[Stalliongrad Outskirts] The Hunt [Closed]

[Dio]

Cold. Snow. Ice. Those three words instantly evoked images of the frozen north, a beautiful but deadly paradox of sparkling sunlight and bitter nature. Alistair Goldmane was no stranger to cold. After all, the past few years of his life had been spent in Stalliongrad, guarding cargo airships from unsavory hooves and talons who would prey upon those with more. The winter there was of the wild, not shackled by magic or molded by pegasi weather crews. No, a proper Stallian winter was much like this one. Cold, bitter, and furious.

A blast of heated breath condensed into a sparkling cloud in front of his beak as he continued to trudge through the dead woods. Base camp was 3 kilometers back east, but there was still plenty of light left and it appeared he was having success tracking his quarry. Stopping at the foot of a tree, Alistair studied it for a moment before noting the sign he had spotted.

“Broken branch, six meters up. Looks fresh,” he mused to himself. “I guess our friend came through here not an hour ago…”

[GhostGirl]

Of all creatures, none could be more at home in the snow than Siiri Lionheart. Her thick coat and feathers kept her warm and dry, and her fluffy tail swept snow back into her prints as she trekked through the forest, carefully picking up signs of her quarry's trail. The beast was larger than her, thus slower, and he certainly wasn't smart enough to hide his tracks. She knew she wasn't far behind him, and, being smaller and sleeker and quicker, she would catch up with him soon. She had time for a break.

The griffiness settled herself down next to a tree and dropped her pack in front of her, rifling through it. Out came a small tin, which she opened to reveal jerky. A quick pick-me-up to keep her energy up for the inevitable fight with the beautiful beastie she was tracking. As she munched, she checked her weapons, ensuring that most of her knives were still well hidden in her fur and that the weather hadn't damaged anything. She could assume, without checking, that it hadn't, since the weapons had been crafted in the far north, in a colder climate than even this one, but her uncles had always taught her to be better safe than sorry.

She pulled a last piece of jerky out of her tin and packed her things away once more. Before she took a bite, though, she heard the crunch of paws on snow. Something, or someone, was coming through. She knew she hadn't been tracked -- her tail was more than enough to hide all signs of her passage -- but there was no saying it couldn't be a lone timberwolf walking through. Better to hide and wait for it to pass, she figured, so she nestled down in a snow bank beside the tree, hiding her black wings and her grey beak. Only a good eye could spot her there now, her plumage and fur camouflaging her.

[Dio]

The trail continued deeper into the forest. Bits of broken branch and disturbed snow cover left telltale signs that Alistair’s quarry was just ahead. The marine was tempted to bound forward in hot pursuit, but his youthful reverie was rapidly reined in by years of experience overseas. Warfighting was a long way behind him to be sure. The shores of Indrek were oceans away. But keen senses and skills honed showed their keenest edges in their home environment.

Alistair advanced steadily but cautiously. Suddenly, the older griffon stopped. At the edge of perception, barely above the baying of the wind was the telltale clicking of metal on metal. The sound was distinct, instantly triggering memories of clasps jingling on combat gear and hardware contacting rifle sling loops. It wasn’t natural. Alistair’s senses quickly zeroed in on the source of the noise.

Twenty meters ahead, low, he thought to himself. His scoped rifle remained slung, as poor sightlines and visibility coupled with close range did not bode well for a sniper’s weapon. Instead, he reached into his cloak and unclasped the thumb break on his holster, slowly and methodically drawing his revolver. Alistair reared up on his hind paws, electing to walk bipedally while he cradled his sidearm.

Weapon at low ready, the marine slinked forward, eyes scanning ground level for the disturbance. Steps crunched on newly fallen snow, ears stayed peeled for any hint of motion, and eyes scoured every inch of ground for things that did not belong. No tracks, no debris. The interloper was very good. But Alistair’s eyes paused on a too-white patch of snow. The bank was too large and too smooth to have formed naturally. Someone was trying to hide.

Alistair raised his weapon, cocking the hammer as he drew a bead on where his target would be.

“Stand up!” he ordered. “Slowly! Hands where I can see them!”

[GhostGirl]

Her breath slow and silent as she hid, Siiri watched as another griffin entered the area. He stood on his hind legs, a revolver in his grip. Panic gripped her. Perhaps he knew who she was? Maybe he was out here tracking her! When he spoke, every muscle in her body tensed. She was prepared to leap out, to go for the throat. She wanted to. Her tail twitched in anticipation and she fought down the urge.

No, anyone observant enough to spot her in the snow would surely be a keen enough shot to take her down before she could get to him. Grudgingly, still tensed to leap if necessary, she rose up onto her hind legs, hands out and away from her swords and her pack.

"A good eye you've got there," she said, her words thick with her northern accent. "Usually I cannot be found in a snowdrift like that." Her tone was conversational. She needed to find out who he was and what he was after, but direct questions would make her seem suspicious. This was her only option, even if it wasn't her style.

[Dio]

"A good eye you've got there," she said, her words thick with her northern accent. "Usually I cannot be found in a snowdrift like that."

The wind whistled through the newly exposed branches above, muffling the other griffon’s pronouncements. Alistair gathered enough from the speech to put together her attempt at conversation. His eyes narrowed. He stood his ground as the other griffon rose from the snow.

“Where are your friends?” Highwaygriffons and pirates never operated alone, unless they they had a deathwish, especially against an ARM veteran. Not that they knew that… “Which conclave are you from? Red Talon? Iron Claw?”

Indrek made up for its mild winters with harsh tropical summers. Missions had been brutal in the heat and mist and rain. Ambushes at close range sapped morale on both sides as pirates and marines struggled to retain control of the Indrekan hinterlands. Alistair didn’t let pirates get the better of him in Indrek and he sure as Tartarus was not letting them get the better of him on his home turf.

But as the snow fell off the other griffon’s form, a curious change came over Alistair. Recognition dawned as the other griffon’s face rose from the snow.

“Siiri? What in Tartarus are you doing here?”

[GhostGirl]

Familiarity pricked at the edges of Siiri's mind as the other griffin spoke. His voice and visage were not unfamiliar to her... But they weren't from home. No, no, this was more recent... this was... from that abandoned ship. Siiri relaxed. She may not have gotten to know him exceedingly well on that job, but she knew he wouldn't attack her without provocation.

"Help was cried, Alistair, and so now I am here," she said, shrugging. "A monster is in this forest they say, with the mane of a lion and the tail of a scorpion and great wings like a dragon's. I am a tracker, you know this, and so I have come to find it and help the feeble ponies be rid of it. By the sides of all of this, once more hunting in a frozen forest such as this is nice. It brings back memories of my youth with the brothers of my father."

Checking that her weaponry and pack were all secure once more, Siiri Lionheart returned her attention to following her quarry. Before starting forward once more, though, she turned to look at Alistair again. "And even so, what is it that bring you out here Goldmane?"

[Dio]

Alistair slowly lowered the hammer and stowed his sidearm. Alistair had made it a point to take his prey alive now that he was out of the service, but he was a still a sheepdog at heart. He would never hesitate to strike back if it meant defending himself or the life of another. But thankfully none of that was necessary. It was a friend.

Alistair listened closely to Siiri. Despite her command of Common, Siiri’s diction took a moment to decode, especially since it was so different from Southern Aquellian. In the end though, it seemed she was after something as well... something familiar.

“It seems we are after the same thing,” he finally said. “One of the fish farmers near Svetlahorse complained that his pens were being trampled. They thought it might have been scavengers, but when one of the farm hands was injured, they found out it was a rogue manticore.”

The old soldier looked down for a moment to check the pocket watch affixed to his load-carrying harness. There was still time before sunset, but if he dallied any longer his buffer would be gone. Alistair looked back to Siiri. “Daylight’s burning. If I want to finish off this contract, I need to get moving. But since we’re both headed the same way, I think we can put our heads together to get to the bottom of this. I wouldn’t mind the company. What do you say?”

[GhostGirl]

Siiri ran a talon through her crest as she thought for a moment on Alistair's suggestion. "All on my lonesome is how I work, usually..." she said, tapping the side of her beak as she spoke, "but to companionship I suppose I will not say no. To skilled companionship most especially."

Shouldering and resettling her pack, she started forward, then shook her head and stopped. "Now Alistair must take the point, for my tail is better suited to brushing away our tracks. And for talk that is little, why Alistair likes this area around Stalliongrad so much, he must tell me." She may not have been used to building companionship, but she knew what was required, and small talk was one of those things. It didn't hurt that she was genuinely curious why someone from central or southern Aquellia would take such a shine to this frigid area of the world. For her it was the most natural thing in the world, with Falkensfjord being so much harsher than Stalliongrad, but she found that others were less receptive to the cold.

[Dio]

A wry grin crossed Alistair’s face. That was the Siiri he knew. As much as griffons fancied themselves strong, proud, and individual -- Siiri especially -- no one would doubt that pack hunting was far more effective than a lone griff. Alistair adjusted his coat collar and pushed ahead at his companion’s suggestion.

The pair continued in silence for a spell, the only breaks being the crunch of wrapped talons and paws on fallen snow and the occasional soft thump of drifts falling from overhead trees. Alistair noted the signs of his prey, tracking broken branches and torn bark as he continued his pursuit. Thoughts swirled in his head. Why had she resurfaced now? He thought she’d run off again after the last job. Of course, being the ex-marine he was, he couldn’t let a conversational piece wither in his skull without ever seeing the light of day.

“I thought you’d headed for the southlands after the that airship job,” he puffed as he shuffled through the snow. “What made you come back up this close to Stalliongrad?”

[GhostGirl]

Siiri's eyes scanned the forest as they walked, her tail wiping away pawprints and talonmarks alike. She listened quietly to both Alistair and the sounds of the forest around her, remembering somewhere in the back of her head many a trip with her uncles into the forest around Falkensfjord. When her companion finished his question, Siiri thought for a moment, trying to line up the words correctly in her head. It never worked quite right.

"Thick coat and heavy feathers of mine, remember you not, Goldmane? Much too warm and harsh is the far south..." She dipped her beak down low, into a snow back, and tossed some of the white fluff onto her back and wings. "For the cold and snow, I was bred and raised. Trottingham, but not souther, I walked. Marelia, I visited. Not as cold, but more of home, Stalliongrad is. Cold and harsh and with no mercy. Very like to Aquellia in the north."

She walked in silence a few moments more, then ruffled her wings. "Goldmane, but tell me you did not. Stalliongrad, what about it pulls in Goldmane?"