A wendigo stepped out of the mists, standing thrice Tycon's size and wearing an incredibly large antlered skull. Saliva dripped down from its lipless mouth and jagged teeth, burning the white snowy landscape a corroding black. Its long, lanky arms ended in wicked, gnarled claws with bits of rotten meat, trapped beneath its nails. It chortled in echoing laughter, the bones of its face threatening to burst through its taut, leathery skin.
⟬ Ancient Wendigo, Gold-Rank Undead. ⟭
Hm. Tycon flourished his sword. The creature's appearance was disappointedly predictable. Compared to the beast's lesser kin, the Ancient was larger, stronger, and... would probably be faster, due to the rank difference. Its weakness lied within the fact that its attacks would be straightforward.
