Catahecassa, Blackhoof, deer man, medicine man of his tribe. That's you.
You were just running through the Whitewood. Not very noble and ornate name, yet befitting. Your tribe has been wandering northern areas of Odursil, as dwarves, its once main inhabitants call it, as far as they remember, and the never ending winter is just normal in these lands.
Right now, you were looking for mosses, one particular lichen, and some cold-resistant herbs, with your partner, colleague and friend, Crackantler. You had enough of reagents and it was right time to catch up with the rest of your tribe, so you stopped.
You looked around, but no sane being in sight. You grunted like a proper deer, no answer to be heard.
"Gah, where is he..." you thought and spat on the snow. You moved on.
"By all spirits, Crack! Wha..."Your companion was laying under a tree, motionlessly, eyes closed. He had arrow, deep in left side of his chest, with blood pouring from the wound. It had already turned solid, but you could tell it's fresh. As you examined the body further, it was no doubt he died just few minutes ago.
"Crack..." you whispered, and spat on the ground again. You looked at the arrow. This wasn't work of animal men, by any chance. Dark thoughts were coming to your mind in grief, as you lost a friend, and only guy that could consult mushrooms and magic with you.
Your keen deer senses just sensed something. You turned your head quickly, and looked in direction, from where you could hear snow crumbling.
A figure was creeping, trying to be as sneaky as possible, away, trembling a little.
The choice is yours.
What do you want to do?DWARF FORTRESS -DRAWINGS-