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 Posted: Wed Mar 08, 2023 8:08 am
 This is a PRP involving Worm-Poot only.
The last thing you remember is…Well, you don’t remember. Strange? Where is this place? It looks like you’re in the middle of dark forest. Was it even dark the last time you were….coherent? Just as you’re about to ask yourself what is going on, you hear what you will later start calling The Voice. “Hello, fool.” The voice is terrifying with how normal it sounds. There’s a slight lilt to it, but that’s it. It seems to come from everywhere or nowhere at once. “Let’s play a game. Right now you’re in the middle of a forest and all you have to do is find your way out. Simple? Yes, truly, just like your mind.” The airy laugh echoes on. “You have two hours.” You shout at the voice asking how you get here, along with a bunch of other questions, but the only answer is– “Tick, tock. Time’s running out little fool. This time we’ll play for a prize and if you fail, well, I won’t take it out on your utter incompetence. But next time…the stakes will be higher.” You spend the next five minutes trying to talk with the voice or reason with, but it refuses to say another thing. Really, whether you like it or not, you’ve only got one choice—GET OUT! Prompt: You wake up in the forest. How you got there isn’t important right now. But the thing is that you’ve been given a time limit by a sinister voice who acts like this is just the first round in some demented game. Whether or not you really want to play, you do know that you don’t want to stay here.
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Posted: Wed Mar 08, 2023 8:10 am
Worm-Poot gave a long, slow blink and then proceeded to stare blankly at his surroundings. Trees, trees, and more trees. It had been a while since he had seen a tree. The thin echoes of light burned his eyes – when was the last time he had been let outside? He did not question the strange floating voice. Nor his apparent lack of memories. Usually, he found it was better not to ask too many questions – or even better, not to engage at all. Questions were not good. Questions led to punishments. “Worm-Poot.” He whispered quietly to himself, his voice strangely distorted around the long teeth that protruded from his mouth.
After all, this was nothing knew - another challenge set by his captors, surely. They thought him slow and dim-witted. They laughed as they set him impossible task after impossible task. They loved to watch him fail. They would laugh and laugh and call him names and have a merry old time. But Worm-Poot was not dumb, no. Worm-Poot just knew not to fight. He wiggled as the cold air touched his skin – but it did not phase him too much. Worm-Poot had lived in an underground cave for most of his life, and comparatively this was almost warm. The looming dark shadows of the trees dancing at the edge of his vision, which may have phased another individual, hardly registered for him. Everything always flickered in the dim torchlight below. That is, when he was even granted a source of light. The thing about living in a constant state of terror – eventually the terror becomes normal, and nothing phases you anymore.
And so Worm-Poot dug his toes into the dirt for just a brief moment, enjoying the feel of mud between his toes, and pottered off through the woods. His gait was not graceful, for his claws did not really lend themselves to walking through the undergrowth, but he made the best haste he could. He knew not to dilly-dally, and the sillier the looked, the more pleased his captors would be, surely…
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Posted: Wed Mar 08, 2023 8:11 am
The First Challenge – a Sea of Nettles
After what both felt like no time at all and an endless eon, Worm-Poot’s mindless amble through the woods came to a sharp stop as an unexpected stab of pain shot up his foreleg. He let out a wordless hiss, pulling his leg back out of the way and to safety. It burned. Not a low, gentle prickling, but a furious rush of heat. He hissed again, hopping around on three legs as he tried to crane down to look at the afflicted foot. Heat and pain. But – nothing obvious. He stared in confusion. The burning only intensified. No bite, no blood, no wound. What had hurt him? He cast his eyes furiously at the ground. Maybe a snake? Maybe a spider? There were many spiders in the caves. Sometimes they made a tasty snack. Sometimes they got a tasty snack out of him, and he would spend the next few days feeling very sick. But no, no bite mark. Nothing. Except furious burning on that one spot. He hissed again. It itched. He rubbed it against a nearby rock, hoping for some relief. After all, itching mosquito bites felt so good. But it did nothing. Only made his foot even angrier. Another hiss whistled out of his elongated teeth.
He cast his nose to the ground, looking for the culprit that had stung him. A wasp? But there was no buzz. He nosed through the undergrowth, looking for anything that could have hurt him. When suddenly – there it was again. He barely brushed against the strange leaves when agony shot through his muzzle and he pulled back, scrambling back several steps. Throbbing, itching, burning pain. His nose began to swell. “Worm-Poooooooot.” He exclaimed in frustration, “Sssssssssss.” The hiss was involuntary. But he had found his culprit – the biting plant. He studied it closely. And then looked up. And began to sweat a cold sweat. There in front of him, as far as his eyes could see, was nothing but more of it. The plant that would burn. The plant that would bite. His newest enemy – stinging nettles.
He looked back, but he knew that there would be no escape. The strange voice, his captors, they would not let him turn around. They would throw him face-first into the burning plant before letting him give up. No, Worm-Poot knew he had to be smart. Fighting to ignore the pain that was at the forefront of his mind, the little usdia began to think. The ground wasn’t safe. Could he go around? He looked about. No, it was everywhere. He could go below? His claws were very good at digging after all. But this was a matter of speed. He did not have weeks to dig a tunnel. No. Through it? His nose and foot throbbed in response as he shuddered. Not if there was any other way. Over? He paused, tilting his head. The trees were densely packed, branches intertwined, blocking out all sunlight, leaving the ground cold and dim below. Yes, maybe… Worm-Poot has never climbed a tree, but he was definitely willing to give it a go. He flexed his talons. While they were a hindrance on the ground, maybe, here, they would actually be a benefit. Gently at first, he tightened his claws around the nearest tree trunk. The grip was good, he realised to his surprise. And he was only small, his weight would not burden him much. He wiggled his tail in pleasure – yes, a good solution. And so he wriggled his way up the tree, much like a lizard, using his claws as purchase and tail as counterbalance. A little awkward at first, but he quickly fell into the rhythm. And so the strange creature made his way from tree to tree, walking carefully across the intertwined branches – until finally he made it across the stinging ocean.
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Posted: Tue Mar 28, 2023 4:14 am
The Second Challenge – Badger. Badger. Badger. Badger. (Mushroom Mushroom). 🐍
Worm-Poot wriggled his way down the tree trunk, glad to give his toes a rest. It turned out that tree climbing was hard work, even for someone as small as him. Its almost like usdia bodies aren't really built for such things - not that such a thought would ever have crossed Worm-Poot's mind. He stretched his painful digits, grimacing at a sharp splinter that had worked its way between them. Oh well. He blinked in a slow, reptilian fashion. Okay - what was he doing again? Right, getting out. As his master commanded, so must Worm-Poot do. Off he trotted once more through the undergrowth, knowing with a deep certainty that something else unpleasant definitely lay in wait for him...
An angry snuffle came through the foliage before him. He had approximately half a second to ponder that this was something he should be wary of - before a large black-and-white shape barelled into him, knocking him flat on his behind. And half a second later came the claws. Slashing and furious. They cut into his flank as Worm-Poot screamed. Searing pain flashed through him as every instinct yelled at him to scramble to his feet and run. The beast was furious and unrelenting - yelling at him to back away from her territory. Well, Worm-Poot did not need to be told twice. Whimpering pittifully, he tried to dodge the claws as best as he could and rolled away from her, frantically trying to get his legs under control so he could stand up. The creature - a badger - he realised, stood her ground, fur puffed out and ready for more blood. Worm-Poot dropped his head, grimacing with pain, and trying to look as small and pathetic as possible. There was no point in fighting, he never won.
The badger eyed him. And behind her stood three much smaller black-and-white balls. Worm-Poot understand, she had to protect her little Poots. Such was the way. He gave her his best apology for stepping foot on her home - "Worm-Pootsssssss." - and ran furiously away in what he hoped was the right direction. The badger considered giving chase, but she was pretty sure he had the message. He was no challenger for her.
Worm-Poot did not loot back, but ran and ran like his life depended on it. Until, suddenly, he tripped over an odd-looking mushroom and went flying out into the clearing at the edge of the forest. Oh. He was done? He was done! Maybe... He lay on the ground, eyes closed, taking the second to relax. That wasn't too bad compared to his normal challenges. He turned to look at his flank - it was covered in dry blood. He would have to clean it. It was a shame Werm-Toot was not here with him - she was good at dealing with such wounds. Worm-Poot hoped they were not also tormenting her. But such was life for him.
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