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Name: Rowan
Race: Oblivionite
Class: Civilian
Stage: Apprentice
Creatures Tamed: 0
Attempts at this Creature: 1
Creature being Attempted: Draugur

Rolling to Catch, take two
53 + 10 = 63
FAIL

Rowan arrived at the marshy stand of trees where she had spotted what had appeared to be a small colony of Draugur. She was determined to catch and tame one of them, but she knew that her time was running out. The blood moon would only remain in the sky for a few more weeks, and then she would lose her chance altogether. Draugur came out to mate during the blood moon, but during the rest of the year they remained silent and isolated and impossible (or at least really difficult) to tame and catch. She had dressed in dark clothing to help prevent herself from being spotted and spooking the birds. She wasn't entirely certain why it had to be a Draugur. Certainly there were friendlier and more social animals to tame. More attractive animals as well. But she supposed it was the challenge of the thing that really appealed to her. The difficulty level was high, which meant the bragging rights and the sense of accomplishment would also be rewarding.

She crept quietly towards the stand of trees with her bucket and laid out her offering of bloody meat. She set her snare up carefully - she wouldn't want to harm the creature she caught, only immobilize it enough so she could get it home and begin to train it. She was hoping that in this colony would be some younger and more foolish Draugur. During her last attempt, the bird had been old and clever and had completely taken advantage of the young Oblivionite. Rowan was still certain that a snare was the way to go when it came to catching a bird. Or perhaps it was sheer stubbornness, that her idea just had to work because it had been her idea. Of course, if that had been the case she would never have admitted it. Not a chance.

Once the snare was set, she crept back into some thick brush, squatting on the boggy ground and managing to somehow get everything damp. But she was ready to be patient, she would wait here all night if she must. As the moon traveled higher into the sky, there were still no signs of the birds and Rowan felt herself growing first bored, and then tired. She was young, it was very much past her usual bedtime. She pinched herself several times, determined to see the night through. But it was late, and tiredness enveloped her.

Rowan awoke to thin morning sunlight. Her whole body felt stiff and sore, and she was freezing. Soaked with dew and with odiferous bogwater, her clothing was surely ruined. But it would all be worth it, if she had caught her quarry. Rising to a sitting position, Rowan looked hopefully towards the stand of trees. Her snare still sat out, untouched. As did the pile of meat she had left. It appeared no birds had even come by the stand last night. Had she somehow come to the wrong place? Miscalculated? Had the birds moved on? Cold and wet and frustrated, Rowan gathered up her things and trudged dejectedly homeward.