Thrill of the Hunt (OPEN!)

[Stygg Whitefeather]

Overhead, the distinct sound of airship engines broke the night’s silence, as foretold by the two dim-wits accompanying Wynward had said, there was the ship. Mort launched another flare into the sky and the airship, in response, turned its broadside towards the cave. The signal was up.

However, as Mort was not of the brightest lot, the flare he had launched was the wrong color. Instead of the wait Krampf had promised so that Wynward could lure the thing out into the open, the griffon instead received a dinning blast to accompany his perch before the cave followed by the whiz of cannon-shot flying just overhead, kicking up air and dirt in its wake as the airship unleashed a single barrage inside the cave. The ground shook and the terrible sound of rocks bashing against one another erupted from deep within, the sign of an imminent cave-in. And, instead of any Ursa, Major or Minor, the rumble of a collapsing cave was met with the frantic beating of numerous large wings. Dozens of shadows swooped past Wynward, jetting into the sky and straight at the airship above. Screams followed.
Krampf and Mort watched in terror struck awe as their ship was assaulted by shadowy winged swarm, the creatures launching knife feathers at the ship as they struck down one thug after the next. “Stymphalides!” Yelled Krampf as he snagged Mort by the feathers of his scruff as they ran off into the forest.

Above, the airship was now burning and followed an explosion. It began to descend rapidly as its engines failed and its crew likely dead or dying. The swarm, Stymphalides, as Krampf had called them, now broke away from the vessel and returned their attention back onto the land – without a doubt searching for any more their attackers in the forest below.

[Deleted]

Wynward gasped as he saw the airship above him. He had seen a few airships in his day, but all were small and carried a few important passengers over his hunts sometimes, and he had once seen a model of a larger model while trading an elk's head for a few nights stay at a local inn. This was like neither. It was absolutely massive! He couldn't wonder how many griffons were aboard. Still looking up at the sky at the massive ship, he watched a flare shoot up and explode far above them...But something was wrong.

The ship took aim and had fired into the cave. A ruckus arose around them as birdlike cries filled the air and a whole flock of dangerous looking birds shot out like a nest of marksmen all launching arrows. He watched in a frozen form as the monstrous birds attacked with shrill war cries. Bodies dropped, and he could see the airship spiraling out of control. A sick gut feeling told him to fly. Fly fast and far and stay away from this cave. An ursa could be calmed with the right resources and time of day; They slept during the day. Even a major ursa, when angered, wasn't completely uncontrollable.

Stymphalides were a different story. Dark, brooding, and bloodthirsty, a whole flock like this could rip a griffon to pieces in a few moments like winged piranha. They flew by extremely fast, making aiming nearly impossible.

As a shadow passed the griffon overhead he lifted off into a low flight, pounding his wings and disappearing into the depths of the forest, a bit behind the two idiots that had dragged him into this situation. Remind me to put an arrow between their eyes next time I see them...  The barn owl griffon reminded himself. By then, he was deeper into the forest and perilously dodging tall, mossy red trees and ignoring the slashing brush below him. Behind him, he could hear heavy wings battering the air and the shrill cries following him. Somehow, he had to lead them back into the cave. But how?

[Stygg Whitefeather]

The stymphalides were circling the sky, above the treetops, their metallic-like feathers would rain down, cutting through the branches and leaves, striking the ground around Wynward like arrows. The feathers seemed shot from a distant, not aimed true, as if the creatures were trying to flush him out from under the trees and brush. From the sound of a distant, agonized scream, they appeared to have done just that to another unfortunate soul – either Mort or Krampf, to hard to tell from this distance.

The scream drew the attention of the ones above Wynward and, for a brief moment, he was clear and safe. With their attention drawn, presumably ripping into the griffon behind the cry, Wynward could move more freely through the forest, unhindered by the immenate threat of a deadly feather into the back. A few moments later, a winged shadow had passed over Wynward, though it appeared to pay him no attention, moving towards where the other had flown off too.

Further ahead, Wynward would find the trees and ground so embedded with those deadly feathers, it was difficult to transverse without nicking one's talons or paws upon them. Then, up ahead, there on a rock was the corpse of – not a griffon as it appeared at first, but that of a stymphalides. Embedded in its neck was a dirk, the same one Krampf wield.

In that moment, something snagged Wynward by the the back right ankle and pulled at him. “That was Mort...”

It was Krampf, his body showed the telltale signs of being torn apart by the creatures, pecked, flayed and eaten. His back and left wing were a pincushion of pinions, with the exposed flesh and feathers on that side ripped in places to the muscle and bone. He appeared to have favored that side in his fight with, presumably, the dead stymphalide upon the rock. He rose with a terrible limp, what remained of his limbs on his left were nearly useless and he was quickly growing weaker with each passing moment as his blood left him.

“They got him... didn't they? My best friend... ate him, like they tried me. But, I got one.” He wheezed between a chuckle, gazing at Wynward with predatory, pained and devious eyes. “You... think you're so clever, luring us into that trap.” He spat blood, “But not clever enough... hunters live by the prey they pursue, right?" He rambled, "This time, the prey is you.” Krampf then let out a blood chocked call, the shrill squawk of his goshawk blood. Loud and piercing through the night, the stymphalides would easily hear it, even at their distance.

“Run, birdie.” Krampf laughed as his strength broke and he collapsed onto the forest floor, finally having succumbed to his wounds, while his mocking chuckle slowly died with him.

The sky broke with the same sound that had come from the cave, the beating of dozens of wings, and they were getting closer.

[Deleted]

Wynward stood taller above Krampf with a cold look in his eyes, replacing his usually cheerful disposition that he always held in the bleakest of moments. It was an odd look for an odd creature. He listened to the ragged, wounded pile of meat in front of him before speaking up. "I didn't know there was an ursa in there. But i'm glad there wasn't, since it meant you rats no longer plague MY land." This statement gave him some reassurances as the griffon slowly died before him. With a heavy sigh, he looked up at the sky with a sick feeling. The pounding of hundreds of wings grew closer. If death had a sound, this would be it. No sense crying over spilt blood. With that, the barn owl quickly loaded his bow and took off below the forest once more. He wasn't flying as fast as he should be, what with his loaded weapon prepped and ready for defending himself.

A burst of adrenaline came to him as the wings grew nearer. They were faster then him, and that's what scared him most of all. Pounding his wings harder, branches began to lash at his sides as he flew past them, leaving gashes where they whipped his body. He hastily dodged the bigger branches while ignoring the pain from the littler ones. His mind fell into a mechanical state; His body was numb to the lashings. Duck there. Dodge that. Upwards, down, left, spin. He had one shot at survival. That's all it is, ain't it? Simply survival? Well, these birds aren't gonna be doing that for long.

[Stygg Whitefeather]

The violent, bird-creatures were now above Wynward. Their calls and squawks created a deafening din, like the chaos of a great gaggle of conversations all trying to speak over the other till no one or thing could be heard over the ruckus. Fortune thus far favored Wynward, the trees here were thick and made the creatures’ attempts to dive and kill impossible – though they stilled fired their deadly feathers, spraying the ground without aim, many flying wide around Wynward.

A harsh crash came from above as one attempted to dive through the thick branches, only to be caught and tangled. The trees had reached out and lashed the creature, binding it in the ropey sinew that is the very twisted tops of the trees. It struggled to get free, throwing more bladed-pinions down to the ground. Despite its best efforts, it would remain stuck there for the time being.

Now, not far off in the distance, emitted the harsh glow of a fire coupled with the acidic smell of burning metal and wood. Bits of burning debris littered the ground and tress, indicative of the path the doomed airship had met its fate in the woods nearby. This, too, meant Wynward was once more near the cave where this had all began.

[Deleted]

As the chaos followed him, he heard loud whistlings as the sharp feathers whirred past him, impaling themselves into the ground. One in particular had sliced past his cheek, cutting his hood and leaving a thin scar across his rounded face. Afetr realizing they had circled back around towards the cave, he had a few options left, none of which were in his favor. His quick mind reeled through them.

I could keep flying until I lose them off my tail, though highly unlikely they'll stop chasing me. I could always try ducking into water since I think they can't swim. Being a kelpie would be more useful for that, unless of course they can swim, in which i'll be screwed. A sick feeling came into his mind. If I want to end this, I may have to just lead them into their cave. Perhaps they'll eat me quickly? No...I want to live. Fly on...

With that, his decision made, the griffon flew onwards, this time taking a different path then before. These beasts are unable to catch him in the thicker parts of the forest. The east had less trees, which meant more room for flying and possible maneuverability, but he'd be more vulnerable. The west was more thickly lined with trees, which would protect him from the monstrous birds, though that was another hunter's territory for the season. Intruding on another's land was a crime for an unspoken law between all the griffons out for pelts. And worse yet, this was Chelly Bronzebeak's land. She was his friend, but certainly wouldn't be happy for a load of Stymphalides tearing up her land. She would probably take his land, and all his stuff, probably even Windrender.

At least it would be better then dying.

[Stygg Whitefeather]

Despite Wynward's want to live, the creatures were relentless in their pursuit of the chimera, following in the sky above the treetops. The occasional dart of metallic-like feather sliced through the branches and leaves, embedding themselves against the ground and tree-trunks. Still, the feathers were wide and unfocused, instead wild and tempting to the target, Wynward could consider himself safe from any focused attack. Not that they were less dangerous but, for any creature adept at dodging the predators of the land, these attacks were clean and safe for the most part.

Despite Wynwards consideration, unless he removed the threat of the Stymphalides, they would continue their relentless pursuit against him in the immediate area. The airship had disrupted their nest in a manner of such magnitude, one could not debate against their reaction. Any creature would have been enraged by the sudden surprise unleashed by the heavy cannon shot which befell their simple and unremarkable cave, destroying a year long mating ritual and shredding their nests.

Wynward's western apparoached proved safer, the Stymphalides were unable to break the gross darkness the night, masked by the the nocturnal forest, prevented their attack upon his back. Its thickness preventing any penetration till, the creatures had grown tired with the dawn light. Hours had past, beyond the recollection of Wynward, as was the habit of mysterious things and the impressionable passage of time mixed with age, when time grew scarce with every passage of the year. His attention was so sharply arrested, his attention was so swiftly arrested that he had failed to notice that he had been made upon a series of rocks and harsh outlooks till he realized that the creatures had long since ceased their pursuit. Instead, he would realized that he was now upon the forest, watching all destruction he had cause. The burned remains of the airship smoldered in the distance, the smoke from which rose into the air like signals writing a novel of dispare and disquietude. No word of the murderous creatures which had ripped the griffons which had regarded Wynward as a beacon of trust in the discordance of the wilderness. Wynward would then, realize, he was was safe.

[Deleted]

Thank the seven stars...The griffon thought, quickly sending a prayer up to the heavens for his good fortune. He was aching from so much flying; His wings would be sore the next day for sure. Looking over his body, he realized he had many, many lashings on his belly and legs. None too deep, only a couple bleeding, but open wounds were more dangerous in the forest. He'd have to go into a town and find an apothecary for those. But then he realized there was a stinging in his cheek he had overlooked. Lifting a talon as such, he felt the sticky sensation of blood. Tracing his claw along the cut, he realized he would have a deep scar across his face. This made him feel a little disgusted.

"What are you doing here, Wynward?" A familiar female voice cut into his ears, causing him to tilt his plate-like face and investigate. On top of a rock stood his friend - and yet also the one he didn't want to meet - Chelly Bronzebeak. She was a mixture between a brown falcon and a spotted tabby housecat with a skin cloak and a headband around her bronzed head. "You think you can just tiptoe around mah land like nobodies business?" She lifted her bow up and aimed at his head. His own was far superior.

"Its not what you think Chelly." He began to say, lowering his hood to look at her better. "I was ambushed by some leftover pirates. They wanted my head for a deer. I had been tracking it all morning and I was starving--"

"And ya still are now?" She said with a flat tone. "Starvin' or not, your wanted by pirates and your wanted dead. A ladies' gotta protect herself. I really don't want to put an arrow in ya, but you just got to go."

"Chelly, you see that plume of smoke in the distance?" The hunter stood up on hos two hind legs and pointed out to the horizon. The smoke was thinning, but still definetly there. "That was me. Those idiots followed me to a cave of Stymphalides and blew themselves up, thinking it was an ursa. The ursa must have moved out already. That's how I got so many cuts and scars." The griffon jumped up into the air and flapped his wings, pointing to his chest. "I'm Wynward, the trapper that survived the Stymphalides!"

(If you want to play as chelly, feel free to, she's more wild then Wynny)

[Stygg Whitefeather]

"The Stymphalides?" Chelly inquired as she cocked her brow suspiciously to Wynward; she was suspicious but, it would explain all the noise coming from that direction, scaring off the wild-life and generally making the next few hunts more difficult for it. "You're telling me, all that racket, were stymphalides, and they killed the pirates - or poachers, whoever those birds were too? And that's ya's all doing?"

Chelly lowered her bow slightly, "And ya didn't bag a stymphalide for your trouble? Wynward, ya ditzy bird, those are worth a month's bits. Sir Feathermain in Royal Rocks would dole out his entire savings for a specimen - he does love to fabricate claims about his 'outlandish' hunts and all."

After her minor berating, Chelly tossed Wynward a small morsel of dried meat from her own stash, "Take it but in case those pirates are part of a bigger band, I don't think ya should hang around her for a while. Not to mention, thanks to you and them, ya scared half the valley's game into hiding. It's going to be weeks before its back to normal." She explained, "Maybe hit up one of the cities, someplace with a little more law around till this blows over - and so you can get off mah land!"

[Deleted]

Wynward scratched at the back of his head as she nagged him about his trials. "Yeah, look, I know, I ain't done the right thing, I should've just let them go when they first arrived on my tail, but my pride got the best of me, and..well," The barn owl trailed off when he heard her responses, nodding knowingly at her words. He caught the meat with his claw, inspected it a touch, before shoving it into a pocket on his quiver. Looking up at her with his goofy smile, he decided to make her an offer.

"Tell ya what, when I stumbled on one of those varmints dying, one of them had killed a Stymphallide. It might not be the most clean kill, but its a Stymphallide nonetheless. You can have it and sell the thing to that Feathermain lad if you forget this whole ordeal." Rising onto his hind legs to get a better view, he traced the stars up over their heads for their position before aiming a claw at the direction they came. "He should be somewhere over yonder, in a fairly large clearing next to the open part of the forest. I think it was even propped up on a rock, but I ain't sure. Didn't have the time to check."

(Writer's block, sorry)

[Stygg Whitefeather]

Chelly let slip the sides of her beak into a devilish smirk, "So ya' saying one of those featherbrains took down one of those things but, you ran with your tail between your legs." She snickered, "Tsk, loosing your touch Wyn. But, fine. Long as it's not too cut up, body should fetch some bits. Now to just wait till things calm down some out there." She put her weapon away but still watched Chelly with an air of suspicion. "And you? Gonna heed my advice or be stubborn - because, I think I made it clear, you cannot have my lands, you caused enough trouble there as you did on yours. You're bad luck, Wynward."

[Deleted]

"Of course, Chelly," The barn owl and mountain lion mix said, a little muffed that she didn't trust him. "I was never here to be taking your lands, as is not my right. Don't you worry your pretty little head off about your territory. And yes, i'm headin' to The Hollow once I retrieve my goods. There should be a leatherworker interested in my stuff." The griffon adjusted himself and spread out his large, dark wings with a warm and friendly smile on his face. He was exhausted, but he still had to get back to camp and pack up to head back to the city. Waving to his 'friend' one last time, he flapped his wings and banked down the ledge, floating on the updrafts coming up from the trees.

The night had begun to grow cold and even with his leather cloak he was freezing. I'll have to rest before I head out on my way, but I also want to sniff around that airship for any bits. I only had seven last I checked...That'd probably only buy me a meal, eh. Hopefully I get more bits by trading.

[Stygg Whitefeather]

"The Hollow, well watch your tail there. Place is rough." Chelly said as Wynward prepared to leave, "Not like the wilds but, you already knew that." She winked, "Take care then, I'll see you when you get back." With one last wave, she departed opposite Wynward had, heading back into her territory and disappearing among the trees in hope of saving her latest hunt.

From Wynward's perspective, he could still see the glow from the burning wreckage off in the distance. There was no sign of the Stymphalides, likely gone back to either their cave or to feast upon the carcasses of the pirates - whichever it were, least Wynward found himself with a moment to breathe safely as he traversed back to his camp.