The world tree looms large in the mythology of every culture, even its absence a statement, whether intentional or not. By way of an example, take the founding myths of the Plutash river-runners that lived in the sparsely populated region we know as the Southern Deltas today. By territory they would rival the largest empire in existence, and while it is for somebody else more familiar with the topic to even guess at their population at the height of their civilisation, there is enough archaeological evidence to suggest a thriving scholarly tradition throughout the many political structures they created, however alien it may seem to some of my more traditional colleagues.

As far as we know, they raised no actual gods to the firmament, and it appears that they were unaware of any contemporary ones either, if we ignore the hollow deities they worshipped themselves. No scholar that I am aware of has found mention of the World Tree, despite other contemporary peoples confirming its existence and impact. It appears that the Plutash people were not aware of the world tree at all, for no culture, no matter how arrogant, could ignore the impact this wonder would have on their myth making. Therefore, we can safely conclude that while a geographically massive civilisation with a complex social, economic and political structure, the Plutash people were a regional power at the most, and did not engage in global or continent spanning trade. In fact, their hostility to outsiders must have been quite fierce for word of the World Tree to not have reached them in such quantity as to require verification. Thus, we can make inferences about a culture's geopolitical standing based purely on its mythology and its relation to the World Tree.

To get back on track, it is my fervent belief that no one people have spent more time on the study of the origins, purpose and mechanics of the World Tree than the scholar-kings of the Ashkanian Empire. So much of what we know of the ancient world is from their writings, and so much of our current historiography is focused on the question of how we seek to interpret not what they have left us, but what they chose not to include in their vast underground libraries.

That being said, the people who seem to truly understand the world tree more so than any other would, in my humble estimation, be the Al-Sazine.

- Excerpt from notes taken during an introductory lecture by Harmdel Ess – 'The world tree as a tool of anthropological inference' given at the white tower consortium circa .265

I woke to dawn seeping through the trees, long shadows creeping up the valley and a cool mist rising gently from the river nearby.

My hunger sharpened my mind and stripped away any misgivings I may have harboured about my purpose today. I had made the decision to hunt, but had frustrated myself the afternoon prior trying to stalk and get close enough to creatures that I could plausibly kill. It was harder than I had imagined, and my failure had stung.

But from the cold embrace of failure, I'd struck upon an idea, and as I coaxed into the light, it warmed me. If I couldn't catch something myself, why not let myself be caught? I had fled from enough encounters with larger beasts to know that I was a sought-after prize in some circles, so why not let my potential meals do the work of finding and approaching me themselves?

I began to plan as I went through my morning ablutions. While I strode through the uneven, mossy embankment next to the small river, I considered how I could go about bringing down an animal large enough to consider me prey. I'd gotten incredibly lucky with the Tarkenzi Maned-Wolf and knew the likelihood of doing enough damage to a similar creature before it killed me was slim.

I also needed to win without injury and in a manner that I could repeat hundreds of times throughout my journey. Privately, I hoped that if these kills gave me enough experience to level a few times and increase my other attributes, I could perhaps do away with the grisly practice, but that was a consideration for later.

I looked up through the trees, to the ridgeline and the steep meadows between us, considering. A plan was forming, and I started to hike away from the river, cutting up towards the higher forest and the promise above.

I collected a few thick branches that looked fresh and supple enough. It was a delicate balance; they had to be dead long enough for me to break them away from their trunks, but not too brittle that they wouldn't stand up to a significant impact. I whittled the ends with my small eating knife as I walked, feeling a not-insignificant amount of satisfaction with each improvised spear I completed. Once I had six sharpened stakes prepared, I was reaching the limit of my capacity to carry them.

When I reached the invisible line delineating the forest from the meadows, over which only a few intrepid pines would dare encroach, I started to hike along the valley horizontally, skirting the tree line and looking for a suitable target.

The sun moved through the sky in its endless journey, and I tried not to think too hard about any parallels that could be drawn there with my own situation. I was starting to consider giving up and returning to my scavenging ways, but a find of a large group of raspberries gave me enough satiation to continue.

Only a few miles later, I found what I was looking for. This wasn't the first den of some kind I had found today, but unlike the others, there were signs of recent activity outside as well. Safely ensconced in a tree within sight of the den, I settled in to observe. Snuffling heralded the return of the den's occupant not long afterwards, and as I laid eyes upon the creature, I was glad to have not met it face to face. While I was keen to test myself against a true opponent of my calibre, I was not intending to do so without preparation and a few tricks up my sleeves just yet, and running into this boar without warning would have been suicide.

I was lucky to have discovered a creature that didn't hunt other human sized animals routinely. I would not be keen on trying my current plan out on a large hunting cat, for example, to say the least. I spent some more time observing the creature before it squeezed itself into its den and disappeared from sight – hopefully to rest, and not to come charging down at me as soon as I descended from my hideout.

The boar had a ruddy red coat and must have weighed in the region of two hundred pounds. I tried very hard to not think about what the short, stubby tusks on either side of its snout would do to my body if they impacted me, but that thought only gave me more motivation to prepare properly.

An hour later, and I was back in my perch, operation Drop Bear ready to begin. It may have had more holes than a leaky bathtub, but I intended to sail the seas of chance with it anyway. The first step in my master plan involved luring the boar from its den, the quicker the better. I wanted it startled, reactive, and as far from cautious as porcine-ly possible.

Slipping to the ground, I hurled rocks one after another at the chaotic jumble of bracken and bush that served as the front door of the creature's den. With my incredible powers of foresight, I had even laid out a bunch of stones with which to bombard the den from a respectable hundred feet away.

It took me a few attempts to get the range, but by the fourth rock, I was heaving them through the air like a prized shot-putter, crushing the boar's carefully managed entrance and causing clods of earth to erupt from the mouth of its den with each impact.

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I almost tripped in surprise when the boar emerged in a blaze of piggish glory, despite this being the very outcome I was hoping for. It squealed in rage at its rude awakening and charged directly at me without hesitation.

I turned and fled, with half an eye on the terrain in front of me, snatching quick glances behind to make sure I hadn't underestimated its speed. It was hot on my heels, closing the gap rapidly. A ringing inside my mind tried to distract me, but I focused on it just long enough to acknowledge the level in Sure-footed I had gained before pushing any such considerations from my mind.

I passed the marking cairn I had created earlier.

No more than thirty feet later, I jumped to catch a branch that hung above the ground. Latching on and swinging myself up as fast as possible, I was just in time to see the boar charging past, its front legs raised off the ground as it swung its tusked head at the air I'd inhabited not moments before. As it landed from its first attempt at goring me, I snatched up the horn I had placed in a nook on the slim branch above me, and enacted part two of my grand plan – the titular 'the drop bear'.

I leapt off the tree branch with the horn raised over my shoulder in an overhand grip and sailed down towards the wheeling boar. I brought the horn down as I landed on its back, driving the broken end deep between its shoulder and neck. Another tortured squeal split the air, and from my position on the creature's back, I felt the cry reverberate through me.

I rolled to the side as it spun in place trying to buck me off and managed to dismount without any holes appearing in my flesh, much to my delight and the boar's misery.

It oriented on me rapidly though, allowing me no time to catch my breath after the fall and subsequent impact. It pawed at the ground and charged again. I turned and fled, weaving through trees for a few heart-stopping seconds before emerging onto the top of a steep hillside covered in rocks. I hurtled down the boulder field, trusting my footing without thought.

I laughed as I leapt from rock to rock, barely touching the earth as I ran from the snorting mass of angry flesh behind me. Down the slope we flew, one leading and one following, like the mad dancing of a pair of crane flies on a warm summer's eve, no less chaotic for the difference in scale.

I reached the bottom of the field and barely slowed as I entered the forest below. I'd barely managed to stay ahead of the beast over advantageous terrain, and the wild forest I now sprinted through was where the boar's four stubby legs would excel. I'd planned for this though and only needed to make it a little further. A snorting huff rolled down the valley behind me, the sound bouncing around strangely, reflected by the steep slope of boulders above.

Bolting through the sparse trees, juking left and right between the trunks, I leapt over rocks and finally slid to a halt behind a particularly thick dead trunk that had made its grave of the forest floor. I stayed tucked behind the impromptu wooden barricade as the rhythmic drumming of hooves on stone thundered close behind me.

I tried to keep my breathing under control, but my eyes were alight and I could hardly contain my grin. I loved this feeling – the wild chase through the valley, the confidence that even though a single missed step might see me dead, my feet would land as surely as the sun would rise each morning.

When the beast closed in, I popped up, only my head and shoulders visible over the downed tree. I loosed a bellow of my own to draw its attention, and as it charged my way, closing those final few feet between us, time seemed to slow.

I saw the muscles in its back legs bunch, watched its neck dip, preparing to wrench its massive head up into the air – no doubt planning to drive its stubby tusks through my chest. I dropped back to the floor at the last second, seeking refuge behind the enormous tree trunk and twisting on the floor to watch as the boar's great bulk sailed over the tree trunk above me… to land directly into the small forest of sharpened stakes I had braced into the ground.

Three of the stakes were knocked askew, scoring shallow cuts along the boar's flank but unable to penetrate its thick, bristly hide and too weak to withstand its massive weight. They scattered on the ground at odd angles, lying flat and useless like kindling in a snowstorm.

I had dug deep though, bracing sticks the width of my arm at least a foot or two down into the loamy earth, and my work paid off as the other three held. Two of the remaining stakes snapped upon impact, bouncing off plates of bone and unable to take the strain. These did more damage, contributing to the pained squeals the creature released upon landing.

By far the most successful though was the stake that had been pushed deep into the beast's belly before shattering, lodging bits of wooden shrapnel in its stomach. Blood was already pooling on the ground as I pushed myself to my feet, rounding on the boar and watching it frantically try to reach its belly to dislodge the agonising spike buried within.

I watched its attempts to paw at its own belly grow feeble, and hoped that perhaps this would end here and now. Then the boar turned my way. I could see it accept its death – there was no surviving the damage I had done – but it seemed determined to make me pay for it all the same.

Pawing the ground, it charged again, lowering its head one final time to deliver its brutal punishment. I stood my ground, waiting until the last minute to jump aside and rushing back in immediately after avoiding its swipe.

It may have begun this battle with the physical advantage, but it was exhausted from blood loss and was wracked by constant, excruciating pain. I lunged for the horn still embedded in its shoulder and yanked it out and sideways, ripping out its throat with a roar of pent up emotion. Blood fountained over me, covering my face and chest, and I staggered away as the boar's legs gave out under it.

My back hit the fallen tree, and I slumped down, watching the last signs of life leave the beast as its blood soaked the earth below. Breathing hard through my nose, I tried to think through the buzzing in my mind, but it was all too much. The taste of blood, the feel of viscera coating my face and arms, the persistent noise in my head and the choking smell all around overwhelmed me entirely, and I fell to the floor, retching up red bile.

I panicked, thinking I must have been hit after all and that the adrenaline would wear off shortly to unveil a deep wound in my stomach, but after a frantic patting down, I found only a deep graze in my shoulder where a broken piece of one of my stakes had stabbed me, likely while still embedded in the boar.

The deep colour of the vomit inches from my face was the result of eating industrial quantities of raspberries and nothing else for an entire day.

I let the bitter feelings wash over me - fear and pain, self-loathing at both taking another creature's life in so brutal a fashion, and at being too weak to do so in a less cowardly way. Hatred that this was how I was forced to live, battling for each meal in an endless nightmare of pain, exhaustion and fear.

But I also felt satisfaction that I had managed to bring down such a creature without help, and joy in the simple act of surviving in the face of life-threatening danger.

The contradictory cocktail of emotions swirled through my brain, battling for primacy; to be the one I would feel first and most strongly. I let them fight it out, feeling my mind battered from one extreme to another until eventually acceptance won out, floating alone within my mind, abused and tired, but still present. Acceptance of the choices I had made today, and the choices I would make in future too.

I rose to a sitting position, and forced my attention to the messages waiting behind the pounding clamour in my head.

You have killed a Bloodmane Hill Boar (level 12). Experience gained.

You have reached level 7. Attribute points available for allocation.

Skill gained – Simple Traps. Open skill slots available, skill integrated.

Skill gained – Improvised Weapons. Open skill slots available, skill integrated.

Simple Traps – Passive. You are able to plan in advance of life-or-death struggles, utilising the terrain to your advantage, and altering the environment in simple ways to suit your needs. Further levels will provide innate knowledge of the best materials and construction methods to create simple traps to suit your purpose.

Improvised Weapons – Passive. You have shown remarkable ability to use whatever is within grasp to bring down your foes. Whether it is a part of the world around you or a part of your former enemies themselves, anything can be a weapon with the right application of knowledge, skill and intent. Further levels increase the efficacy and toughness of weapons you have created yourself from scavenged materials.

I swallowed thickly and acknowledged the new addition to my skills, crawling to my feet and drawing my knife, before beginning the grisly task of butchering my kill. My kill. The emotional turmoil from moments earlier tried to rear its ugly head again but I found it easier to suppress in light the amazing gains from the experience.

As I let the meat preparation skill guide my fingers in the mechanical motions of butchering the carcass, I thought ahead to how I could refine this plan for next time, because while this was without doubt one of the most emotionally confusing moments of my life so far, I knew it was only the beginning.

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