Every Monday we release a new featured Bounty Boss, sharing a bit of lore and information about the Seven Realms most treacherous creatures. We are sharing our backlog of Monster Mondays for our Steam users to enjoy.
Possumis
Race: Wererodent
Location: Sawmill
Tall and mangy with a twitching rat-like face, Possumis, like most Wererodents, was a keen hoarder of discarded bobbles. But unlike his miserly peers who were content to do little else in life other than sit atop their moldy piles of rubbish in greedy silence, Possumis had far grander dreams and a much livelier tongue. He loved to talk and was particularly gifted at spinning fantastical yarns. His imagination crackled and soared, as did his ambitions, for the young Wererodent’s eyes had long been fixed upon the glimmering horizon where unexplored lands and exotic adventures awaited him. Consequently he hoarded not rubbish, but useful items he would need for his upcoming journey, all of which carefully went into the hefty rucksack Possumis wore across his furry broad shoulders.
One afternoon, needing only a few more odds and ends for his trip and growing more thrilled by the minute, Possumis decided to scavenge around the bustling sawmill in search of stray tools. But as sightings of gargantuan Wererodents strolling about in the middle of the day tended to produce hysteria, he thought it prudent to while away the hours in a nearby shed until nighttime. It was a dingy little building with rotting floorboards, several of which promptly crumbled beneath Possumis’ heavy tread, sending him tumbling down into darkness, where he landed with a painful thud upon the muddy ground of what appeared to be a forgotten earthen cellar.
Squinting and limping about, trying to get his bearings, Possumis blindly stepped right into the metallic jaws of a steely Wererodent trap which snapped firmly shut, clamping its silver teeth into his meaty leg. Possumis howled in agony, but his drastic injury soon felt trivial in comparison to the direness of his circumstances. Panic set in. He frantically heaved and pulled, then tried attacking the rusty metal beast with every gadget in his rucksack, but it was no use. He was hopelessly stuck in the cruel trap, and going nowhere at all.
When the little girl appeared in the darkness, Possumis, starving and wretched, his leg black with rot, couldn’t even guess how many weeks had passed, for he’d long since stopped counting them. There was little left of Possumis. But something like joy flickered in him, and he managed to smile at the little girl with the bright red hair and the gentle eyes who hovered shyly above him with a softly lit candle in her hand. He saw that, rather like him, she was in poor shape. Thin and sickly, her pale face was smeared with dirt as was her tattered dress. Despite her frailty, she tried to release the trap confining him. When she could not, the child wept and sank miserably to the ground. Possumis hoarsely consoled her, and asked her name. He learned it was Bronwen, and that she needed a place to hide.
Her words pained him, and Possumis longed to rip and claw at the vile goblin Bronwen’s pitiless father had sold her to. The young Wererodent fervently told her as much, and went on to provide the girl with a lengthy account of the colorfully macabre plans he had in store for the goblin. Bronwen smiled, and to Possumis’ added delight, even giggled. He thought a moment, but grew suddenly bashful, for he was after all a frightening creature. Still, Possumis shyly asked his new friend anyway. Would she like to go on a trip with him?
Possumis’ nimble paws quickly fashioned a small rucksack for Bronwen, which she excitedly filled with nothing but plump pastries, and, after quickly disposing of the vile goblin followed by a brief detour to the stone house atop the hill to watch the Royal Guards arrest her father, Possumis and Bronwen, rucksacks securely fastened, thrillingly directed their steps toward the glimmering horizon and set forth on what was to become a truly glorious journey together.
The old widow thought for sure the poor beast caught in the rusted trap was dead. But Possumis stirred. As it had been some months since she’d last checked her traps, she marveled at how any creature could have survived for so long, all alone and in the dark. The widow was irritated with herself though, for the Wererodent was by now just a desiccated pile of skin and bones and his shriveled pelt would bring her nothing. She decided not to club him, and sprang the trap open instead. But the beast didn’t move, just kept whispering gibberish to an invisible little girl next to him. The old widow impatiently nudged the Wererodent out of the trap with her foot, and told him to be off.
Possumis can often be glimpsed wandering about in the vicinity of the dingy little shed. Though he has never left the area, and likely never will, he and his friend Bronwen continue to happily explore mysterious and exciting new lands together, and such sights they have seen! One can only imagine.