Now, I’m a Native American, albeit of the Cherokee Nation. The Wendigo originates from the Algonquian tribe, generally around the Great Lakes of Northern United States and into Canada.
There are different ways the peoples believed you could transform/become a Wendigo.
One way is invoking the name. By doing so, the spirit of a Wendigo could possess the person, usually via their dreams. This would trigger a full transformation.
Another way, is by resorting to cannibalism. The Algonquian see cannibalism as the most heinous act a person could resort to and it would be better you died without that blemish on your soul.
Once transformed into a Wendigo, the person is never satisfied. Always starving. Will gorge themselves and never be full.
Now in the myths, the fully transformed Wendigo is an emaciated, gaunt creature. So emaciated that all of it’s bones are visible beneath the pale flesh. The skin is a pale, ash grey, and the eyes are so sunken in that they’re not even visible.
The Wendigo is so starved that it will even resort to eating its own flesh. Gnawing on its lips until they’re bloody and essentially gone.
Now, on a psychological side. There is something called Wendigo Psychosis.
This is used to explain a human who has a sudden desire and craving for only human flesh, even when other food sources are available.
* Also, let it be known, I don’t know everything about this myth. I’m not even an authority. That’s not even my tribe, as I stated.
A/N: This is sort of my attempt at a what-if Uncharted Realms. It’s a bit soppy, so fair warning (and it is, somewhat unsurprisingly, unedited.) Edit: I’m a moron and completely forgot to say many thanks to flavoracle for doing most of the design for the custom card.
Jace landed with a heavy jolt, head reeling. His stomach flip-flopping, he dropped to his knees and vomited up the salad he had had for dinner with Lavinia. For several minutes, he was entirely occupied with emptying his stomach, but, eventually, he managed to look up wearily.
He had no idea where he was. He had left Ravnica after hearing some disturbing rumors about the creatures he had seen evidence of on Zendikar, had tracked the rumors to a particular plane he had visited before, had headed for that plane—and found nothing. The Eternities in the area were surging with dissonance and chaos, but there was no reality there for him to land on, and he had nearly been consumed in the ravaging tumult. Only a quick flicker of familiarity from somewhere—not “nearby”, because there was no sense of nearness or farness within the Eternities, but somewhere he could sense—had been enough to save him.
He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, giving himself a moment to look around and calm down before he tried to make his way back to Ravnica. The strange sense of familiarity intensified as the smell of bile cleared from his nostrils to be replaced by the stinging, acrid smell of smoke and oil. Gazing out across the landscape, he saw a ravaged countryside with flickering fires and smoke rising from the meager remnants of forests. Towering over it were a number of vast circles, sparking and crackling in places with mana and lightning.
The mage-rings. The thought floated up, unbidden, from somewhere in Jace’s subconscious. It seemed eerily familiar, but unconnected to anything that his mind told him that he had experienced, although he knew all-too-well that that meant very little.