Gryph STR pass

The waif holds the knife out before her, a warmth ebbs through her. Her right hand twitches wildly, then takes over, guiding her arm into the gryph’s delicate neck. The poly-pedal snaps it’s beak, clapping down with serrated teeth, but catching only a few curls. Pulling the knife out, the errant hand guides the point into the eye socket of the Gryph, all while she clutched its bloodied neck feathers as passenger to the act. With a grand splash into the water below the reign of the autonomous hand ended. Whole, she dragged the bird from the fetid waters.

“You can do this Havilah. It’s easy, most butchers do this every day,” she muttered to herself dripping sanguine from her fingers onto her toes. Her dress was now a mix of blood, sweat, and muddy algae. Anxiously poking it, the autonomy of the hand pushed her fingers once more, enjoying the bloodshed, savoring its taste.

Inside the intestines were even more phycomids, some in the process of digesting. The mix of fluids and malodors was too much to bear.

…

Walking home, she glanced at her hand, a frothy white with thin fingers and a dainty size. Not the hand of a bladesman, the hands of a delicate flower, she thought.

“Are you my friend?” She asked out loud to her hand, trying to engage in discourse.

She moved it as though it were her own, and nothing else stirred.

“No one has protected me but my mother…perhaps we are bound for one another? Maybe you’re nothing malicious at all? A spirit sent to guide me?” Pausing, she turned hesitated when uncovering her veins and knuckles. “Are you a demon? Do you want to hurt me?” the waif asked the hand with the concern. “Surely not, you saved me. I would have died, or worse.”

Resolved, she drew her knuckles into a fist and stated to her hand, “friends.”

…

She left the forest with many clues, and the spirit fed.

+4 Perception

+1 Strength