A low whistle left Maria's lips, mulling over Tusk's words as if tasting wine for the first time and trying to find those plum and pepper notes snobs gushed over. She rubbed a gloved finger over her bottom lip that her teeth had worked towards splitting skin. The drawing of the creature didn't look terrifying, it's body looked slender and sharp, but it's form didn't have the sort of mass that made her question how deep Aysel's claws could cut through. It did look like something that would lurk in shadows. It also looked like nothing she had ever seen before and for a good chunk of her life she had always had her nose in a book, her ear to a village singing about their folklore.

"The sketch could be nothing but the figment of imagination," Maria conceded with Tusk's worries. "Limbs are insect-like and there is a mask, whether that's a cloak or shadows... sure looks like someone's nightmare but a Malcazadores? After all the shit we've seen, much less an entire Den?" The mage shook her head. Aysel had finally come round to the table, looking at the sketch, dark brows furrowing together.

"I think," Maria said with a smile, "The eyewitness accounts might not necessarily be useless. Perhaps we do not worry about what it looks like, we worry about what it does." She glanced around the table. "What are the tells of a hallucination, how to fend ourselves from a fate of turning on each other or disappearing into the dark. Are they auditory, do they affect both the eyes and ears? Is smell a factor, taste?"

She pointed right at that monster, straight towards the mask. It had caught her eyes before, it caught them now.

"Glasses is right, making a plan is the way to go. This might be a beast that is successful as long as it catches you by surprise, a stalker of sorts." Then again, the thing could also be just as deadly as it was if it were unannounced. It was hard to think that there wasn't a single hunter who could have realized what was going on, protected themselves or hid long enough to get the upper hand. The eyewitness sounded like someone had decided the beast was to strong, to survive meant that they had to run, that the only option was running.
 
While the old foggies went on talking. Brinda played with her new knife. Tossing it up and down. Up and down. Watching the handle tumble end over end. Blade glinting as it caught the light of candles and lamps flickering and waning along its patterned steel. Wave steel, she thinks he had called it. Looked more liked crackles of lightning to her.

Garrod made a grunt.

Hallucinations. Auditory cues. The eyes.

He could hear the whispers, oh so faintly. You wont survive without me, Oh Bearer Mine. But I can't decide. Do I like it more when you try and resist me? The laughter crackled and chimed so bright with its crunch. Like so much crystal ground into dust. Isn't that why you still carry me around, in that stars damned box.

His right hand curled tight into fist to the point of leather's squeak.

"You've any leads on who penned the Caza Script?" he asked flatly.

Got up from his chair with nary a sound, for all the weight of his kit.

Up. down. Up. down. Snatch.

"Hey!" Brinda barked, near jumping back, whilst her own mechanical right limb snatched for the blade. Found the meat of left's palm there instead, and Garrod's green eye glowering down at her.

"It's a good find," he smoked out of his throat. "Now put it away, and have yourself a seat, Mouse."

Brinda's eyes narrowed. She let go. Garrod let go. He gave the blade one last half flip, that had the light catch against all the patterned work that went into the steel's heart, and handed her its dark wood handle. She took it. Sheathed it. Stashed it away under the bind of her braises. Huffed, and sat beside the stickbug.
 
With a sigh, Rowan dropped her glasses against her chest and leaned back in her chair. She was disappointed in the explanation that followed the presentation of the sketch. Even though she'd been the one to pitch making a plan, the nature of the beast, as Tusk put it, would make that next to impossible. Something that had misdirection and illusion as its bread and butter couldn't be relied upon. Even with the biggest grain that salt came in. Like those snowy flakes they sprinkled on the truffles in Panier. Or the hail stones dotting the twisty pretzels. Moons above, she was hungry. And tired.

Would The Soulkeeper notice if she slid his soup over to her side of the table?

Brinda plopping moodily down next to her dashed away the desperate thought. The glasses were off, but Rowan still maintained the look of glaring through them, her ire directed at the young hunter's guardian across the way.

"It's not going to hurt her, Garrod," she scolded the man. "Besides, she should get used to the weight of the new arm."

Rowan did have an idea about the amalgam of Elenhage. But she wouldn't say it yet. Waiting instead, for all the pieces to be put on the board.
 
"You've any leads on who penned the Caza Script?"

'None,' replied the orkin, shrugging, 'though they appear adamant that I should be the one to hunt the beast.' Tusk thumbed the obsidian mark burning a hole in his pocket. Whomever had penned the letter -or had it penned for them- had given him no choice in the matter. Rules were rules. Without them, the Malcazadores were no better than the creatures they hunted.

Tusk had encountered many monsters in his lifetime. Some walked on two feet, and laughed when you joked. Others didn't even realise what they were until the truth came and killed 'em. Sometimes, they even stole your soup.

What's left, anyhow, thought the 'Keeper, listening as Garrod disciplined his apprentice, only for Rowan to tell him off a moment later. The new arm, Tusk's gaze drifted to the limb in question, though it didn't linger. He had seen such wounds before. After awhile, the horror stopped registering the way it was supposed to. And pity would only serve to poison Brinda against him.

She would have to get used to the arm. Until then, she would remain the Bearer's weakness, which wasn't such a bad thing. He has a heart, after all, it seems. It was almost enough to make an old man smile.

'There's a reclamation bounty still open, last I checked.' Glancing about the table, Tusk continued, saying, 'Ain't much I can give you 'cept gratitude. Doesn't spend the way glint does, but it still holds value,' he huffed, grinning slightly. 'Den Lionell hasn't been explored since the Happening, so the place should still be full of matériel.' Camaraderie was good and all but rarely did it pay; most hunters believed they needed an excuse in order to aid their brothers and sisters.
 
There was a glance towards Garrod and his apprentice from Maria, a look that was smug and knowing. She had trained Aysel well, clearly, look at how well Aysel listened to her while Garrod's little rat pouted and ran to someone else. It was the sort of knowledge that brought pleasure to Maria, had her smile all the wider, her eyes crinkling up with glee. Aysel would always obey her, always trust her, and always go back to her.

"There must be a lot of meat left behind," Aysel mumbled to herself, licking her thin lips. Her patience was thinner than that, all this talking, blah blah blah. She wanted to get going, not standing around smelling everybody. Why did they always have to talk and plan and never just go out and get them? Maria knew her well enough to go to her side and lay a heavy hand on her shoulder, keeping Aysel in check.

"You can go 'round snacking but don't eat anything rotten this time." Maria reminded her. "Or inedible." Maria had never bothered to learn any medical knowledge or healing spells, and paying for a healer to fix her Aysel was expensive. Aysel huffed, began biting at her nails and tapping her foot impatiently. She was staring at Rowan and Brinda as she gnawed her long nails, incisor clinking them.

"So," Maria ventured, "Monster hunting, reclamation bounty... anything else anyone would want to share?" Not something like soup, though, something more like who would be getting the monster parts and what about instead of gratitude could it be a favor?
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top Bottom