Dodge Tanner’s Highly Unrecommended Travelogue - #17: Thunder Deer

Dodge Tanner’s Highly Unrecommended Travelogue Entry #17: A Shocking Encounter

I would like to formally renounce all claims that the open plains are safe. In fact, I’d like to propose legislation against calling anywhere without walls "safe."

Why? Because today, dear readers, I was smote.

By deer.

Yes, deer. The four-legged, leaf-chewing, picturesque woodland critters that should not wield lightning like a wrathful god.

One moment I was studying the horizon, marking landmarks on my map as I charted it. Thunder boomed in the distance. A Storm must be coming soon. Yet, as I strolled across the Ashford Lowlands—smug, confident, and blissfully unaware of my situation, I found myself very rudely introduced to the concept of Thunder Deer.

The first warning was the humming air, which, had I been armed with the knowledge I now hold, I should have immediately fled from.

The second warning was their beautiful glowing antlers, which I mistook for an incredible natural phenomenon and not a deadly precursor to instant incineration. The Thunder Deer's last warning that it had reviewed its options and chosen Fight.

The final announcement that I have overstayed my welcome and now Enemy Number One on the Cervidae fulmination hit list was the fact that the largest buck looked directly at me, lowered its amazing rack of antlers, and committed a horrible war crime against my person.

And, as I stood there, feet frozen, eyes locked ahead, I realized that the thunder storm wasn’t rolling in.

The storm was already here.

And it had Antlers!

"Ah nuts, this is bad." The lightning struck the tree next to me before I could even finish forming the thought.

And thus began the worst footrace of my life.

I ducked. I Dashed. I Distracted. I Dived. I screamed, I mean roared in what was definitely a fearsome fashion!

Bolts of raw energy sliced past me, close enough to singe the fabric of his leathers and my very soul as the herd of Thunder Deer chased me through the forest.

One deer blasted the ground in front of me, another sent electric tendrils crawling through my boots, and one particularly vindictive beast decided the best way to ruin my day was to drive me toward a puddle.

A puddle. Of Water.

While holding a metal buckler.

Readers, I ask you—how does one properly convey the sheer existential dread of realizing, in real time, that one is about to be forcibly turned into a power source?

Because I can assure you, for me it was a moment of profound personal introspection.

And immediate regret.

My foot touched the puddle. The lightning touched me. The world went white.

My hair lifted in ways hair should not lift.

My limbs attempted to both lock rigidly and flap as if trying to escape by flight.

My bladder did things my Editor reminds me I am not allowed to put in writing.

My spirit briefly evacuated my body to lodge an official complaint with the universe.

But, by some miracle, I did not perish. (Though my dignity is still recovering.)

And yet, friends, despite the charred, ozone scented destruction… the charred clothing... the unnerving scent of burning me in the air... the leathers cold and damp from the puddle, yes the puddle!

I awoke with a record breaking headache, a body unwilling to obey the smallest commands, and.... a treasure.

Because, pulsing and burning against my painfully scorched chest, was a Thunderheart Core—a rare charged gemstone literally born from lightning.

I did not look for it.

I did not steal it.

I was assaulted by it.

Which raises a philosophical, and potentially legally binding, question—does it count as theft if the artifact personally attacked me first?

Thus concludes today’s horrifying lesson in nature’s boundless cruelty.

Would I ever attempt to retrieve another Thunderheart Core?

Absolutely not.

Would I still brag endlessly about this encounter?

Absolutely yes.

And, deer readers, let this be known— if another soul ever tries to tell me "Deer are cute and harmless," I will personally electrocute them with my newly acquired magic Lightning rock of deer-lover Smiting.

Because, as you and I now know, deer can be vengeful, petty foes.

And unfortunately, so can I.