Hunting

The first battle was won, but the journey has only just begun. More and more shall come, the endless journey of Light.

As I was walking out alane
I heard twa corbies making mane
The ain unto the tother did say,
"Whaur shall we gang and dine today?"*

I paced the small inn room. I'd made it Lakeshire as dark was falling and taken a room in a lower class inn, just another anonymous, scruffy sellsword. Not for the first time, I frowned and thought about my next steps. The gold I spent had brought a name, a minor noble and Redridge landowner. Unfortunately, the man had gotten wind of the hunt and had left town in a hurry, accompanied by a Kaldorei.

 The sterile scent of quarantine gradually gave way to the richer, spicier aroma of hot food being prepared as harried volunteers busily worked on our next meal, their efforts coordinated through thick linen masks in a flurry of hushed voices. 

 Down the hallway I followed, past the ornately carved bannister and decorative drapings of silk and taffeta, enduring fixtures of the building's previous life as a tavern. The trappings of its new incarnation greatly overshadowed these vivid remnants of the past, as the rustle of sweat-dampened sheets, fevered nightmare nonsense and the anguished moans of the sick and the dying echoed through the elegant hallway.

Continued from Trail's End, Part 1

The most useful aspect of being an expert tracker isn’t the ability to recognize and follow just about any trail. The most useful aspect is the ability to recognize what a trail looks like so completely you can make one yourself. Any trail. Any type. Anywhere. From a deer’s meandering path through the forest to the marks a tauren’s hooves make on wet sand.

Here I was working with rocks, dust, dry scrub, pockets of aspen and birch with their flickering golden leaves, and dense growths of conifers. A little spare - not like the thick forests of Hillsbrad around Dalaran where I’d learned the craft - but workable. I walked on the hunched backs of the stones, scuffing the gravel between them here and there, reaching out to break or bend a branch in the way. Others I pushed aside. After all, this trail wasn’t meant to be mine.

The fire crackled nearby.  Blood was everywhere.  This camp was going to be a mess to clean up in the morning, but I wasn’t worried about it at the moment.  Right now, my knife slid repeatedly along flesh and skin and bone, skinning and bleeding creature after creature we had slain in a haze of bloodrage.  I was armored rather simply in snug-fitting dark leathers and my midnight-green scouting cloak.  I pushed a lock of hair, matted with sweat, from my face to glance at my companion.  The General whuffed a long exhale beside me, sated as he was on his share of our kill. 

His blood-stained muzzle was a testament to his prowess and ferocity, which I had been warned of time and again by Ari, but never witnessed until this night.  We had moved in concert as consummate killers, cutting a swath through the forest, harrowing our prey to the ground without mercy, side by side, tooth and knife, again and again. 

Quite against propriety, better judgement, and perhaps simply to spite the absurdity of this sickness situation...I up and left town after being told I should quarantine.

The Call of the Hunt is not one to be ignored.  You've ignored enough of your desires for far too long, Drifter.

She followed me, followed my heart: to hunt, to drift, in Draenor again.

Potential mates.  Assessing each other's prowess, hunting together.  It is the way of things, and is good.

She seems to appreciate Outland as much as I do.

I sit, and wait.  Have I prepared all I must?  Blades sharpened, arrows coated with venom.  Songs have been sung, the dances been done.  The hot, dry wind blows over me, I feel the sand under my armor wear at my skin.  All has been prepared; I know when my prey will come.  Tomorrow, the hunt will end.

My mind wanders, even as my eyes remain vigilant.  A traitor, she called me, the daughter of the sands, and I could not deny.  Did Sheshafi see me as such, too?  One who does not fight for his people, one whose only loyalty is to himself?  Once, I was.  I took the egg out of fear, for myself and for her.  I kept her out of duty, because she gave me her love, the daughter of the god, and I gave her of my own, as well.  The dead will not care for my reasons, or my words.  Perhaps I could have fought with them, and we could have won.  It does not matter, now.

It was so easy, little butterflies and jars.

Sit in the sun and cry, weep, wail, snivel, sob and bawl
I am a just a little girl such things attract such nice people
Like the Fuzzy hand that laid on my shoulder

Nel loped through the woods on all fours, moonlight flickering through the trees as she ran. Wearing simple leather armor, her mail armor would have been far too noisy for this. Breathing hard as she ran, enjoying the cold air whipping about her. That tantalizing scent on the wind, though her mind was having trouble concentrating on the hunt. Dwelling more on her earlier meeting and encounter with that man others had called Gyll.

Run.

Stop, sniff the ground.

Run again.

The beast's mind barely even registered the thoughts as it tore through the forest at breakneck speeds after its prey. It didn't register the pain of the thorns piercing its skin as it broke through a patch of bramble without stopping and kept chasing the stag. To its right and left were wolves all pursuing the same prey. The beast roared as its legs compressed then expanded as it launched itself through the air, landing on a low hanging branch in a position that no wolf could manage, then another as it sought to get above the stag. As the scent grew stronger the beast's instincts became uncontrollable. It opened its maw and leapt down from the tree it had jumped into and landed on the stag. The animal instinct that coursed through his body thrilled the beast as its jaws snapped together around the stag's throat, bringing it down to the ground in a tumbling mass of blood, fur and dust...

The pair had just left Wailing Caverns, hunting for Raptors. Tied to the saddle of the large Acherus Deathcharger, were two such specimens, black scaled and blank stares. The creatures had a measure of intelligence in them, but it wasn't as if they hadn't killed living beings before. The young hunter on the other hand, had a difficult time sending his pet to distract the beasts. It took all Elriech's effort not to snatch the gun from the man and shoot at them himself.

“You did fine, Dezrek.” clawed fingers deftly tied securing knots, keeping the carcasses still. “A true aim, though your wolf could do better.”

“We are all the Goddess’s creatures” the voice behind me said. At least that is how I remember it.

It was one of the summers at our family’s estate near Fairbreeze, before the Scourge, in the time simply knows as before. The Bloodstrider’s often hosted summer retreats, as often was the case with most Nobles of Quel’Thalas. Alaxia was busy helping our mother entertain the Ladies on the far side of the hill, underneath the shade trees, where the mana worms liked to play. The baby’s, Czarrina and Bellascar were stuck in the nursery with the noble’s children of similar age.

The trees stretched high above them as they stood on the rocky lip overlooking the crater from the desert. Even from this vantage point, there was little to be seen but a cloud of green, with tall strong arms holding it aloft. In the distance, Quetsul could just barely make out a flock of birds, lifting off from the canopy. She smiled, and turned to look at her companion. "Ready?"

The raptor snorted softly, dipping his head to butt at her side with his nose. His yellow hide made him almost invisible against the Tanaris sand--just a strange floating collection of blue stripes and brighter blue feathers. She scratched his neck, nodding. "Alright, then." She bent down, lifting her pack onto her shoulders again, and beckoned for the raptor to follow.

No one noticed.

She had stood there, in that doorway to the trainer quarters. Eyes locked on the image of Aelberyn smiling and talking in hushed tones to Liore. Her own voice rose when she initially spotted Liore, not quite taking in the full scene. "Where have you been?! You're never going to finish the p-- What's going on? What happened?" Nobody answered. Not even flicked a lash in her direction. Aelberyn was a priest, she used the light. That made Fox wary and even a bit uncomfortable around the woman who stood within arm’s reach of her fellow mechanic. Liore hadn't moved however, he definitely didn't go to punch the woman before him in the face....It had to be that Kaldorei. Had to be. That was it, the last straw; she grabbed her crossbow by mid section and cocked it with one hand.

((Due to a RL issue, I will be unable to attend Fancy Cakes, I'm guessing. Honestly, I am not quite sure how long it will be. Right now, planning on two weeks, but it may be more, it may only be the next event. I would encourage everyone to keep coming and RPing! Your support has been great over the last year+, and I would hate to see my absence have any kind of impact.

Xiuh plans to host Cakes the coming week, and we may have another temporary server lined up to help her soon, if my absence is lengthy.))

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Fealydra is on the prowl as normal looking for her next thrill, She thinks to herself. "I need the perfect girl for tonight." Her dark crimson eye's scan the through all the cities bars and whores in Silvermoon city for the one perfect fix, One that looks simple and gullible yet her beauty surpasses all as she thinks. "I hate beautiful whores. But I love taking them off the streets."  Her blood red lips curl up making a wicked smile as a blonde catches her eye as she walks into the bar alone wearing something very appealing to her hungry thrill seeking eye's. Fealydra pulls her hood up watching the blonde's movements in the dimmed smoke filled bar moving through the crowd her ruby eye's never leave her form as her hips sway's to the music. Fealydra thinks to herself her voice echo's in her mind.

Fealydra is on the prowl as normal looking for her next thrill, She thinks to herself. "I need the perfect girl for tonight." Her dark crimson eye's scan the through all the cities bars and whores in Silvermoon city for the one perfect fix, One that looks simple and gullible yet her beauty surpasses all as she thinks. "I hate beautiful whores. But I love taking them off the streets."  Her blood red lips curl up making a wicked smile as a blonde catches her eye as she walks into the bar alone wearing something very appealing to her hungry thrill seeking eye's. Fealydra pulls her hood up watching the blonde's movements in the dimmed smoke filled bar moving through the crowd her ruby eye's never leave her form as her hips sway's to the music. Fealydra thinks to herself her voice echo's in her mind.

The young raptor was hungry. His prey was alert, wary, and one wrong step would have the small fiery creature raining bolts of pain down on him again. He opened his mouth in a silent hiss as the warm Durotar wind brushed sand across the raw wounds scoring his back. What had started as a hunt for food had quickly developed into a hunt for revenge.

Argus....

The mountains, the fair days and chilly nights. Such bring me to Elwynn, just too many damn moons have passed to remember it all. Admeta. Kourash. Mama. Papa. Why? I can't lie, or hide it, it's true!

Papa.....how could they keep you from mama. Always hunting and looking for the thrill of the hunt. Mama always warned you about fierce animals on Argus. She never mentioned though the orcs who were more savage. Those bastards who tore you to pieces. Karabor. One of many to fall. I saw it with my own eyes, you tried to save me. 

"Fetu, hide QUICKLY!"

"Papa, you taught me. I ca--"

"The hell you will Fetuilelagi Go with the Anchorites before they get ahold of you! GO NOW!"

  I had tried to avoid the situation, getting up before dawn could even reach its fingers forward and caress the sleeping city of Dalaran. I figured if I could get to the flight master fast enough, then I could just hunt on my own, no controlling thick headed marquis to follow. Apparently… nobody sleeps in this blasted city. I rounded the corner, and there, shifting next to the wyverns was the Marquis Ythgar Vinguld, riding atop a rather impressive drake. Damn it.

Hunting: Part 3

Xannivard watched Tamlin a bit more carefully now, keeping a casual distance between him and the Hunter as the remaining hunters pulled the Drake along the loose soil, loading him into the enchanted cage and sealing him within. The mood was sour, and everyone wanted to be gone from the Gorge as soon as possible. The moment the Drake was secured and the horses had been tied to the floating contraption again, they set off back down toward the Redridge Mountains, this time a bit slower, and fewer in number.

[[Takes place sometime before Ythika’s death.]]

To say Xannivard had been surprised the day a Black Dragon under the guise of a human mage approached him, would be a gross understatement. She had drawn him off to the of Stormwind’s Gates, a playful yet oddly mocking smirk drawn across his lips as he spoke of a deal, a proposition. The demon had expected some young mage, hoping for more power, his name acquired through some dark and brooding demonic entity, or perhaps Ythgar’s circle. That expectation was quickly buried, as the woman spoke slyly of his home in Azshara, of his wife Ythika, of things he had hoped to keep well hidden. She wanted his service, for what end, he could have only fathomed at the time. Then she spoke of the need for a young, drake of her flight.

Scents tickle my nose, thick and vibrant. I rise from my little hidey-hole, nose-first. It is quiet in this vale. He that provides His roots for me to curl in hums deeply, a sound that I feel more than hear in my breast. I waggle my behind at Him in cheeky gratitude and bound off into the forest.

Such scents, such sounds! I chase a particularly bright and colorful Thing, legs bunching beneath me and sending me into the air in a terrific leap if I do say so myself (even if the Large Ones would laugh), reaching, straining to catch this Thing. It flutters further away. I feel a rumble within my breast that comes out in a sound akin to 'rrrrowr!' and leap after it once again. The further it flutters the more I wish to catch it simply to achieve my goal. It taunts me, I leap.

[ Oh, Ithy... she's taken a turn for the worse. Sadly, her talks with a vindicator haven't helped her, despite the outward appearance of repentance. ]
[ Inspired by this remix I found of Nine Inch Nail's "My Violent Heart". It's actually a mashup, and it's friggin great. ]

Larosa carefully eyed the door in front of her. In her hand was the key to open it, but instead of rushing through it like anyone, she took her time trying to find that tell tale sign of the arcane.  Once satisfied the door wouldn’t explode she inserted the key and turned the knob, letting the door creak open slowly.  She stood on the threshold, taking in the neat stacks of paper, the neatly made bed, and the general tidiness of the room.

Pittch took the first step in, sniffing everything, trying to sort out the smells he was sensing.  Larosa followed heading for a desk looking at the writing, trying to make sense of the jumbled letters and complex diagrams.  An hour later, the two had gone through the room,  and were trying to put everything back into it place, when Pittch began whining at a small spot on the wood floor. 

“She wasn't doing anything unusual; just the normal cleansing actions we must maintain to hold back the Scourge's forces from moving further south,” Officer Pureheart said to Lirriel as the two sat in the command tent at Chillwind Camp.

Lirriel rubbed her eyes before taking another sip of her tea. “No particular items, or attacks, or...?”

“I'm sorry, Lirriel. Nothing I can think of. It could be one of the many common illnesses from this plagued land though...”