On getting back to the chest he'd been given, Wilson built a fire pit, put on his new tam o'shanter, and set to refining his logs and rocks so he could build an alchemy engine - he'd gotten just enough gold from the boulders to make the machine work, and so, come nightfall, he had the ability to craft more useful equipment, even if he didn't have the materials.
Otto von Chesterfield, Esq. slept as peacefully as ever as darkness descended fully on the fake world, and Wilson eyed his friend. Monsters in this place didn't like Otto von Chesterfield any more than they liked Wilson, and the little creature had no means of defending itself; given how dangerous this place was compared to where he'd been, bringing the living chest with him anywhere probably wouldn't be wise. His only friend would have to be a pet to come home to, rather than a traveling companion, loathe as Wilson was to leave his friend sitting in the cold snow. He placed the Eye Bone by the fire, promising himself that he would keep the fire pit lit as much as he could, and waited for morning.
There was no need to return to the tallbird path for now, but none of the remaining three bridges seemed all that welcoming. It did occur to Wilson that he could make a crock pot if he burned enough trees - the three spiky trees that had been pre-burnt when he'd gotten here would make it easy, if nothing else - but he wanted to hurry fast enough to not need it…No procrastinating, he told himself; the spider bridge is closest, I'll see if I can get past that next. I've done it once, after all.
"Stay safe while I'm gone, pal," Wilson murmured to Otto von Chesterfield, and the little creature hopped, in a way Wilson hoped wasn't protest. "It's not safe here," he told the living chest. "I don't want you to get killed. I'll be back soon, I promise."
With that, he turned and set out for the spider bridge.
The nests were all 3-tiered, and not packed tightly so much as spaced out along incredibly thin bits of land that were organized in a geometrical pattern. At least it doesn't look like a maze, Wilson told himself, and he started running. The spiders took exception to his presence, of course, and he had nothing protecting him, but he'd learned from last time, and managed to get by with only a single bite before the land opened up…though the abundance of spiders didn't lessen.
Across the bridge, he still found himself in an area virtually carpeted with spider nest webbing, with very few clear patches to traverse. Here, though, there were boulders, and stray gold nuggets littered the ground. Wilson had seen a place like this before, and wove his way between the nests on a hunch; sure enough, he soon found himself in a thick forest of lumpy, coneless pine trees. Even here, there were still spider nests, though they were far fewer, and by dusk, Wilson had at least managed to shake off every clattering critter that had been actively chasing him, though of course they all came out to wander once the sun dipped down to its halfway point.
Even before being taken from his home, Wilson had not liked spiders; by the time he'd found the portal, he'd come to despise them with a passion. This, then, was not the sort of place he wanted to be, but he took out his homing device, and found that it was humming loudly enough to be pointing him in the right direction. Deeper into the woods, he seemed to be getting close, but had to change direction and turn right…and within moments, to his surprise, he found himself in a swamp. It wasn't that far off course from where the spiders had been, and rather than follow the device further, he doubled back and followed the border of the swamp along the forest, eventually discovering the edge of the rocky terrain carpeted in spiders, and where it met the purple mud.
All sorts of roars, growls, and other violent noises were already sounding through the air in a terrible cacophony, and Wilson could see several battles in progress between spiked tentacles and armies of spiders. Given time, he could get a lot of silk and glands from this mess, even more tentacle spikes if he ever needed another. Rather than pursue whichever thing was in this portion of the world, he chose to linger around the area where the spider population thinned, though he had to be extremely careful - a lashing from a tentacle injured him badly for being distracted, but he managed to get to safety, and he didn't make that mistake again. When night fell, he used a torch to burn the spiky trees that grew so plentiful in swamps, and the light and heat they gave off kept him warm and safe through the night. In the daylight, he chopped down what he'd burned, gathering lumps of charcoal, before examining the battlefields of the previous day, dashing in to quickly scoop up some pieces of silk or healing glands from the dead spiders littering the ground, always mindful of any chance that the tentacles may have been victorious anywhere.
A farm like this would have been a godsend back in the first world, but here, after gathering up more than a dozen pieces of silk and nearly as many glands, the latter of which he mashed against his injuries quickly, dusk fell, making it too dangerous to keep harvesting, and Wilson stopped and turned away, taking out the homing device to keep searching. He crossed paths with some fishmen, and when they too fell afoul of tentacles, he got a few fish to eat. Eventually, he found the crumbling stone walls and evil flowers that surrounded the box thing, and he picked it up, leaving the spear and garden gnome where they were - he wouldn't need a spear here, that much was certain. Once the box was in his pocket, the device fell silent, and he put that away too.
Then, on his way back, he started hearing the barking of hounds. Those are back? he thought, mildly concerned, and he chose to stay in the swamp and wait for them. Night came, and he burned more spiky trees, now in hopes of saving up his logs, and the hounds came in the morning, only to swiftly die to the tentacles. It was only the two hounds, and they'd taken so long to come…it wasn't unlike his first experience with the beasts, at least as far as he could recall, but it was definitely another reason to hurry.
Finally, he was back among the spiders, and he gathered more remains from among the battlegrounds, bitter that he needed to use up so many glands before gathering ash with which to make a more effective healing paste. Gritting his teeth, he left the swamp behind and tried to dash through the webbing - one or two more bites, he could handle, but of course, he had no security, the touchstone he'd activated hadn't been in this world. Though he didn't emerge unscathed, before the next night, he was back with Otto von Chesterfield.
"Hey pal," he said, digging up a nearby grass tuft he'd cut down and tossing it into the fire pit, which blazed to life. "Sorry I took so long. Say…" He thought a moment, then took out the box thing and sat down beside his friend. "Can I trust you with this?" he asked the living chest. "I need it to get out of here, and I don't know if it can be damaged."
The rotund creature hopped, its tongue still hanging out as it panted like a dog, and Wilson smiled, gently prying open the mouth that made up most of Otto von Chesterfield's body and stowing the box thing inside.
"Thanks, pal," he said as he closed the mouth-lid.
Feeling better about not leaving his friend out of the goings-on, he set to making a crock pot. He was hungry, and he'd picked up a couple of chunks of purple, toxic meat from the swamp as well as the other supplies; dashing out quickly to pick some berries, he cooked up a batch of meatballs, and moaned with relief as he filled his growling stomach - the carrots and fish had only done so much. The meat from the walrus, he cooked and ate straight, and that was enough to satiate him for a good while.
Of the two remaining bridges, oddly enough, the spiral of tentacles seemed a little less daunting - tentacles couldn't chase him, after all, and so long as he kept moving, there was no reason to think he wouldn't be fine. Even so, he crafted a log suit for himself, stretching thin the last of his grass and wishing he had the means for a helmet. When morning dawned, he was sure to pick some more grass on the way to the tentacle spiral, prioritizing that over speed, and so it was already dusk by the time he was running across the path that curled inwards to a center point, then out again in the other direction, bridging the ocean between a safe grassland and a more conventional swamp.
So much swampland! Wilson thought as he reached a point he could stop safely, though this was as spider-dense as the swamps he was used to. A path was worn in the mud, and he followed it, soon finding a staked pig head. He didn't have a hammer, and though he could technically make one, he didn't have enough grass to spare that he would be sure he could stay warm and safe through the night if he spent it all now. Still, he made a mental note of it and kept walking. When he took out the homing device, the signal was faint, but not too faint, and he followed the path away from the bridge he'd taken.
Then, shortly before nightfall, the chilling, bone-shaking, raspy sound of an enormous monster rattled through the air.
Oh no, Wilson thought, feeling all the blood drain from his face. Oh no, no, no, no, no!
That sound meant only one thing: the Deerclops.
Okay, Wilson told himself, trying to stop his knees from shaking, no need to panic. All I have to do is find the thing on this side of the bridge, then head back, I can run away from the Deerclops and by the time I get back I'll be safe - there's no way it can survive a path of tentacles that long! Heck, even on this side, I'm sure it'll be distracted by tentacles and fishmen, as long as I stay away from it I'll be okay.
Still, hearing its unearthly growls as night fell was as terrifying as anything in this fake world could possibly be. Even more so was the ground below him shaking before the sun even rose, as the monster of winter began stomping its way through the land. Tonight, burning trees was a necessity, as Wilson did not want to stay put; torch in hand, he burned spiky trees, thorn bushes, and reed clusters alike, wanting nothing more than to just get away, get away, get away!
Morning dawned, and Wilson put away his torch and just ran, and eventually, the sound of the Deerclops's hooves pounding the earth faded, as it presumably chose to find something else to destroy. Wilson was still catching his breath as he reached the edge of the swamp, and found a grassland dotted with flowers, as well as the nests of angry bees standing among normal beehives, all of which were packed much closer together than he'd ever seen before.
Really? he thought, annoyed, but he would take angry bees over the Deerclops, at least. Not slowing his pace, he ran through the bees' territory, angering two nests with his mere existence, but the mad buzzers couldn't fly fast enough to catch him, and soon enough, he was in a more normal grassland. Upon checking the homing device, it was a lot louder here, and Wilson walked further, following the signal now, until the land changed to a normal forest, and then a pig hut marked the location of the crank thing. Wilson took it, and the free axe, and turned back around, not stopping for a moment. Besides, the homing device didn't indicate there was anything else this way anyway.
Back in the swamp, the Deerclops was wreaking havoc, spiders and fishmen and tentacles alike were trying to attack it and it was smiting them all with fists of ice. Luckily, it was too distracted to notice Wilson, and Wilson did not stop to try to harvest anything from the carnage; he just ran until he was across the tentacle bridge and back in safe territory.
Relieved beyond measure, Wilson slowed his pace as he returned to his camp. On the way, he passed a couple of pengull nests, but the birds had all vanished, leaving behind stale eggs. Choosing not to complain, Wilson gathered them up, though it certainly seemed strange for the pengulls to die - they usually did that a day or two before winter's end, but the weather hadn't changed at all.
When he finally returned to Otto von Chesterfield, the moon was full, and the rotund creature was wide awake, though its insides weren't full of magic enough for it to transform. Given more time, Wilson could have performed more experiments on his friend, but with three of five things accounted for - and only one more bridge to cross - he felt too close to leaving to bother. He gave the crank thing to the living chest, lit his fire pit, cooked all his eggs and ate most of them, and waited out the night.
One bridge left, he thought, turning to where the clockwork chess pieces had stood between him and further progress. The sheer number of them, all slumbering on a patch of marble-floored land together, was intimidating, but Wilson could only run. He'd been too panicked by the Deerclops to gather pig skin for a helmet, but at the last minute, he decided he didn't have enough on him that was important enough to warrant a backpack, and he put on the log suit before running straight for the knights, bishops, and worst of all, the one rook. Time to storm the castle.
The metal beasts were slow to rouse, and Wilson tried to keep to the edges of the bridge. They chased him, and one bishop managed to fire a shot that landed solidly against his wooden armor, but then he was across. It was difficult to tell, though - while the land opened up, marble trees, statues, and pillars stood on patches of marble flooring that were dotted with evil flowers, speckling the landscape that was otherwise rocky and, strangely enough, swampy in some places. It was like the confused land he'd grown familiar with near his first home base back in the first fake world, just with different terrains.
And, what was worse, clockwork chess pieces sporadically slumbered here as well.
Still, there were boulders, and Wilson decided to mine a few more, as he was out of rocks, and still had hopes of making some salve the next time he stopped to get some ash - fighting his way to the wooden thing while a walrus camp stood nearby was not going to be without risk. Strangely, the homing device was barely humming at all, even on this side of the fourth bridge, but he kept walking away from where he'd come, hoping to find something.
Then, well into dusk, he did: another bridge.
Unlike anything he'd ever seen before, this land bridge was littered with bones. Not human bones, as far as he could tell, but it still made for a creepy sight. The bones heaped together in mounds in a couple of places, and those mounds seemed to be making growling noises, but when Wilson checked the homing device again, it confirmed he needed to cross.
Nervous, he kept walking, glad he was still wearing some amount of protection. When he neared the bone mounds, to his alarm, they began barking, and hounds emerged from the white heaps. Not wanting to stick around, Wilson ran, but only a couple of the fanged creatures gave chase, and when he reached the other side - a small patch of grassland outside a forest - he turned and whacked his pursuers until they died.
Not so bad, he thought, and the homing device was buzzing wildly when he took it out. I guess those bone mounds are where hounds live…Might I have found some at the edges of the first world? Eyeing the mounds from a distance, he considered trying to smash them, then shook his head. That wouldn't be worth the fight. I don't have a bone to pick with the owners. Really.
He gathered some grass and twigs, then followed his homing device, and as night fell, he found the ring thing sitting in a circle of evil flowers on a patch of grass in the middle of the woods. The little plants were so close, Wilson decided the noxious-smelling flowers could serve a purpose; with the torch he already had out, he lit the ring on fire, granting him a bit of warmth before forming a circle of fifteen piles of ash. He picked them all up, then lit a campfire for himself, as he was still cold, though unfortunately there wasn't much he could safely burn to keep it going through the whole night. Still, he used his torch to fend off the rest of the darkness, and picked up the added ash from the campfire, giving him enough ash for eight batches of salve, so long as he could get that many glands from the plentiful spiders, which would not be difficult, all things considered.
Then, the sun rose, and a wave of warmth washed over the world. The fiery ball of light was higher in the sky, and as Wilson watched, the snow all melted away, redbirds fluttering to the damp grass that lacked the blue tint of winter.
Without any warning or indication it might happen, summer had suddenly arrived.