Private Brought Low, Killed Hungry

[Garrod Arlette]

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Spoiler: El Prmio

South Ilica, Along the Southern Tail of the Mheara Range

Hunting Ground: The Sherazi Foothills, East of Crorefell, North of Rokha's Den

Presa: An Old Talon, affectionately named, Axehead by the locals, has become a problem. Plucked up hunters out trying to snag some game for their pindhs. Wasn't until the old bird ripped through a Van operated by the Iltanin Trading company that the problem paid enough. Few survivors left behind.

Trackers have sighted and marked a number of blight growths in the region about old Axehead's roost. They are of no concern to the contract holder, and will not result in any further bounty or compensation rewarded by the payor.

Gana: Upon proof of Old Axehead's demise, Six Gold Pieces of Maldizia.

"A griffin," Brinda, spoke up. Atop the saddle of her smoke colored gelding she had taken to naming Dunsire. "Doesn't seem quite right, does it?" she was a young girl with a streak of white hair dashed across the crop of mousy brown curls. One arm ended in a stump just above her elbow. Still, she rode like a natural. Hand hardly on the reign. A dueling sword at her hip.

"It's gone mad," Garrod assured. "Likely, little to eat about its range," his eye scanned the forest as it rolled by. The steady beat of his buckskin mare's gait, a small comfort as he looked up through the break in the branches. "It's rare, but it has been known to happen,"

Brinda's mouth pulled down to one side. "I didn't see nothing about it in the manuels," she said angrily. "Just counts of trophy hunts, put on by Kings and warlords,"

Garrod bobbed his head. One way, then the other. "Coin is coin,"

Brinda huffed. "As if,"

Garrod laughed. "You mean, you are a Buzzard with morals?"

"Ex-Buzzard!" she stuck her tongue out. Almost fell out of her saddle. Hooked her heel and startled her horse to trot. "Woah! Woah!" she cried out unesteady as she was.

The wind changed. What little smile had found its way across Garrod's lips faded. His eye cast about. "Now, where'd that tracker make off to?"

 

[Navegante]

"Was enjoying a spell with tu madre," Gante stated casually as he appeared from the shadowed treeline. Eyes hooded beneath cloak and tone even, sarcasm was still found. The cazadore looked to the sky once more before stepping into the small clearing proper. He wasn't keen on becoming a meal for any pajaro just yet. Things tended to get real tricky when you weren't sure who was hunter and prey.

Part of him thought about walking away from all this right now. He was dead to some but that didn't mean Gante wanted to make that reality. 'Course living was expensive, muy caro.

"Coin is coin." He echoed Blanco's sentiment.

Confident they weren't about to become chicken pickings, he approached the other two. "Got mal news and worse news. Blight's bad, can't say if it's got worse or some puta de mierda only went halves. Either way, best leave the horses here. Still managed to find us a nice little ruta, at least part ways."

He shifted slightly, not entirely how to bring up the final bit. Navegante sighed, "Blight claimed anything that beaked-bastard called a meal. He's still hungry and likely twice as nasty." Reports put a number of gente in this area including those of the Iltanin Trading Company. The cazadore stumbled upon a number of belongings as he scouted but no corpses. He knew better than to expect any.

Navegante checked his blades again before heading towards the treeline and the griffin's roost.

 

[Garrod Arlette]

Garrod grit a grin from his teeth. "Pendejo," he said with a shake of his head.

Brinda was still reining Dunsire in while Gante stalked. Garrod watched the man. The languid stroll of one who measured where they stood. Whatever he had learned. Couldn't be good.

"Got mal nes, and worse news..."

A click of the teeth from Garrod. "Sale', don't hide it then,"

"Blight's bad..."

"Chingado," Garrod laughed. A bitter thing.

"...best leave the horses here..."

Garrod's eye was on the kid. Just getting her stead under her and settled. Nod slow. "Yeah," Worked off the saddle. Lead his horse to cover. Whistled sharp to the wind as he tied the beast down. "Mouse! We are ditching the horses!"

Wide eyed, she gawked. "What?!" already hopped off and moving in his direction. Easy steps to settle. Dunsire blew air hard through their nostrils as they followed after. "But, how will we... won't it be better if stay on horseback?" tied down her stead, double fast with the one arm. Grabbed up her sword, and her pack.

"More likely to pick up on us with the horses," Garrod said matter of fact. Pat his mare's snout. Let it go. "Can track their smell on the wind, far easier than ours,"

Brinda gawked. "But, that just means they'll be sitting ducks out here!"

A grim sound from Garrod's throat. "Es la Maldita Verdad de la Caza, Mouse," he grabbed up his monster slayer from where it was slung on the saddle. Worked it up over his shoulder. Dueling blade next. All the good it would do him. Pack, and the spark snares he had brought along for the job. Pulled tight the straps, and set after their Tracker. "Better the horses than us,"

A hiss through the girl's teeth. She knew tool well that was the hard truth of La Rondilla. The Little Dance every Cazadore stepped to. Strapped her pack tight against her back. Followed after.

"So," Garrod called out. "Gante," he mused. A man weighing his options as all of death's kit swayed on his back. "You find us a good killing ground?"

 

[Navegante]

"Seems our little rodent lacks cajones." He chucked cynically. "Killing ground or cemenatario, pero si I've found a place, a place to get the kill or well.." The other option was better unspoken. Turning toothpick for overlarge carrion didn't exactly make for noble fare.

The trio waded through branch and bush as they slowly found incline. Gante guided them round death 'n decay but stench wasn't so easily avoided. Amateurs would've balked yet they pressed forth. Gante couldn't recall the last time he'd gagged at a corpse, bloated or otherwise. Even their little rodent, newer to the game, choked back.

There were hunters and then there were Cazadores.

Light was high but beginning to crest as they finally reached their destination. Sure, trees gave shade but sprinting to a Griffin's roost would see you seis pies deep 'fore you knew it."

Navegante knelt at the treeline, surveying the empty nest. "Air is clear from here to there," he gestured from left to right, treeline to the cliffside. "My guess is our pajaro is out hunting, like to be back be back in a spell or two."

Itching at his unkempt beard, he turned to the other two. "So Blanco, you got a plan in that cabecita of yours?"

 

[Garrod Arlette]

Brinda scoffed. "Lack the cojones?!" she growled, riled up. "Bigger ones than you, Gante," she said, all wicked grin.

Garrod stared at her, one eye narrowed beneath cocked brow. Slid its gaze onto the seasoned mass of salt. "We'll make sure we are the ones that do the killing, Gante," Angled head toward the sword at his back. "You just get us there,"

So they waded.

Past the bloated bodies that bubbled and brewed with that thing most horrid. The Blight.

Was enough to make the One Eye's nose crinkle. Lips scrunched.

Saw how the woods twisted about those forms. Malshapen. Wrong with corruption. Burls and nodules. Pulsing. Slow. Like the pumps of woodgrown hearts.

Was it that the trees and the brambles slowed the spread of the blight? Or fed it? Was it the corpses of man, woman, and child, that spread it? Their hearts, like seeds. Scattered by horrid winds.

He was only glad that Gante's guidance kept them upwind of the mess.

Air is clear...

Garrod's lone eye traced the sky. The cliffside. Saw the old and aged roost, jagged and organic beyond the linear form of jagged stone. The hard angles of rock break and landslide, just ruffled and feathered by branch and bough. What down the old Axe Beak and its old mate had put together.

Felt his own heartbreak a moment.

So Blanco, you got a plan in that cabecita of yours?

A smirk cut across his lips. "Come on now, Gante," he said as he slipped pack from his back. Dug, and pulled bundle there from its confines. A ceramic jar, corked and stopped. He pulled it. A strong musk, like fire smoke, and pumice stone. "Wyvern's Embergris," he said as he held it out to the tracker. "We set a trail, and old Axe Beak is sure to come investigate."

Mouse looked at it wide eyed. "From the Wyvern hunt?"

Garrod nod. "Natural rivals, Griffins and Wyverns," he explained as he put a stop on it. "Trick is, matching the mark patterns of a Wyvern," he said, and put the vial to his belt. "Griffins are not stupid creatures," he added. "And they've eyes like the moons themselves, not a thing their gaze will miss,"

Looked past the trail they had walked. "I have already marked a few trees as we made our way up here, we just need it to believe their is a wyvern hidden away," looked to Gante. "Set up a decoy," tossed him the bottle.

 

[Navegante]

Gante grimaced as the bottle found his hands. He'd asked for a plan, not an entierro.

"Thought you were smarter than this Blanco, there's skinners who'd give half their hide for a drop. Could've lived like a king, for a few days at least." Most probably would've done and ended up with cero to show. Thinking ahead was the only way you stayed in this business long enough to cash out with your limbs intact, or a solid majority.

The Cazadore looked to the bottle of Embergris and raised it in mock toast "let's hope we still got cojones to count when the last feather falls."A riff on a common prayer invoked when hunting avian beasts.

This wasn't easy work, not by a long shot. Blanco said it, their prey was damned smart for something that pecked at its meals. Even the slightest discrepancy between mark and musk could alert ol'Axe Beak to their scheme. Gante wasn't greying but he'd seen his fair share; Wyverns and their patterns weren't strangers to him. The Cazadore moved carefully and deliberately, applying only as much Embergris as needed.

Careful work found fruition as the trio gathered, bows now bending beneath great gusting flaps.

Their quarry had arrived, ravenous and angry as all hell. In short, their gambito succeeded.

 

[Garrod Arlette]

"Thought you were smarter than this Blanco..."

Garrod grinned at that. "No te hagas el pendejo, Gante." Got to moving. Kit ready for the kill.

"Let's hope we still got cojones to count when the last feather falls."
​

"I already told you, Gante!" Brinda grinned back with a clap of her shortned arm's bicep. "Got plenty enough for all of us,"

Garrod laughed. "No seas cochina,"

"What?!" Brinda called back as they hiked up the trail.

"Ya sabes que,"

"Well!" she huffed. "He started it!"

All the way up. They set caches. Supplies. Crossbows loaded and readied with shroud bolts. Fire. Ice. Lightning. The simple shit Garrod knew how to lace. But damn if it didn't help on a hunt. Then they would set their blind. Masked in Gigant secretion. A foul liquid that smelled strongly of cat piss, and old fungus. A real big beast repellent. For it was the sent of the soldier gigants. And even a great gryphon would skip on the nasty chompers those buggers had.

Hear the wingbeat, and Garrod stirred from neath the leaf litter that masked them. A whistle. "Aye," Just his chin toward the landing thing as hands worked togethr the hunting bow. "Listos?"

"Claro!" Brinda grinned.

Nod. Let the great Axe Beak land upon the downed dear they had set upon a clearing. Not so far from a treeline that it looked staged. Gods damned Axe Beak was old enough to know what that looked like. The fucking monster was beautiful.

Sheen of gold rippling across the power neath its coat. The white feathers of its main brilliant neath the sun. And its caramel brown wings beat, beat, the air with the force of ten men each. Set the whole forest to stir. As if there were a god before them.

Fuck.

If old Axe Beak wasn't as close to a god as things got these days.

And here they were.

"Chingado," Garrod cursed. Shook his head. Drew string and fired shot. Missile shot straight up. Clipped the big bastard's wing.

Axe Beak gave a scream. Whole being snapping out. Gathered up its claws and dove at them.

Garrod grinned. Gripped his sword two handed. Turned and cut in a wild manuevar that had him falling as his blade spun up. Clattered against claw and scale. Hit bone.

Brinda popped up. Took aim. Let loose her modified crossbow with a thwunk. The bolt, lightning laced. Struck Axe Beak in the foreleg.

 

[Navegante]

"puta con suerte," swore the cazadore upon seeing the other's antics. Blanco's plans were loco but that's because the bastardo was even crazier. Only a fucking idiot would be smiling as a Griffon dived at them; not that Gante could see, he just knew. Weren't many normal people in this business, quick to die, hard to forget.

They'd already landed more strikes on Axe Beak in ten heartbeats than anyone else had in the last ten years. That kind of success had a way of making a person feel mas seguro. Not Gante of course, he wasn't an amateur, but an opening was an opportunity. Those didn't come around too often when dealing with griffons, let alone crafty ones.

He burst forth from cover as he watched Axe Beak lose balance from Brinda's bolt. The lightning hadn't caused pain so much as numbed the beast's foreleg, causing it to buckle as the appendage lost sensory purchase. Gante continued to sprint forward with seemingly suicidal vigor until he was but a few feet from the Griffon and then stopped as if he'd caught the sight of Sitha's bosom 'cross the way.

Axe Beak's hind leg shot out blindly behind, talon but a pelo from his face.

Navegante wasn't amateur. The Cazadore sprinted forward again a few more feet and then feel to knee. A midgetbow in hand, he leveled his gaze and let bolt fly. Ol' Axe Beak would've had enough time to see the small pouch at the projectile before it exploded in a puff of mustard smoke. The Griffon screamed again as the heavy alchemic blend of Suldazan spices sank deep into his left eye.

There, however, wasn't much Gante could do about the furia that followed. All he knew was that he was about ten feet farther back from where he started and his ribs hurt like the abismo.