Thrill of the Hunt (OPEN!)

[Deleted]

(Hey guys, this RP is open to everyone who wants to join!)

The day was young - too young for most. Stars still dappled the sky, the ground was frosted, and only a few stray lights shined on the horizon as the sun was barely peaking its massive fiery eye upwards. Most griffons would say its too early and promptly go back to sleep, but a certain, cloaked griffon proved otherwise. He held out a longbow horizontal to his body, stretched with the spiderweb string that held a single arrow in place. His breath came in short, silent bursts and he walked on his two hind legs, following a small trail of hoofsteps. He had been tracking this particular hooved creature since yesterday, waiting for the moment he caught up and enjoyed the spoils of his work.

Alas, he spotted it. It was a young deer - barely a yearling, but frail and weak with its ribs showing and a clouded, confused look in its eyes. It's antlers were barely poking out from its head, and one was broken into a stub. It had finally found a cluster of berries to eat for who knows how long. The griffon hesitated and watched the frail creature pluck a berry off with its tongue and chew it. After a moment, the deer swallowed the small plant and began to eat more. It was safe to eat then.

Of course, the griffon decided to put the poor, starving deer out of its misery. He aimed his bow and shot an arrow at it, piercing it's hide and hitting it straight in the chest. It fell over, but wasn't dead instantly, much to his dismay. He must have missed! Oh rats! Running up to it, he attacked the neck with his talons and sharply turned it, wincing at the cracking sounds it made. When he dropped down the deer, it was limp and dead. "Rest in peace, little one."

[Stygg Whitefeather]

As Wynward tended to his kill, the sound of two sets of wings swooped by overhead, just above the treeline before something came to rest in the tree-tops above. In that moment, a cross-bolt struck the ground beside Wynward followed by a sinister chuckle from the treetops. There, silloetted in the early morning light was two seedy griffons in shoddy leathers and with even shoddier weapons. On one was a talon-crossbow, the other had a small dirk and talon razors -Skyway Griffons. They dropped to the ground near Wynward and approached.

“Now, now little chicky; no sudden movements.” Hissed the one with the dirk as he twirled it around his talons as a threat, his head nodding to the bow in Wynward possession. He appeared to a goshawk mixed with serval, spotted and grey.

“Ya' jus' be real cool-like an' back away from ta deer.” Said the one with the small crossbow. “Don' need ta waste no bolts on ya, wes don't.” This one was kestrel and some unidentifiable feline counterpart, though he appeared to be far faster physically than mentally. Both were rough, absent of any preening in ages, with scares and gaunt features to boot, and maybe even some beak-rot. In other words, ugly.

“What my simpleton friend was trying to say is that the deer is ours.” The dirked wielding griffon reiterated, “That's the King's deer, and this is the King's land. Hate to have to do this but you're going to have to give that over to us – isn't that right, Mort?”

“Ya, wes hungry.” Said Mort.

“Pardon him, he's an idiot. We're the King's... urm,” He paused, “Queen's represenativces in these parts. So do the smart thing and BACK OFF!” The griffon commanded, “Wouldn't want to be caught killing Royal game, now would you. Truth be told, we're letting you off easily but, our mercy only stretches so thin...”

[Deleted]

Wynward blinked as he heard shuffling, unkempt feathers above him, staring up past the treeline to see two strange looking gryphons. They reeked of something unholy and their feathers thin and hardly cared for. He took a step back as a retaliation when they landed in front of him. Their voices carried with them the reek of nearly their entire lives without a single thought of brushing their beak. He nearly gagged his last meal: A small squirrel he had caught the last evening, hardly a suitable meal, even for his size.

They were something definitely not to be tussled with, and he had a feeling they would find no shame slicing his throat if he gave them his hard caught meal; After all, his bow alone was finely crafted from some of the hardiest materials around and could sell for quite a bit for the right buyer. Not even mentioning his finely crafted iron armor, which had been spit shined for hours on end when he wasn't checking his traps. He had to think quickly. Lose the meal and run, though he'd be weak from lack of food. Or, he could fight. That would be a fool's choice - They could overpower him, as he wasn't the greatest with close combat. Perhaps he could manipulate them, play their game. Say the right thing and you can get away without wasting your arrows on the filth.

The barn owl griffon pulled off his hood to reveal his face - Small pink beak, cheeky grin, and warm, yet serious eyes. His small, upwards crest was slightly flattened from wearing the hood, giving him a childlike look on his feathered face.

"Ah, but you see, lads, the queen sent me here. She wanted me to catch some venison for her. She wanted to try the meals the trappers do, and I would be her guest to show her the way." He paused for a moment, waving a claw at the meal. "But the furs, ah yes, the furs! So lovely. As an expert, I can say this is one of the most beautiful coats I've ever laid eyes on. Small, but elegant." He picked up the deer. "They would make a mighty gift for her highness, would they not? Tell you what, my good lads. I can skin this deer in a quicky and give you the skins for the queen. Why I bet she'd give you a hundred bits! Surely a feast would become of that, I suppose."

[Stygg Whitefeather]

The two skyways-griffons looked between one another confused and utterly perplexed as they tried to wrap their minds around what Wynward had said. They were unsure what to make of this new proclimation. Was he lying or playing them a fool? How could they know – his equipment was indeed nice, something they'd expect from a huntsgriffon of Royal Order but, was there proof? How could they tell, most of all, what could be the consqueinces if this paticular griffon was indeed under Royal decree. It was all too confusing for the two.

“Uh... t'at so?” Said Mort between long pauses of confuses. “Ye sure?” He asked, cocking his head to the left in confusion as he attempted to process this sudden change of events.

The other griffon slapped Mort upside the head, “Ah you moron, of course he ain't.” He had said before cautiously looking back to Wynward, “Unless you are?” He then glanced at the carcus of the deer, face contorted in confusion. The deer certianly didn't look as if it had a fine coat, it didn't look much better then them. Scrawny and sickly, even patches of fur were missing. But, inversely, he had no idea what constituted a good pelt. He paused, glanced between Wynward and Mort with his beak agape then stumbled some words, “Uh... I, maybe that's alright. Mort?”

Mort shook his head, “Ah, dunno, can't eat skins an' can't eat no bits, not at all. I tried, t'ey terrible, t'ey are.”

The other griffon motioned to give him and his associate one moment to hash over the prospect, before both turned towards one another in a huddle, occasionly glancing towards Wynward as they spoke in hushed, gutteraly whispers to one another. Indistinguisable to Wynward and, likely, to anybird or pony which happened to be listening in but, they seemed to be understanding one another with little problem. As they talked, they would occasionaly look up at Wynward, smirk, then return to the huddle. After a moment, the 'smarter' one turned back to Wynward with a smug air about him.

“One hundred and twenty-five bits!” He proclaimed, “From you, right now. If you're really working for the Queen that shouldn't be a problem, and you can sell the skins yourself. Also, we'll take a leg of meat.”

“Ya' wes hungry now!” Said Mort.

[Deleted]

The wild griffon gulped at the amount of money required. He really needed to be careful where he put each paw now. Despite his more regal appearance - what with his carefully tended to gear - he had barely seven bits on him, all of which were left at his camp. Perhaps now, he could run. Run, far far away. But was this measly deer worth sleeping with one eye open? He looked down at the deer, then at his armor, then his bow. His mind was reeling on what to do. He knew if he didn't respond soon, these two ragged thieves would wreck him and steal his valuables; Which, of course, meant Windrender. He was pondering this when suddenly an idea popped into his mind.

"Well, alright, gents, i'd pay up but I left all of my bits back at my camp. Would you be so kindly to follow me? I'm afraid we'll have to walk, however. Stay right behind me though," He paused, his tone going serious as he stared into the goshawk's eyes with his own turning steely cold. "This land is mighty dangerous in the deep parts, and flying through it would only awaken...It." He paused, looking desperately around in case 'It' decided to show itself. Play into the superstition, Wynward.

With that, he slung the deer over his back and began to make his way into the thick of the forest, not waiting for the two bandits to follow him.

[Stygg Whitefeather]

The two griffon's beaks fell agape in shock as they tried to wrap themselves around the idea of an 'it'; strange and horrible creatures danced through their heads, creatues of teeth and claw, of tentecles and slime, entities of the purest black with hungry eyes and grasping claws. These nightmarish horrors danced about, melding and mashing into one another, creating more and more unusial and fiendish creatures the likes of which became more and more abstract, like dreams, till they repsented just the very concept of fear these two scoundrals could comprehend.

As Wynward picked the carcus up and began to move, the two other griffons snapped to and darted up, calling to him.

“Wait, wait.” Said the dirk-wielding griffon, “What is this 'It'?” He asked as he caught up beside Wynward.

“Krampf! Wait fa' me!” Called Mort as he kicked off the ground and bolted towards his friend in a very low flight, no more than a head above the two walking. One he arrived beside his friend, Krampf grabbed Mort's tail and slammed him into the ground.

“You moron, didn't you hear him – flying might awaken 'It'.” He scolded, clearly aggigated by his dim-witted associate.

“Sorry, sorry. Not t'inking, I weren't.” Mort said, scrambling to his paws and claws.

“Idiot, keep it down too.” Once more Krampf berated his collegue as he desperatly turned to Wynward, eyes wide in fear and uncertianty. “Can that awaken it? And the flying, we been flying these parts for awhile... you don't think.” He cautiously looked around as they walked, “Awakened it already.” He turned to Mort, anger in his eyes and beak contorted in a snarl. “I swear Mort, if you awakened it, I'll feed your feathers to it myself!”

[Deleted]

The barn owl gryphon looked over his shoulder at the two ragged gryphons bantering behind him, and suddenly felt much smarter then he actually was. Sure, he could think quick and manipulate many things when necessary, but this was...too easy. He bristled, thinking out a plan. If he lead these idiots into one of his string traps, they could cut themselves free. Or if he had them fall into a pit, the best hope was broken wings, but that was unlikely; Most his traps were designed for large pieces of prey, like deer, elk and even once a moose.

Perhaps he could use 'It' against them.

"Well, you see lads," he began to speak in a hushed whisper. "'it' is simply a term we use for the Beast of Stone Valley. I've only seen it once, and only from a great distance, and I don't want to ever go that close to it again." He paused to step as silently as possible over a fallen log, and nodded at the others to do the same. "Imagine a bear the size of a mountain, with claws sharper then swords, and fangs as long as these trees are tall. Then, it has a dark purple coat speckled with stars. It can eat a griffon like swallowing a mosquito on a flight. Oh, speaking of which."

The trapper ducked down and crawled close to the ground, avoiding the buzzing swarm while he spoke, but only warning those two once they had stepped into the swirling cloud of insects. He hid a smug look on his face and kept walking. "And the worse part is, when night falls, it jumps into the sky and waits for anything to fly up so it can devour it. That's why we can't fly." Of course, Wynward, who was producing this information, knew the truth about the massive beasts. He had often watched them work and play. They were omnivores - The beasts ate whole herds of deer, but they also primarily ate entire trees, bushes and much, much grasses.

But he was sure these two, apparently known as Mort and Krampf, would know nothing of the bears. I could take them to the resident one's den, then they'd be so scared they'd never come back...

[Stygg Whitefeather]

The two dim-witted griffons followed close in tow with Wynward as they hung on his every word, wrapped with attention. So caught up in Wynward's explanation they both ungracefully stumbled over the log and cambered back up right once over the other side. And, as they entered the cloud of mosquitoes, only Krampf appeared phased as he swatted and battered the annoying pests away from his face, Mort however, took the opportunity to snap his beak at them as he ate a few that flew close enough.

"Is that so-" Spoke Krampf between his spits of mosquitoes from his beak and mouth. "Well why haven't I heard of this thing?" He asked as he looked to Wynward inquisitively.

"Is it wort' not'in?" Mort inquired as he licked his beak, "Cause 'aybe it is. We s'ould kill it an sell t'at instead of some dumb deer, we s'ould."

Krampf nodded in agreement, perhaps his friend was right. More bits to be made in some monster than a common deer. "Yeah, yeah! What Mort said. Where is this thing? We could kill it together, split the bits. Thing has be worth something, right?"

[Deleted]

Wynward tilted his head at the two moronic birds. He shouldn't be surprised at their idea, but yet, he was. "You want to hunt 'It'?" He shook his head. He took a few steps forwards and stopped, hopping over an unseen area. "Watch your step..." he mumbled under his breath. Right here was one of his deepest pitfalls - Meant for catching the biggest of the big prey and the one he desired the pelt of most - A grizzly bear. It was tight - Only three feet squared - and deep - Over 15 feet down. He lifted his chin up but didn't look behind him, simply listening for if they fell.

"Listen lads, I ain't your friend. I'd more so call you a trespasser, what with this being my neck of the woods. But i'm not the type of griffon to send some others off to be slaughtered." He paused for a second, turning around and looking at the deer. By now, the morning sun had risen, and he was still hungry. But this deer was weak - Pathetic looking. It would hardly make a decent meal. Somewhere, deep in his gizzard, he felt reluctant now to fight for it. Was it...perhaps...Sympathy for these two morons?

They're so incompetent they believe it was worth 100 bits! The fact that they've made it this far in life... The gryphon shook his head, pulling his hood up as he felt a morning chill. Of course, if these two did so want to go have a suicide, who was he to stop them? He let out a long drawn out sigh. "So, you lads really want to go hunt down an Ursa Major? And...Split the bits with me?"

[Stygg Whitefeather]

Both Mort and Krampf nearly tumbled into the pitfall but, Wynward's muffled warning caught their ear and they caught themselves before falling into an untimely death - fluttering over it for a moment and landing upon the other side.

"Got a lot of those traps around here don't you?" Asked Krampf as he eyed Wynward inspecting the deer.

"A'mos 'ike he try'in to kill us, he is." Mort interjected accusingly.

"Almost." Replied Krampf, "And I don't remember seeing your name on these woods, friend, unless your sirname is Whitefeather, but your eye-shadow is all the wrong color."

Mort tensed for a second when Wynward moved his hood over his crownfeathers - the simpleton's eyes were sharp and talons twitchy. He was observant in some matters, unfortunate for Wynward, this keenness was watching for a hidden blade or draw on their reluctant captive.

"So, it's an Ursa Major?" Krampf said with a humph, "Should'a just said that in the first place."

"Was' a Ursa... Mayor?" Inquired Mort with a cocked head and dull, confused expression.

Krampf sighed as he rung a talon down his face and beak, "Idiot, that's the thing that blue unicorn boasted she took down few years back. Remember, that one time in Fillydephia; the fireworks."

"Ohhhh... w'at is it?" Mort still remained mostly clueless.

"Weren't you listening no less than ten minutes ago? Ugh, it's big and worth bits. Ok hunterbird, show us its cave. We want to see this ourselves." Kampf demanded as he motioned with his talon that Wynward should keep moving.

"Ya' wes do!" Mort exclaimed, then grew silent and skittish. "I t'ink."

[Deleted]

Wynward gave the two a crooked smile. "Alright, fine, if your really sure. Follow me, and for the love of Whitefeather's big fluffy butt, stop talking. The game for miles around must know we've arrived, not to mention the ursa, with ears big as Celestia is tall." He paused, chuffing at the two. They'd be ursa appetizers soon enough; Unless the ursa couldn't even stomach their stink.

No longer did Wynward dally, and made a hasty push through the forest towards the massive mouth of the ursa cage with firm intents. It took hours, trekking through the hot day through the reddish forest and dark undergrowth with only the point knowing where to go. Eventually, Wynward had advised them to take flight so their legs wouldn't be so tired for a fight. That, and he chose to not waste anymore traps. The barn owl still had to make a living, after all with selling skins and meats. Sure, deer jerky and lean-tos worked for the warm months, but that didn't include baths, supplies, and during the coldest winter months he needed to rent a room and drink at a pub every so often.

When they had arrived, it was finally night, and soon the Ursa would be rising. They had to be ready then.

[Stygg Whitefeather]

“So, that's the lair?” Whispered Krampf as he tapped Mort on his side. “Launch the flare.”

In that moment, Mort changed the bolt from his crossbow and replaced with with a fused firework – the flare, obviously, and pointed it to the sky.

“Now lad, ya' see, we weren't entirely honest with you.” Krampf explained as he threatened Wynward with his dirk pressed against his feathers. He still maintained a whisper, “We heard about a griffon bringing in some decent sized game and we heard about the biggest game of them all – right here in this same valley. Imagine that? So my crew and I thought, 'hey, two birds one stone'. See, ever since ol' Loci got a free ticket to an untimely demise, we've been straining for decent work and pay.”

As Krampf was explaining, Mort lit the flare and launched it into the sky, it whizzed through the treetops and exploded several hundred meters above, lighting up the night sky in an explosion of green light.

“Unicorns don't bring in any more bits now but, you know what does? Rare beasts, specially certain parts of them. And we got buyers who would would pay big for certain parts of something like an Ursa Major.” He motioned towards the cave with his dirk's point. “So here's the deal, our schooner is going to be here in five minutes and since you're the expert in all things hunting, I'm going to need you to lure that Ursa out in the opening and keep its attention till my ship can lay a few cannon shot into it. Think you can do that?”

Mort now had another bolt in his crossbow and had his aim on Wynward.

“Better can, else Mort here might have something to say about it.” Krampf nodded to the cave, “Do your stuff.”

---

[*admin-note for new griffon]: Loci, former adviser and spymaster of the late King Whitefeather. A mad genius who tried to combine griffon engineering and pony magic, using unicorns as test subjects. Also developed firearm technology in the process.

[Deleted]

Wynward, looking deep into the cave, whirled around as he heard the term 'flare'. He noticed the smaller griffon - Mort - with a firework shot high into the sky, sending off a large light in the dark night sky. "What are you doing--" He cried out, about ready to attack when a dirk held against his soft throat feathers.

The barn owl mix glared down at Krampf with a look of betrayal in his eyes. After the larger, ragged griffon had explained everything, Wynward felt like he was going to yarp. He should have known the entire time what with their reek that they were simply pirates. To them, he was nothing more then a cog in the massive machine of their plans.

"So, whats in it for me?" He stated, raising an eyebrow, before continuing. "I take it after I take this thing down for you, I'll no longer be important and you will have no worries killing me, am I right?"

[Stygg Whitefeather]

Krampf chuckled to himself, seemingly amused by Wynward's question. He thought on it for a moment, stroking the feathers under his beak as he did, “Well that's the pickle, ain't it?” He sumused, “See, I figure it this way. Ya' don't do it, Mort here puts a bolt between your eyes or you can go in there, lure out the beast, then our ship blasts the daylights out of it with some long-nines and you can take the scraps back to those backwater-holes for some bits. The choice is yours.” Both Mort and Krampf glanced to one another with a sinister snicker.

“Ya' wes got shots t'at can take down some dumb Ursa t'ing!” Mort exclaimed, before being smacked by Krampf, ushering him to quiet himself.

“Ya' dunce, still have three minutes or so till the ship shows up, do you want to be eaten?” He grumbled quietly with a sigh, shaking his head in disgust and frustration. “Ever tell you he's a moron? Bird-brain here got dropped on his head as a nestling – mighty fine shot though. Guess all his smarts got pushed into the shooting part of his brain.” He said to Wynward.

[Deleted]

Wynward let out a long drawn out sigh, listening to the banter, but ignoring it. Surely, running is the optimal point now. If he wasn't here - He who knew the beast - to chase it out, then some idiotic halfwitted pirate like these two would, and would be eaten on sight. Sure, to the beast, he was the same as these other artards, but he was still a caretaker of the forest. At least it takes more then a few cannon shots to take an ursa down...

"Very well, lads, i'll help you." His voice was monotonous, and simply sounded defeated. "I'll bring out the ursa, but what happens afterwards will be your own doing." He paused, seeming to think. "Though, i'm not lying through my beak when I say you probably won't survive. An ursa is more massive then you can ever think. Its tail alone would weigh down your entire ship so it can't take off. Its bones would be impossible to lift without the help of a few giants. And skinning? It would take years to get the fur off of its body. Though I believe its dimwitted and stupid to do this and in the end you'll be in the gullet of a star bear, i'll help you."

He sounded more triumphant and the end of his own speech before hopping up into flight and tucking his bow over his back, clipped to his quiver. He pulled out his wooden skinning knife and chucked it to the far side, where he also removed his quiver and set that down too. He glanced over at the two halfwits and wanted to smile, since nobody had ever taken down an ursa, and Celestia hear him, nobody ever will. Planting himself at the mouth of the cave, he waited for his signal, meanwhile sending prayers up to whatever gods lived in this mountain.