in search of maybe a safer path than pushing through a wall of hundreds of Wendigos, but he found nothing.

Sending his shadow out to take a quick scout around the entire vastness of the Mesa, it returned to him with the same results: hundreds of Ice Wendigos blocking him from his goal.

How despicable.

If he wanted to push through the numbers, he would have to do it the hard way.

"First I need information on the ranks of all Wendigos present," he thought, scanning through the numbers as far as his sight could see.

There were a number of Grade Ones, Twos, and a few Threes, but the crowd was mostly populated by the Grade Ones, which likely had the greatest number in all of Wendigo Crust.

Thankfully, he could see no signs of a monstrous Dreadling. Maybe they were disinterested in things like this and instead went after large hunts, not chasing weird light occurrences.

Still, this fact did not bring Ragnar any reassurance or added safety; the task at hand was still as difficult as ever.

He placed a hand beneath his jaw and pondered his best possible options. "If I wait till morning in hope for them to thin out, I might get spotted and become the next best thing the fucking Mesa offers."

That wasn't a choice for him. If he wanted to climb up the walls of the Black Mesa, it had to be at night.

"What if I send down blasts of flames…" that idea quickly disappeared from his mind.

Making large blasts of flames, noise, the lighting and the chaos would do more than clear him a path—it might actually alert the disinterested Dreadlings to the Mesa, and before he could climb up the walls too far, he would be caught by the monstrous figures. That was if he could even make it a few inches up the wall before the remaining Wendigos attacked him from behind and sank their deadly fangs into his throat, tearing him apart into mincemeat.

No, that was too risky and should only be considered a last resort if possible.

"If I'm going to make it anywhere near the wall, I need to be tricky. Force and strength won't help me here. I can camouflage—but not while moving…" That was when the idea hit Ragnar.

He froze, and then a grin appeared on his face.

It wasn't a nice plan, although it was something he believed would work if tested.

Ragnar quickly climbed down the hill and approached the Mesa. He was in no hurry to get there and took his time to approach stealthily, and just when he was a few feet from the back of the lines of murderous Ice Wendigos, he spotted his target.

One of the many Wendigos—small and frail, but not too small, just a bit taller than Ragnar himself—and it seemed to have been injured, bleeding from its side.

Struggling with the front lines must have been brutal, such that even the Wendigos ended up bashing into themselves, breaking bones, suffocating one another, and sometimes killing each other out of their own want or interest.

Well, this stray bastard was Ragnar's prey.

Moving through the knee-high snow and momentarily using the cloak anytime he made enough noise to alert the Grade Two Ice Wendigo, he slowly got close to it undetected most of the time.

Sometimes, the wounded beast would notice the presence of another sneaking up on it, turning its bloodshot eyes at Ragnar and seeing nothing but the traces of two lines leading closely to it.

Luckily, it wasn't smart enough to put two and two together. It only stared as a wounded beast, sniffing the air a few times, then turning its head back to its companions that senselessly clawed at the Mesa.

Ragnar continued at his own pace, and when he finally got behind the Ice Wendigo, he attacked it—raising his blade to its neck and digging his azure sinister blade deeply into the throat of the Ice Wendigo.

The bleeding effect kicked in almost immediately, and the Ice Wendigo, already weakened by its original wound, was unable to react violently to this attack. It only seemed to sway and then fall face-first to the frostbitten snow beneath it, deprived of its life force.

Ragnar caught it before it could make impact. Not wanting the attention it would bring, he pulled the Ice Wendigo along with him until he reached a large boulder that concealed his entire body frame upfront while still having enough space for him to move undetected. It was here he would initiate his plan for his little friend.

What Ragnar did next was simply an action most humans would consider madness. Not most—everyone in their right senses would see his intentions and label him as mad.

The young Lord knelt before the body of the Wendigo, and with his blade in hand, he began to flay the dead beast—taking off its flesh and skin and then placing it on himself, one after the other, wearing its skin for his own and bathing in its blood to assume the scent of the Wendigo.

It was truly a horrid sight to behold, and even the bravest of men would have bent over to let out their insides in a flurry of vomit.

But what was most insane about this scene was the expression Ragnar had on his face. It wasn't one that spelled out disgust or reverence, but one of revel—he was actually enjoying his insane act.

And when he was finally done skinning the Ice Wendigo, he certainly looked like one of them if seen from afar. Apart from the missing hunched back and the long claws to accompany them, this was a very convincing appearance.

This wasn't the first time Ragnar had skinned a being for its identity—or, more accurately, a man—and a few more subjects to hone this hobby of his.

Though this was not the time to dig into his past.

Ragnar frowned and stared at the horde. "It's now or never... I either live from this and assume this is my greatest impersonation, or die and get sent to the deepest depths of hell."

***Author's note***

Contract gotten. Mass release rolling out soon.