Hunter and Hunted (Closed to Philomel)

[The Huntsman]

The atmosphere of the place was smoky, dark and quiet. The patrons of the bar all ignored me as I sat in my corner, slowly ‘sipping’ at my ale. I had of course chosen a dark corner, shadows wrapped around me as I tucked myself away. It was nice and quiet - and I had an easy time of listening to the conversation around me. In truth - the night was frustrating. For myself, at least.

It was calm, it was peaceful, the air was sedate, and most of the citizens around me were calmly drinking. Most individuals who somehow peeked into my thoughts at this moment would wonder, if things were so calm, why then, was I irritated? For you foul little mind readers, I have only one answer.

I am the Huntsman, and as of this moment, I had nothing to hunt. It was a uniquely frustrating situation to me, because I was well aware that most of the citizens around me would never care that there were no beasts to slay, but for myself it was absolutely the worst. I craved it, sought to slay the monsters that dared threaten civilization. But there were none, they all stayed hidden away in their holes, safe from my blade. I took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Something would happen.

There were always beasts to hunt. I just had to be patient. I ran my finger along the rim of my mug, silver eyes peering out from behind my glasses. I had let the circular glasses slide down my nose so that I could see around this place - the smoke hung thick in the air and made it at least slightly difficult to see. I pulled my hat down low over my face and sat back.

There was something in the air. A tension. But where had it come from? I closed my eyes, focusing on my ears instead.

“Did you hear? ‘Nother ship's been sighted in Port.” Hm, what was this? It had been a while since a ship came into Port here. In fact, the last one had been the one I came in on.

“Aye. It's one of them pirate ships. Marshal wanted to keep it out but they weren't havin’ none of it.” The speaking man snorted. “Right. Marshall is whipped by them women though. Just rolled right over when the Cap'n batted her eyelashes at him.”

Of course he did. Men were ever tied to their natural urges. I was lucky in that my urges, my proclivities, were oriented to the Hunt. A family trait, I supposed - in the course of time I would have stronger urges for intrapersonal relationships, but as of now, they were a distraction. One I indulged, but not sought after. No, this new ship with its apparently female captain, this would not be any interest to me.

“But didja heer why?” Sweet Hunt, you two are worse than gossiping women. Truly, who cares? You only caught my ear because you're the first to talk about something other than let in half an hour.

“Nuh, why?” Because they need supplies, you simpleton. It's why ships docked. The man who seemed to be in the know laughed.
“Cuz the Cap'n with the big tits? She’s lookin’ fer summin’.” Great. Now the simpletons are identifying them by their secondary sexual characteristics. When would their absolutely stunning display of intelligence and foresight cease? I sighed and shook my head, sitting back. Unless this captain decided to hire me to hunt this person they were searching for, this was not something I would care about.

[Philomel]

Rarely did she come to this country. It was a mysterious, deeply technological one that was at the cutting edge of new engineering advancements and philosophical ideas. Cogs and whirring machines made the backbone of the monster that was their society, mixed with rich, dark magic that thrummed through his veins. A beast that Philomel van der Aart had no love at all for.

But here she was nevertheless, a being willing to bring this industrial culture and world down upon itself. More than that she wanted to condemn it, destroy it, let the country that was the greatest danger to the mighty efforts of nature be brought to ruin. For it ate up her fine resources, it abused and refined and consumed her, all in the announcement of progress. Thick black smoke coiled into the sky, even from where Philomel stood at the edge of this neat little harbour town, poisoning the air as far as she was concerned.

But she was here to do what little she could. For a brief time now she had been in Raiaera, organising her world there and relaying the news personally to a noble with white hair on the final destiny of Hugin, also known as the Bearded Man. That adventure had opened her up into a realisation that there was truth to the saying, ‘You get what you deserve.’ Hugin had been cruel to so many people and now he lay somewhere in Concordia forest, his blood mingling with the earth and giving it back life.

In exchange for the news the white haired noble had offered her a truth. For some small way to do a harm to Alerar, by hunting a being.

“They have started experimenting on beings,” he had said in his fluid, handsome voice. “And a particular one resides in a small harbour town, accessible by river.”

“You really think that a beast lies here, my lady?” her erstwhile secretary, Gosling, asked. She had braved the whole journey here this time, escaping her usual confines of the fortress where she served as both administration for the Gilded Lily, and as governess for Philomel's daughter and heir Celandine.

Philomel slowly nodded her head, observing the street where they were. From one side of the street came boisterous noise and light of a pub. She had asked about strange creatures and had been pointed to this side of town. Now she had quite run out of leads and knew that her most of basic fact finding skills would need to be used now.

But who? And what? What sort of thing did the dark elves of Alerar truly find enchanting.

“What would you say,” Philomel looked back to her human companion, “To you working instead of me Gosling?”

The woman paled significantly behind her spectacles and hugged her book of papers to her chest.

“My lady!” she gasped, looking over to the pub. “Me? But I have not done that in - well, years now, since you hired me.”

“Hmm, but you have the skills, still, right?”

Great blinking happened, and Gosling straightened. “My lady … please!”

Philomel raised a brow. “Who do you think they'd prefer Gosling? You or me?”

And the fair haired secretary was left, lips parted in shock. Then they closed, as she frowned.

“Wait, you think I still can do it?”

[The Huntsman]

That strange tension still hung in the air, but I had decided now it was just these villagers being excited about something coming to their town to stir their mundane lives up. I sighed and shook my head - I'd be finding no signs of a beast to hunt tonight, it seemed. A shame, most of the villagers by now knew I would hunt even the strangest things down for them if they observed it - it is what I did, after all.

I was just about to get up to leave, and call this night of information gathering a rather extraordinary loss, when there was a commotion by the door. Beneath my face mask I frowned, tilting my head to the side. Now what, pray tell, was occurring here? The men nearest the door had clustered around it and were blocking it from sight at first, so I could barely make out snippets of conversation - and they all centered around - well. Whoever had come in was at least attractive enough for a bar of half-drunken men to want to get closer to.

A slim figure in spectacles pushed through. Her hair was drawn up, pinned back, and she wore a neat, button down dress. A human woman - drawing a bit of attention in this land of Drow and Dwarves. Alright, this had at the very least piqued my interest. Perhaps I should stay a moment or two longer, find out what this outsider needed. I'd thought it just another ship from one or the main cities, but humans were few and far between.

She sauntered up to the barman and leaned. She spoke, and while I couldn't make out her words, I could make out her tone. She was shifting, swaying back and forth, and the poor bar man didn't even realize he was being played as she rolled her shoulders while talking with him. She was questioning him, an interrogative time reaching my ears, and he was eating up the pretty foreign girl’s attention hook, line, and sinker. I snorted.

And then he pointed to me, and my attention was quite suddenly brought back to the situation at hand. Now just why might a human girl be directed to me? The woman bowed low, and she had to know that the barman tried to peer down the front of her dress, which had been partially unbuttoned. But she didn't seem to care, instead flipping her head as she turned and walked over to me. I tilted my head to one side, and she sat down, coyly toying with the hem of her dress. I kept my eyes trained on hers, and folded my hands together on top of the table, the gloves rubbing against each other softly.

“Good eve, madam. I am the Huntsman. What pray tell, brings one such as yourself to my table tonight?” My voice soft, pitched low, as the patrons around us tried to shuffle closer, eager to get a closer look at the human girl. I turned my head and glared at them over my dark glasses, silver eyes piercing them, and all but the hardiest - or was that the most drunk? - quailed away from my stern gaze.

[Philomel]

“The Huntsman? Hmm.”

Gosling spoke with a mild, interest, her eyes running up and down the person before her briefly. Her chest heaved steadily but her heart was racing. She had not done this in almost five years, and she had been very happy to move into Philomel's world.

”Of course you can still do it,” the faun had said, eyes picking out the words of ‘Chaos and Order’ on the pub.

Gosling had blushed. “But, my lady, how do you know?”

Philomel had rolled her shoulders back, eye narrowing at the pub. “The truth of the matter is none of us will ever forget the skills we learnt or were forced to learn. Everything will come back to you.”

Looking back to Gosling she had held out a hand, a golden earring gleaming in her lobe.

“Ready?”

Gosling had groaned, but passed over the folder of papers. “You better use that trinket of jewelry to stay in contact with me, my lady. I might need it.”

“What brings you to a pub like this?” she raised her brow and bit her lip lightly.

My lady? she asked tentatively in her mind.

Almost immediately Gosling was subjected to the strong contact of an immense female mind, made more so because of some divine power behind it. Connected to that were two other intelligences, one of a fox prancing his way through the streets nearby, and the other was a deep wyrm-like dragon chewing through the earth.

Keep going, Philomel murmured.

Gosling breathed in and gazed at the man with the mask of simple black fabric connected loosely to the tricorn pulled low over his brow. Upon his nose were dark, round glasses that peered at Gosling like she did him, with them part the way down his nose.

“Good lady I am here - in this area in general - as a Hunter, to eliminate beasts that threaten the citizenry. I am here in this bar, in particular, because I use it as a base of operations of sorts, from which people can find me when I am not out on a Hunt. As you yourself seem to have done.” Silver eyes glinted at her half covered by his glasses. “Now why might that be?”

Gosling smiled marvellously. “On the contrary, I did not come to ask for your help. Not yet. Only your … company. Mr …? What might be your name?”

Her blue eyes danced, with a hopeful light that spoke, 'I can do this.’ The hunter watched her for a moment, then slowly shook his head.

“You may call me the Huntsman, or the Good Hunter. My name is unimportant.” His tone was even, calm, like he seemed unperturbed by her asking for his name or his rejection.

“Good Hunter? Then you can call me the good lady,” she raised a hand, calling for wine. “You will join me in a drink, yes? Then we can see if you are the right man for me tonight.”

[The Huntsman]

A drink was harmless, one glass of whatever she chose was unlikely to impair me to any significant degree. So I simply nodded, and watched as the bartender brought over two glasses, and a bottle of wine. The man was besotted by the beauty, clearly, because he brought over a wine that was much higher quality than was normally served. I could, logically, understand his actions. This town had a dearth of women, and a pretty human woman was like an oasis of sweet water in a desert. It was why so many of the men here were staring at her even now - her pale, delicate skin was so strange compared to our dark-hues that she was eye catching.

The strange wording rolled off of me like water from a duck’s back. There was a suggestive turn to the words, but I was perhaps one of the worse people to try that on. I popped open the bottle and poured a glass for the woman, then for myself. A hand slid up, and a gloved finger pushed my glasses back up off of my mask before I pulled the fabric down. I raised my glass to her.

“I assure you, if you need something tracked or slain, I am the best in this town.” Calm. I was not arrogant, I was confident. I slowly smelled the wine, then sipped. Oh yes, this was definitely of a higher quality than the barman normally served anyone.

“I am looking for something very specific,” Gosling said, gently taking the glass and running her lips and tongue along the rim. “But first I would like to get to know you a little more. Tell me about a hunt you did recently.”

I tilted my head to the side, and nodded. After all, she couldn't just take me at my word. And was she trying to take a drink of that wine, or make love to it? I cleared my throat.

“My most recent hunts, in order from the absolute most recent back. A small tribe nucleus of gnolls, trying to move into the woods nearby that the town uses for wood for construction. Then there was tracking down the escaped robber for the constabulary.” As I spoke I tapped fingers on the table, one for each hunt. The gnolls had been - one of the more challenging fights I'd been involved with, simply because they were actually intelligent enough to work together to fight back against me. The robber had been annoying, because he fled to another city and tracking him down had taken more time than I would have liked.

“And then there was the boar, for a celebration.” That thing had been difficult, because the stupid thing was larger than some horses. But it was no dire variant, no bone to protect itself from my blade, and it had fallen. I raised a white eyebrow to the woman who was staring at me intently.

“Would you need specifics on one of those, then, good lady?” I slowly took another drink of the wine, the cherry red fluid sliding between coal-black lips. It was sweet, sweeter than I usually preferred.

[Philomel]

Gosling blinked a few times, her brow furrowing only slightly as she tried to think if her wiles were working on this man. Others were staring at her in the room - certainly she was doing all the right actions. Sticking out her leg to the side, she smoothly ran a hand up her thigh, finger fingering the leg, slowly drawing up the skirt of her dress.

Keep going, Philomel repeated. Keep getting him to talk about himself.

A male voice merged with hers into Gosling's opened mind. It hummed and sounded like a growl of a beast. They do like that, Veridian mused.

“Sir. Return to your seat.” The Huntsman suddenly said, his head tilted to one side as he stared - glared really - at someone behind Gosling. She heard a shuffle of feet.

Looking around she saw a man who had his eyes wide slowly taking his chair again. She paused. So the 'leg reveal’ did work, just not on this Huntsman. Perhaps it was not clear enough. She moved a little, swinging herself so her legs were both out from under the table. She crossed them, hand on the edge of her dress at her knees, fingering the hem of it and 'accidentally’ pulling it up very slowly.

“Tell me more about this 'boar,'” her lips formed and her tongue pronounced the word like it was a foreign delicacy. The Hunter sat back, his head tilting upwards enough that she could see his eyes closing as he thought.

“The boar. Stood approximately six feet at the shoulder, and was roughly four feet long. Tusks were a foot in length each, average reflexes for a beast of its size. Made its home deep in the woods, beyond the logging area, but had recently begun encroaching into new territory, cause currently unknown. There was a harvest festival coming up, the Headman of the village asked me to hunt the beast down, and bring it back as the centerpiece of the meal. Tracking it through the woods to its lair took roughly an hour, sped up by its stropping marks against trees. The fight took roughly ten minutes, mostly due to its size. It bled, quite a lot.” As he spoke, his voice was dry and methodical, like he was reading nothing more interesting than a shipping manifest. Until he reached the end. For a brief, brief moment there was a smile, sharp and hard, on the lips of the Hunter, but then it was gone almost as fast as she blinked at him. The dark skinned elf sat forward, and looked to her over his glasses.

“Satisfactory? And you will catch cold here if you don't right your garments.”

Frowning, Gosling stared for a moment at the man, trying to remember when he had even looked down? Her eyes blinked a fair few times as she sipped back the drops of wine she had in her mouth. Then, slowly, she tilted that glass back to the table. It landed with a light clunk.

“You may not be of interest to me after all,” Gosling said, pushing her skirt back down. Was this man … was he homosexual? Perhaps that was why he did not find her flirtation seducing. Her frown increased.

Wait, he might prefer the more feisty type, Philomel suggested.

“Perhaps you are actually rather useless. Just a boar? No more than a pig.”

[The Huntsman]

I snorted and shook my head. “I informed you that was for the festival. If you wanted tales of a dangerous fight against a cunning opponent, the gnolls are what you should have requested, good lady. Those, they are weapon users, and fight in a pack.” I leaned forward and laced my fingers together, studying her over my glasses. I decided to throw her a bone, since she seemed rather upset that she didn't seem to be effecting me.

“Are you needing a killer, or someone to warm your bed? If so, simply say so. You are attractive, but I don't seek out sex.” I shrugged and sat back before continuing to explain about the gnolls.

“Gnolls, if you are not familiar with them, are semi-sentient dogmen. They live, and operate in tribes and packs. A tribe nucleus, as what I fought, is the core of a new tribe, moving in to a region. There were ten of the creatures, a pack leader, her mate, and eight adherents. To deal with them I was forced to slowly pick off their sentries before assaulting the main encampment, else they would have shot me from behind with crude sling and bows. The pack leader was a powerful fighter, and was closer to fully intelligent than most of her kind. She had a hammer - a black smith’s sledge - and seemed to have a crude understanding of how to properly use it in a fight. With her mate using the spear, it took nearly an hour to whittle them down, after eliminating their helpers.” If she thought me useless, because she asked after what I considered the most boring kind of hunt - a simple animal - well. That was her fault for choosing the most basic.

Gosling's eyes remained narrowed whilst I told the story, although she refilled her glass and sipped more wine. Her legs also were turned back under the table as she learnt, quite obviously, that he wanted no company.

It took time for her to answer. “I do not need sex,” she said, leaning forwards, her voice low so only I could hear. “I came to see if you would be useful to me. Apparently you are not.”

I leaned back, and shrugged. “Well then, I believe that concludes our business together.” I slipped my mask back onto my face and stood up, giving her a slight bow. “I wish you luck in your endeavor then.” If she felt I'd be useless for her hunt, then there was no reason for me to linger longer. I could go see if I could find something skulking in the shadows. I didn't want this night to be a waste after all.

After bowing to her I began walking towards the front of the pub, pushing past the onlookers. Let them fawn over the foreign girl, if she did not wish to share her hunt I had no interest in it.

[Philomel]

“Fuck,” Gosling said as the man strode away from her. “Fuck …”

For heaven's sake, Philomel said quickly, He's got the entire wrong end of the stick. So useless. He thought he wanted us to hire him to hunt.

What do you want me to do my lady? Gosling said, her hand growing tight on the stem of her wine glass. Around her men were beginning to near, one even reaching into his pocket to pull out some glinting gold.

Philomel sucked in her breath, rolling back her shoulders and moving. You try to find what information you can from the cleverest of those men, Gosling. I will deal with this one. He may be useful for helping us eventually hunt the beast that we want.

Gosling nodded, remembering what the bartender had said about the Huntsman simply being the one 'to talk to’ about finding monsters. But that meant many things. They had not got any further in gaining information, nowhere closer in discovering what sort of genetic experiments were going on here. But that sort of information needed to be requested in private. Hence trying to persuade him upstairs, where he would be more open …

The woman scanned her eyes over the men around her and picked out the one with the cleanest clothes and the brightest looking face.

Meanwhile Philomel strode, her hooves clacking on the cobblestones as she made her way over to the door. The same door that the Huntsman was currently opening. The man pushed the door open and paused upon seeing her. There was a moment of silence, then he stepped aside, holding the door open with one hand.

“Your companion is inside.” His tone was even and pleasant, but also cool, reserved. With his mask up, she couldn't make out his expression.

Philomel twisted up her lips in a smile and shook her head. “No … my friend in there is fine by herself. I would like to talk to you on the other hand.” She tilted her head to the side and gazed at him. “Will you? I am actually her superior so perhaps you should talk to me anyway.”

He let out a soft sound - amusement, exasperation perhaps. “If you must, but I believe she thinks I am quite useless.” One shoulder shrugged. “You need not a hunter, so I do not know what help I can be to you. But, if you'd speak, we can.”

“Perhaps I must,” Philomel shrugged, coming closer to the man, her eyes trying to find some sort of human beneath the mask. “But really all we need is information. You dismissed her before she could ask further. Really, she only wanted you alone.” And now her body was a foot from his, her brows arched and her voice low. “Tell me, can you keep secrets? If you can then close the door, please.”

The Huntsman lifted one white eyebrow, and closed the door behind him, cutting off the sounds of the pub. “If that is the case, she went about it entirely wrong. It is rare but I do at times obtain information - but she asked after my hunts, then informed me I was useless. Not exactly encouraging to further conversation. So, you wish to know something?” He tilted his head to the side, indicating a nearby alley. “I doubt anyone would interrupt us, but there may be more privacy if we get off the street.”

“She went after your hunts because most men like to be made to feel they are important,” Philomel kept her eyes steadily on his. She decided flat honesty was the right way here, as he obviously was not a normal individual to be subverted by flirtation. “Thus you would be brought into her wiles, and go upstairs with her to be alone with her. That is one of the only ways we women have power over you men.” She started down the alleyway, her hand coming to rest on the hilt of her white blade, which she had chosen to hand rest on her hip today.

[The Huntsman]

I tilted my head to one side, blinking. I suppose she was right, but at the same time - I shook my head as we walked. “I've no care for being made to feel important. It matters not. I hunt, let others decide if what I do is grand or small.” I shrugged. “I am an eminently straight forward person.” I looked around as we got to a secluded part of the small town, and I leaned back against the wall, folding my arms over my chest.

Now that we were far enough away from the pub the faun turned to me. “We are looking for information to do with genetic testing. Research. That which changes a person. Perhaps you have heard about such things in your journeys?”

Genetic research? Testing? I blinked, slowly. “I do indeed have some information regarding that topic.” I said slowly. As I spoke, my hands dropped down to my sides and I pushed off of the wall. I was subtly bracing myself to react. “There is indeed a program here in Alerar focused on what you are seeking. But that is all I can tell you about the research, other than that there are no centers here. It is not my secret to give, other than its intended purpose is to create defenders. Subjects are… A different matter. Why do you ask?” Well now. This was going to be interesting in about half a moment, I think. I hadn't known anyone outside of the project had any clue of what was happening - and as far as I knew, no one should. This was supposed to be a rather clandestine activity by Aleraran scientists.

The faun’s tactics abruptly changed. One second she was casually watching the huntsman the next she was in his face.

“Where are these places?” she suddenly demanded. “What do they do? What people are they changing?” She pressed against his personal space, threatening to enter it.

[Philomel]

So it was true, there were experiments going on in the nation that were aimed to enhance a person beyond how nature created them. Her heart thumped in her chest as she felt anger rising within her. How dare anyone go against what the gods had made them as, how dare they change and experiment with their physical form in a way that went beyond anything of nature. Yes, some beasts morphed themselves with magic, but that was a blessing of the gods. Science, these drugs, however, were beyond their power, it was as if the experimenters were trying to play the role of god and take such matters into their own hands.

The Huntsman leapt away from her, his body twisting as he removed himself from her immediate vicinity. He landed, his coat billowing - and as it came down there was a blade in his hand. He held it low, non-threatening - but his stance was tense. “Do not rush at me like that, good lady. I am trained to react to sudden movements.” His voice was strained, a bit tight. He slowly stood back up, his head locked in her direction.

“I told you already that I can tell you nothing more of the research. It is a national secret, and you, are quite clearly not of my nation. As for who they are changing - volunteers. People who want to help others.” He was wary, watching Philomel for another movement.

Philomel watched the blade hover in the air. Immediately, in her mind, two creatures awoke to awareness. A few streets away Veridian skidded along the slippery, damp cobbles to do a complete turn, and from deep in the ground a hiss began to form, of a creature beginning to bellow, roar a shout as he twisted to gnaw his way to the surface …

Her lips parted, and her eyebrow twitched. “That was a very bad move. Don’t draw that again, or there will be consequences.” Her own hand had flown to the hilt of her main sword - Nameless - and still hovered around the area.

Hold! she told the other two sharply. She felt Veridian slow to a simple trot and Delath come to a gentle meander upwards. Her jaw worked.

“Then tell me as much as you can.” He watched her carefully. Then he slowly tilted his head to one side.

“Then I shall tell you this. There are things out there that most of my brethren cannot handle. And because most do not use magic, it becomes harder to fight back against the beasts that prowl the night, threatening everything we know and love. So, Huntsmen, men and women who train hard to fight back against that. Even then, we falter, in the face of titans, monsters that lay devastation across even highly trained forces. With the normal disdain for magic, we turned to volunteers, brave souls who were willingly to lay everything on the line in order to continue the Hunt, to continue to protect.” He swept his blade back into its holster, the weapon disappearing under his coat. “ Volunteers, and science. To protect and to hunt.”

Most do not use magic. There are many who still can. This, Philomel knew as a fact as she had faced drow wizards before. Anomalies perhaps, but nevertheless they existed. Her lips became a thin, morbid line and her eyes narrowed slits of prejudice and ire. So, there were things that they said were dark - it was the same with the entire world. And warriors of all types came to the aid, to defend the helpless. They sounded like excuses to her and she found her hands gripping into fists, her heart racing as she tried to control her utter rage.

Of all things, do not turn into a giant goat, she swore to herself. Just don't.

Sucking in a long breath she lowered her eyes at the man before her, and then the words clicked. Huntsmen. He had used the very specific word ‘Huntsmen’ to describe both himself … and them. Those 'brave souls’. Her lips parted, her eyes blinked as they slightly winded. He was … he was one. And he was before her, standing like a prize side of roast pig served on a silver platter. Glorious.

A twitch at the side of her mouth and she felt then so horribly tempted to challenge him there and then. But that being what it was, he would be of no further use. Better to use the information she had … then destroy.

Both of you, remain with us. Within metres, prepare for anything, but remain in wait. Veridian huffed a reply, showing her an image of him taking up the end of the alley that they were in, bordering in the Huntsman therefore. Delath poised beneath the cobbles they were at, ready to strike. Meanwhile, Gosling, dimly aware of this conversation eyed up the situation carefully and chose her odds with the man she was now leading upstairs.

“So you consider yourself brave and ideal, then? Noble volunteer?” she asked, her hand now completely removing from her sword hilt in absolute fake supplication.

[The Huntsman]

“Myself? Not hardly. I was a volunteer, but I did it to further the hunt. Now it seems we are at an impasse. I cannot tell you more, and you clearly despise the very sight of me. So with this, I think it best I leave.” This was not an ideal situation. I had no idea what forces she had lying in wait where. There had been movement at the end of the alley that then stopped. So I was stuck. Or at least, I was sure she thought so. But I was, as she had guessed, not exactly normal. So I bowed - and leapt. Not for her though, which is what she had clearly expected.

No - I crashed into the wall of the inn, partway up. My muscles strained, and I leapt again, for the other side of the alley. A third bound, and my blade swung out, hooking into the edge of the roof, and I pulled myself up and over the edge. I landed with a roll, and came up into my feet. I clicked Saw-Spear back and tucked it away.

“I hope next time we meet you are not so prejudiced, - oh come on.” She was taking a running start at the wall, and I knew exactly what was going to happen. Now this was unfair. So I turned, and took off, sprinting flat out across the rooftops. I didn't want to fight the woman - but I also saw how absolutely enraged she had been. There had been trembling under my feet - earth magic perhaps, getting ready to impale me? Whatever the case might be, I did not want to stay around to find out.

It was a shame. I liked this village, and felt that I had been helping people here. But now with this rather prejudiced goat woman attacking me, I would not be able to stay around. I didn't know what she expected - this was Alerar. By and large, we didn't use magic. What did she expect? To have us just roll over and die when monsters decided to come for us? No. I was not as noble as some of the others who had volunteered for the project, but at the same time - I knew why I had done it. And I would never back down from that belief. The hunt must go on, with all tools available.

The faun easily made contact with the files of the roof, sending a couple skittering as her hard hooves smacked after a fine leap. I caught sight of dark eyes and a flash of a white blade but little else. Crashes of hooves began to be heard behind me as she followed at a pace that seemed to be closing rapidly.

“Stop!” came the yell.

“Good lady, you intend to injure me, and I do not wish to fight, so, I think, not!” I called back over my shoulder as I pressed on, trying to escape. Ahead there was a set of densely packed buildings, with chimneys and tall stacks on the rooftops. My legs tensed and I threw myself up, onto the next building. Before she caught up - and damnation my speed was in my reflexes, not in flat running - I shot for some of the chimneys, ducking behind them. Damn. Why did she hate me so? I did not recall ever hunting a faun so that couldn't be the reason. Was it just because of the experiment? Why did it matter to her that I altered my body - or let it be altered? I suppressed my snort of disgust. Prejudice like this interfered with hunts enough as it was - and now she was after me. I spared a moment to smile grimly beneath my mask. Now I was hunted.

[Philomel]

Veridian, she murmured. Get up here and help me. We need to flank him. Delath, stay below for now. She felt the fox and the dragon respond to her instructions without question, her clearly their commander in this time.

Breathing in she reached in and brought herself through the earring to Gosling. Still she watched the rooftops over the street where the abomination had gone, and where he had now disappeared into.

Gosling?

My lady! the secretary gasped, very briefly showing the sight from her eyes - a genuinely disgusting and sweaty man. Quickly, she hid it.

Philomel curled her lip and prepared for the next leap. We will be severing contact now. I will come find you in the morning. She paused, her limbs tense. Oh and I think I left your notes in the street.

With that, and hearing only a simple gasp before she leant back, Philomel ended the contact. Then she ran, fast and furious, coming to a leap at the end of the roof. She sailed over the street, and then continued on over the more closely packed roofs where she had seen the Huntsman go, sucking in her breath as she sent awareness into the tiles and the clay that they were once of, the soil and dust that lay between their cracks.

Veridian?

Here, he gently hissed, showing his form clambering up a crate, then a windowsill and then a rooftop. I come.

As her awareness spread around her Philomel slowed to a pace, listening to the clink of the tiles beneath her. Her eyes swept left to right and her knowledge went vast, but it was clear that the man had gone to hide. She came to a place where chimneys began to peek from homes and a smile came to her face as she saw emptiness. For a while. Then -

Ah yes. There it was. Forty feet to the north,north east. Behind a chimney stack itself. Twisting around in that direction she began the stalk towards her prey, now second blade singing as it was drawn, not silently, but obviously from her sheath. Veridian showed himself circling around to approach from the other side, claws digging into the slate he trod upon, and ready to release his own fiery fury at any time.

There was a heavy sigh, and the sound of fabric rustling. Then the man stepped out from behind the chimney stack, facing the faun. In his right hand, held loosely, was his weapon, folded in half. He shook his head, the tricorn hat bobbing in the moonlight.

“Why not just let me go? I have no quarrel with you.” It seemed he had taken the time that it took for her to find him to catch his breath and recover, as he wasn't breathing hard from the running and leaping.

Philomel's brows genuinely rose at his statement. She saw the small figure of Veridian coming up opposite her, his jaws open and the beginnings of ember light emerging. Her two bright white bladed swords were held ready but she paused as he came freely.

“Quarrel … well. You ran, first of all. Then, there is the matter of the fact we are hunting something, Mr Huntsman and that genuinely happens to be your kind.”

[The Huntsman]

I tilted my head to the side, and sighed. Fantastic. I could not fault them on this. It was a steadily done hunt, well planned. The fault lay with myself, for not anticipating the danger of strangers. So. I was the prey, and now, foes on both sides. Self-admitted foes, with blades on one side, flame on the other. Not how I planned on my debut from training to go, but. I tilted my head down, blocking my sight of the faun for a moment.

“Well then. It seems that we do have quarrel, after all. A shame, but it seems your current hunt, and my grand hunt, end here.” I sighed, and swept my coat out, crouching down. Two foes. Blades. Fire. Both unknown quantities. The woman, a faun, unknown capabilities that include earth magic of some kind. The fox, fire. Other unknown capabilities. My chances of survival were none. Very well. I bared my teeth in a hard, angry smile. Come then, hunters. Come, and I'll come for you.

I sprang, twisting and leaping backwards. My target, the fox. Harass the smaller, ranged foe first. As I twisted through the air, my blade clicked out, snapping to its full extension, suddenly doubling its range as I swept it round to strike at the ground beside the fox. I had one - one chance at this. Stab the ground, surprise them, throw them off - and flee while they recovered.

The fox let out a startled, spark-spewing bark of surprise. A gasp from behind spoke of the faun pausing, as her mind worked. Then she was coming, white swords flashing as the fox himself flew up into the air and skittered a few pawsteps back.

I flipped forward, rolling to my feet. Damn. They were both till focused, the fox hadn't been thrown off by the fake out attack. And worse, my blade hadn't actually sunk into the rooftop deep enough for me to use it to propel myself away. I backed up to the edge of the roof, faun and fox now on the same side of me. I smiled humorously beneath my mask. I wasn't hunting them, so I couldn't bring myself to hurt them, despite the fact that they were so clearly hunting me. I sighed, and clicked the Saw-Spear back to its reserved form, and returned it to its holster as the duo approached me.

“It seems that I simply do not have quarrel with you. You are not my prey, so I have no interest in hurting you.” I turned away and stared at the moon. It was full, and bright. A fitting sight, I suppose. It called to me, sang to me of promises and potential unfulfilled. I hoped my younger siblings didn't have the misfortune that I did. I closed my eyes. “Do make it quick, at least?” I braced myself, body tensing.

[Philomel]

Her mouth dropped open. She had been raising her weapons, readying for a fight moving rapidly across the rooftops, scampering as he dashed away, taking Veridian's minor retreat as a poor excuse for a getaway. But now he - he.

Why did she hate these abominations? It was purely based on what they had done to themselves. The way that they had misshaped and altered their bodies natural way with a power that rivalled the gods, but had not been gifted naturally. Yes, they might not have much magic in Alerar, but few fauns themselves had it. Yet they still continued on, fighting into the fray and beyond.

Now this creature was honouring her. Seemingly he had given up all hope of survival and was … well. Baring his back to her as Veridian still guarded his front, jaws open in readiness, for anything. What was this being, all genetically modified but not cruel? He was clearly a man with some goodness in him but the wrong way of thinking in terms of power. She had come here to hunt and kill his kind, fueled by a kind of rage that was born from prejudice and now … now …

Now she was faltering.

What do you want to do? Veridian asked, bright eyes leaving their quarry for a moment to blink at her. The man had leaned forward, and was now resting his hands on the ledge. Looking up, not down. His body was lax, it didn't look like he had any intention of moving again.

Philomel lowered her blades slowly, confliction running over her face. We came here to kill him ... she said.

Veridian nodded, eyes turning back the man and tilting his head. But he has a good heart.

It seems that way, Philomel murmured, blinking a few times. ... Damn it!

Going too soft in your old age? the fox mused.

“Oh shut up, you,” she muttered before coming forwards, and placing her main blade - Nameless - on the nape of the Hunter's neck.

He let out a soft sigh and tilted his head forward. “Stab upwards for a swift end. Down, to prolong it.” His voice was soft and steady. His hands tightened on the stonework of the ledge. “Next time you meet someone like me, please, judge them more kindly.” Then he took a deep breath and went still. Waiting, tense.

Philomel's heart beat loudly. Her jaw tightened, and she breathed heavily for a moment before she spat back. “I know how to do a clean death. Nearly twenty five years of killing has done that. Now stop being melodramatic. Hand over your weapon now, and kindly put your hands behind your back.”

“Twenty five years… So young to be so hateful.” His voice was a soft murmur as he slipped one hand under his coat. The wickedly jagged blade was flung to the ground, well away from them both, then his gloved fingers laced together behind his back. “The same age as my younger sister. The other races do mature faster, I suppose.” He continued to face away from her, not moving.

“I said twenty five years of killing, not life. Add another fifteen on top of that.”

And she spoke with a thick tone as she moved her body behind him. Then suddenly removed her blade from his neck. Instead she seized his hands and began to wrap a length of fabric around them.

“Get that would you?” She gestured to the weapon. Veridian paused, glanced at the thing and pattered over it to see how it could balance in his jaws.

Philomel grunted and turned her attention back the Huntsman, tightly pulling on the fabric.

[The Huntsman]

I blinked, staring at the moon as I felt my hands get bound. That - alright, what was happening here. The girl - and half my age, of course she was a girl - was supposed to have ended me. That's how Hunts went, unless you were hunting for information. And she clearly had been coming for my blood, for my life. So why -

Why was I staring at the moon still? I frowned beneath my mask and flexed my hands once. The fabric around them was tight and secure. I was turned around, to see - the faun woman seemed torn. To one side, her fox companion had carefully taken the Saw-Spear in his muzzle, and was -

“Ware, little one. There's enough space for fingers between haft and blade, but naught else. If you wish to carry it, there's a mechanism that will extend the blade outwards.” It was like watching one of my siblings play with the blade. The fox grunted and pawed for a moment, then with a click the Saw-Spear snapped open, bouncing with the force of the trigger mechanism. The fox jumped back slightly, his hackles up - but the blade lay there, inert, and he tentatively picked it up, hefting it awkwardly with his muzzle.

I turned my gaze back to the girl, staring at her with my head tilted to one side. What did she plan now? This entire evening had fallen in line with her wishes, and I hadn't even realized it. So why, now, was I still alive. I raised one eyebrow slowly.

“I've already told you all I will about the project, and I will not tell you of the other volunteers.” I said, curiosity dripping into my calm tone. “Is there something else you needed, girl?” I paused. “Apologies. Lady.” It was difficult to think of someone barely in academy years as a lady, but the other races did mature faster. She certainly had the endowments of someone at least twice her age. Well. Comparatively.

The faun rolled her eyes, letting out an irritated bleat of some kind. “Just shut up, for now,” she growled as she pulled me away from the wall. Beneath my mask I pressed my lips shut, and felt my other eyebrow rise to my hairline. There was the sound of another blade slipping from a sheath and this time a dagger was pressed to my neck as I was shoved forwards. She looked around, and frowned.

“You can jump down?” I tilted my head in a nod. “Don't try to run. I'll just kill you.” That - was obvious. I moved to the edge again, and jumped down, dropping down the two stories to land with a somewhat painful thud, as my knees flexed. A few moments later - ah. The fox could grow. That was - annoying. But he held the five foot long Saw-Spear in his mouth with ease now, as he landed on the ground next to me. He stared steadily at me until the faun girl dropped down as well, and she quickly grabbed my shirt and pressed her dagger to the small of my back, obscuring it from view as she started forcing me down the streets.

[Philomel]

Why she was taking him prisoner and not killing him there and then, she hadn't quite fully figured out yet. But right now with such a torment of different emotions in her mind she knew she had no ability to strike a death blow. Never to someone who did not have a weapon in hand and gave up in that manner. Therefore, apparently she was taking this abomination of a … drow? Was he a drow? Well she would find out soon. Apparently she was taking him prisoner.

Glancing to Veridian she saw the earth spirit drag along the spear in his glorious form, only the smallest of flames flickering along his coat right now. He kept them desperately and eagerly away from the blade which made a horrible skkrtttt noise against the cobbles. Sighing, she looked away from him and kept going, pressing the plynt dagger in her hand deeper into the Huntsman's back as she sped him up. The man hissed slightly as the blade slid into the fabric, piercing it and drawing blood.

He seemed awfully compliant, not struggling out of possible respect of what she could do to him. It made it easier for her to direct him, angling him around various tight corners but keeping it subtle. By the dark for the night the streets were more dead than normal, and she chose the darker alleyways which tended to be more empty. But there was a couple of times where she had to relax and make it look like they were walking just arm in arm, smiling pleasantly at the men. The Hunter would nod his head politely at those who seemed to recognize him - where were a fair few, surprisingly. The pleasant stroll seemed to surprise people, and the soft banalities left them to gawp a little, then gasp at the sight of the five metre fox somewhere behind them carrying that giant weapon.

Eventually the stench of the harbour hit them and it became clear that was where they were headed. Under her breath she hissed at the Huntsman, “Don't say anything, do anything. My ladies will ask questions, but if you want to stay safer, then don't answer them. Alright?” Still staying silent like she had told him to earlier, the Huntsman nodded once.

With his silence she found it easier to walk the full length of the jetty with him in tow. As they got onto the wood, then deeper out to the sea and past the small narrow boats to closer to the ships she pressed in tighter to him. The blade of her dagger moved back to his neck, pressing into the skin. Veridian at this point seemed to find an easier way to hold the weapon of the Huntsman and actually fully balanced it in his jaws at this point. Philomel rolled her eyes as they approached the larger and larger boats, eventually coming to a sloop, and then a rich, dully-lit ship just beyond. A massive figurehead of a fox proclaimed it as hers, with the snout rising to the sky.

She breathed in once, then grunted more with determination and began to push him up the gangplank. Almost immediately a crew member ran up, whispering with curiosity.

“My lady, what is this? Weren't you out hunting the abominations?”

The faun huffed. “Yes I was, and this is a man who is my prisoner. Privately. I am storing him in the brig, but you are not to ask him any questions … got it?”

The woman gawped for a moment, then curtseyed, hurrying quickly off.

[The Huntsman]

Well. Now, I was on a boat. Look at me, I'm on a boat. Well, a ship. I bit back a sigh, biting my tongue in fact. My back stung where her dagger had pierced at one point, but she didn't seem to notice it had happened. A plynt weapon then, one that absorbed the blood before she noticed it leaking out. That was fine by me. So - I was to stay silent, not answer any questions from any of the others on the ship, and I was a prisoner. The faun pushed me down the stairs, now openly brandishing the dagger as she forced me to move.

Down and down we went, past layers of the ship where various things were happening. We were well below sea level at this point, and I felt mildly uncomfortable knowing that I was trapped, on a ship, underwater, surrounded by people who quite clearly considered me a terrible monster. The fact that I didn't even have my Saw-Spear only made my uncomfortable tension worse.

On we went, into the bowels of the ship. The faun pointed ahead of us - ah, a row of small cells. Heeding her unspoken command, I strode into one of them and rolled my shoulders. Fantastic. My hunts interrupted for prejudice, and then I was taken captive. By a girl half my age no less. I sighed and turned around, sitting down cross legged on the floor. My fingers drummed against my back as I studied the woman from behind my glasses. I stayed silent, watching her, waiting. I'd long since found people felt quiet was unnatural and sought to fill it. So, soon enough she would likely explain just why she had taken me captive.

She stared at me a moment before moving. Coming into the cell itself she grabbed something at the back of the barred area, then pulled it forwards with a rattling of linked chains. A blade flashed against my skin, and briefly my hands were free … to be replaced with manacles. The faun stepped back, and grunted before turning her back to leave.

Well. This was wonderful. What the hell even was this woman’s plan at this point? Leaving me to die in a cell was a far sight worse than just killing me on the rooftop - that would have been a clean death. I sighed and moved back, until I was sitting against the wall where the manacles where attached. The faun had slid closed the cell door, then locked the wooden door leading to the outside of the cells, I could hear the loud click. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back, staring up at the gently swaying roof above me. Well. I was swaying too.

I should have just thrown myself off there. I would probably have died, but at least I wouldn't be stuck with a woman who very, very clearly hated me. I closed my eyes. I should have just left the moment a stranger from out of town came looking for me. Consistently, this had led to bad things. Now, I just had to wait. Not a lot I could do here - the manacles were just, just heavy enough that I couldn't break them. And what, was I supposed to break free and fight my way through an entire ship of hostile warriors, when I didn't even have my primary weapon? No.

No, I would just have to sit and see what in the seven hells this woman wanted. Though, if this took long enough that I thought I would starve or dehydrate, I would not let that happen. She hadn't bothered taking my spikes from me, and I could end things with those.

[Philomel]

She slumped to her captain's cabin and fell into her bed. It was a simple, wooden thing build into the structure of the ship itself. Facedown and still fully armoured she huffed angrily into the rough covers.

“Arrrghhhhh!” she yelled at herself. “Argh!”

You like him, Veridian's voice came.

Tilting her head she saw him, sitting in the slit of the ajar doorway, back in normal sized form. His golden eyes blazed at her, full of merriment and amusement. Her jaw tightened.

“Veridian-”

You're going to end up letting him go. Unharmed and well.

Huffing she grabbed a pillow and threw it at him. Nickering with laughter the fox leapt up and teased her as the thing thumped against the door, nowhere near enough for the gap.

You're a complicated person, Philomel van der Aart, but not to me! he grinned and then suddenly fled as she leaned halfway off the bed, her face a twist of anger. All she could here were scrabbling paws and the sound of foxy chuckling.

For a moment she glared at the door, before rolling her eyes. Then - ugh - she fell back on the bed. Because Veridian was right, she did actually like this Huntsman. The way he was, his honour and his graciousness, the way he had described his hunt, that was what made her conflicted. He had spoken like a true fighter, one who understood the ways of combat well and, in another life, one whom she could be strong allies with and forge bonds. They seemed to share the same morals for what should be allowed to stay alive, and the same attitude of protecting the weak. Her heart hammered in her chest as she bored hell into the wooden ceiling with her glare.

But he was what she had come here to destroy. To war against, to send a message to Alerar declaring ‘this is not right’! Yes, they had less magic than the general country, but so far Philomel's attitude to that had been that it was wrong to challenge the right of nature. It was cruel to use her resources with no regard for her future. It was truly an abomination to alter one's being …

But … was it?

Uneasily she dragged a hand through her hair and swung off her bed. She set about the process of taking off her armour, leaving just her belt with her mighty sword and dagger in it. Instead of her dragonscale armour she pulled on a loose shirt and slipped over it a corset, pinning it in place and feeling the familiar comfort.

She stared at herself in the mirror for some time, before grabbing and shoving her now old and battered tricorn hat on her head. Turning around she marched to the kitchens. There, she ordered some food, and watched as the hands gasped and set to work to make her a fine plate. Heavily she leant on the counter, chewing the inside of her mouth as Veridian sent her an image of him still watching her, now from a crack in the floor above.

She sighed. Is his weapon safe?

A blink. I hid it in my space. Philomel, you know I do not mind whatever decision you make with this person. I agree with all your thoughts.

Her hands grew white as she gripped the counter before she threw the contact of the fox-form earth-spirit from her mind. At least he was trying to be nice and 'his space’ … well even she did not know where it was on the ship. The food came a few more minutes into her fuming. Bread, fine salted, warmed meat, what fresh fruit had been battered that day from the harbour, along with figs, and a wineskin of rich red wine. She also requested a skin for water and these items she grabbed before she thanked them and twisted around.

And slipped as unseen and quietly as she could down to the cells. Where she was determined to keep the man alive who had this day become her prisoner.

[The Huntsman]

In this cell with me were currently, by my last count: rats, hiding in the shadows and darting in and out of the cells; a lizard of some sort that was clinging up near the roof that had begun moving not long after the faun woman left; and no less than seventeen insects of various kinds-I stamped down. Make that sixteen insects. This was the third one that had tried to take a bite out of me. Overall, a decent enough little cell.

I had some room to move, if I had cared to. I could move to about halfway into the cell, but that was as far as the manacles extended. I could also, just barely and with a bit of contortions needed, lay down on the small, simple cot that was really barely more than a sheet over frame. At least it had a sheet, and I wasn't just lying on a frame of wood. I had slept on worse - in the Huntsman’s course, after a certain point, you were expected to provide your own furnishings by hunting down creatures and using the remains to make things. At least this cot didn't smell like poorly tanned hide.

I was currently sitting with my back against the wall. It had taken a little bit of wiggling, and flexing, but I had managed to get my hands out from behind my back. Thankfully the woman had bound my hands like I had offered them to her, clasped together, so getting my hands in front of me just required some limberness, no need to dislocate anything. My left leg lay stretched out in front of me, while my right was bent, knee up in the air in front of my chest. My right arm was resting on my knee, my hands hanging together connected by the manacles.

It was now, an exercise in patience. I had, by my estimation, two and a half days before my body began to suffer the effects of dehydration. I'd seen people pass in that way - it was not pleasant at all. So. Two days, and if I had seen no sign of my captor, begin to consider drastic measures. I could sit, or move in my rather limited range, for two days. Truly, being able to move was a kindness because it meant my body would not begin to hurt itself from the lack of movement.

I frowned. Beneath the creaking of the ship, the slopping of the waves - was that another sound? I kicked the bars nearest me, sending the rats scampering away, and closed my eyes to listen intently. There it was again, a faint sound of movement, barely audible at all - coming from down the hall. Towards the stairs. Hah. Had one of the women of the ship come to put an end to their captain’s prisoner? I tensed myself. While I had submitted to the faun, the rest of the ship was a different matter. I would defend myself as much as I could.

The footsteps came nearer, large clunking sounds. They strode with determination, getting clearer until - they stopped right outside the door. A shadow appeared in the grill for a moment, indiscernible before there was a rattling of keys and the clunk of a lock.
The wooden door was shoved open to reveal the casually dressed, tricorn wearing faun.

Hmm. Well, she looks rather different when she isn't armored and trying to kill me.

[Philomel]

Into the room the faun came, a plate of food balanced on the heel of her hand. Under her arm was tucked two skins of liquid. She did not look at the man as she locked the door behind her, then went to unlock the cell door itself. Pausing, she took a step back to hook the keys on a fixture by the door, well out of the Huntsman's reach before she dragged back the cell door. Then she let out a breath as she slumped on the floor in the cell door, folding her goat legs beneath her.

“I have no idea what you things eat so here,” she pushed the plate of bread, fresh fruit and meat towards him. It skittered along the ground, coming to a halt as it contacted his boot. “And here,” she threw a skin at the ground in front of him. “Water.”

She flicked her hair back over her shoulder with a twist of her head and finally lifted up her eyes to stare daggers at him. The other skin remained in her hand.

Slowly his hands lifted up and he removed his glasses, setting them to the side. When he looked back, his silver eyes were glinting in the low light. “You have my gratitude.” He said calmly. His hands reached out and he pulled the water skin to his side, then the plate of food. He shifted to sitting with his legs folded under him - but he didn't eat just yet. Instead he stared at her.

“Just, what exactly, do you think happened to me? That I am some kind of impossible abomination, full of parts that are not my own?” He shook his head, his mask swaying slightly as he did so. “I am still a Drow, good lady. The serum merely enhanced my reflexes and strength - and I have seen spells that do far worse.” His fingers laced together in his lap as he watched Philomel.

Slowly the faun uncorked the wine before chugging it back into her throat. The rich red liquid quenched her thirst for a moment but she kept her eyes steady on his, her own slate grey ones nothing to the silver glories. For a moment she did nothing but glare, wondering in her mind if she really could tell him all. After a moment she rolled her eyes, shoving the stopper back in the wine.

“Spells come from magic, which is blessed by the gods or some other power, for instance the Tap - but it is part of nature. Science is not. It is darker than nature, a way of trying to play divinity without being divine. It is an abomination, therefore you are.” Her jaw tightened, her shoulders straightening. “That is what I have been taught, that is what I understand. I come rarely to Alerar because of my hatred of this place, but I was given a chance to make a difference this once and …” she shoved the wineskin down and set her hand steadily on the hilt of her sword.

“Well. As you can see apparently my willingness to end what I believe should not exist slipped.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “I want to know why you acted as you did. Why did you not fight more?”

He stared at her for a long minute before leaning back, shaking his head. “I told you. I am a Hunter. You, were not my prey. I am no beast, no monster, to just lash out and strike others with no concern. Let me ask you a question. All those sources you say, which you believe to be right and good. None, none of them are natural. Each and every one, is more than our world has to offer. Magic? The gods? They are above our world, outside of it. Yes, connected to it at times. You think science is unnatural? It is hardly any more so - in fact, I would say, it is more natural. We look to the world around us, seek to understand it and ourselves. Everything, every single thing inside of me, is born of this world, with no outside influence. How then, am I less natural, than a mage who has grafted a demon to his soul? How then, am I oless natural than someone who can bend and manipulate the elements themselves? They do not run rampant, and I do not. It has nothing to do with what we are made from - be it outside influences or scientific - but with our minds. And mine, my mind, is untouched.” He stared at her intently, silver eyes gleaming.

“That is not nature,” Philomel's argued. “Magic is … gifted by the gods, life was created as them and how more natural can you get but creation itself. What is, has been formed, is how it should be, what they dreamed it should be. Your science is taking the power of those gods and using it when you should not have the power!” She pounded a fist on her side of the cell doorway. A thundering ring ran out, loud and terrible as the metal shook. Philomel was stunned for a moment and then her face suddenly contorted. She screwed it up, pulling her hand back to her body. It was larger, though, than when it had gone out and had fur running down the back as she hissed in pain.

A large ugly dent was also now in the cell door. Philomel hissed and glared at the Huntsman as she cradled her hand to her breasts. “That was now your fault. You cannot say that science is nature. It is the opposite. It is trying to replicate the power of gods.”

[The Huntsman]

I stared at her silently for a long minute. She was growing more enraged every time I spoke, and yet she stayed. Was she trying to understand? Or was she just waiting for me to say something she could kill me for. I sighed, and shook my head.

“How many creation stories do you know of? Of gods, claiming that they shaped the world? I can tell you at least three - the Elves have one, the Dwarves have one, and I'm sure your goddess has one of her own. Each says they did it separately, at least the two I know of personally. We do not, -I- do not, seek to replicate the powers of the gods. I seek to understand the world. To hunt. We use the world around us, nothing more than that and our own minds. Is that not exactly why the gods set down? That we should fill this land and grow to know it?” I didn't know why she stayed. I had no idea if she was just - just what? Why was she staring at me so intently, why did she care so much what I thought? Was I not just a monster to her, an abomination?

I lifted up my hand, and pulled down my face mask. Gloved fingers ran along coal-black skin, tinted with hues of purple. “When you look at me, with just your eyes, what do you see? Am I a monster? For what, using the world instead of the gods?” I shook my head and tilted my hat back to give her a clearer view of my face.

She straightened when she was faced with what had been hidden, and her eyes glimmered with something of an understanding before she shook her head. “Firstly, you do not know how my goddess thinks. I'm her priestess, I'm pretty sure I do, not you. She has never made any claim on creation, aside from my race, another one and some trees. Secondly there many stories, culture to culture, but they vary in that manner because each race was created separately. Stories become contorted over time, manipulated, changed. They-” She huffed. “You do not look a monster, but what you have done to your body should not be. We live in a world where we know the gods are real, and we see them. Can you not have any respect for that?”

“Of course I respect the gods. I do not idolize them though.” I wanted to rub my face, but I also did not want to beat my chest with the chain, so I refrained from it. “But you, good lady, have not answered. Why is it so bad that we used things from the natural world to give our people a better chance of survival? We’ve made no pacts with demons, we have not grafted abominations together. I am still just as much a Drow as I was before. I'm stronger and a little faster, but I've no unnatural hungers, no craving to consume or destroy the world around me.” Was she just so against science? Had a scientist murdered her family? Hah. No, that wouldn't have happened - because a scientist would have just studied them. I frowned though.

“Have you experienced a madman, claiming to be a scientist? One who twisted the world and corrupted it? Perverted and destroyed it? If so - that is not what science is. Science is the drive to understand, to know and learn. What was done to me was done to protect people, not to hurt them.” I watched her carefully. There were those who claimed they furthered science, as they wrought devastation on the world around them. Perhaps that was the cause of her hate?

Philomel breathed in, casting her eyes away as they reflected disgust. “I have seen what science does. I once saw a plague that had been created in a laboratory be spread onto a land and kill everything in sight for miles after miles. Granted I fought on the same side as her in that war, granted she is now not …” she grimaced a moment, trying to forget the being that was Madison Freebird. The beast. The monster. Twisted and befouled, forced to become what she had never wanted to be.

“And I have seen the other side. I've seen a girl, sickly, told she would never be able to live past the age of thirty, given new life because a scientist dedicated twenty years to figuring out what was wrong with her body and fixing it.” So she had seen the foul side of things. But not the good? No wonder she hates science so much. But wait. Something - why did it seem like something was missing from her answer? I frowned as I worked over what she had said.

[Philomel]

Philomel kept looking away. Then, quite furious, she dragged her hooves under her and pushed herself up. She threw the wineskin to the ground and said with a rather bitter tone.

“I am going to go now. Don't go anywhere. We have more to discuss.” She was grabbing the cell door before she realised her rather stupid comment. Rolling her eyes to herself she tugged the door closed, shoving it past its dent that she had put into it. With one last look to the drow she paused before sighing.

“I admit that you yourself are not an abomination as a person. But what you have been taught, brought up in a world where that is all you know … your ideas are wrong.”

The man rolled his shoulders in a gentle shrug. “And I would say the same of you, good lady. But thank you, for seeing I am not a monster.” He gave her a cool, pleasant smile. Then he shook his hands. “And I do not have any plans to leave any time soon.”

“And thus, we have come to an impasse,” she breathed out and paused. “My intention at the moment is not to kill you. Do you eat normal foods or do you need a … special diet? I know little of drow and their needs in that area.” She spoke as she moved, reaching to get the key once more from the hook and secure the cell door closed.

“Meat, bread - I eat the same as most other races. There is a mineral we need periodically, but I will not need it for some months. And no - that is most drow, not those who have been experimented in. It is a deficiency in our systems, an inability to produce something we need.” He shrugged. The door clicked between them, and she turned to look at him through the bars. “I suppose I look forward to your next visit, good lady.” His silver eyes remained on her form, intently watching her.

“I am glad, good sir,” she said with a small amount of hesitation.

Then she nodded to him once and left, shutting the door and turning the key there. She took a pause, sucking in a long breath before she shook herself to start striding back to her normal life. The Huntsman certainly was a man of mystery, who sought to persuade her in his way of thinking, and she in his. Yet, she knew she had the upper hand here - he was her prisoner.

Head angled high she took the stairs up towards the deck, ignoring the golden eyes who stared at her from the darkness. They moved from it to a pace behind her, keeping with his small pawsteps a few paces constantly behind her as she walked determined up to the top of the ship. She had had a conversation, and yes, there would be more, most certainly. It had been barely half an hour that they had spoken, but it had been half an hour of opening her mind to knowledge of a world she admittedly hardly knew. So much for prejudice.

Yet still she would strive further to persuade him. Steadily she got to the deck and looked around at the early dawn and the people working there. She nodded to a few, walked until a question came to her. Veridian followed silently as she threw herself into work, trying to distract herself from all the thoughts that the Huntsman had struck into her head.

Soon though, things had to change. An event had to happen that would alter everything. For that is the way of the world.

“Matriarch!” came the desperate, exhausted call as well as running footsteps. “Matriarch, your daughter-”

[The Huntsman]

So. She thought me misguided. I, was was what, more than twice her age? Hah. No, I'm sorry faun captain, I've lived a lot longer than you. I am no misguided stripling, to be won over by a captor. Especially not one so full of prejudice that she considered me an abomination and tried to kill me before changing her mind. I almost looked forward to her next visit in truth - I wanted to keep talking with her, force her to open her eyes.

Because I had realized what was bothering me before she left. Twice I had asked a question - and yes, I had asked others around it. But each and every other question was answered at some point, except for one. One that I felt was rather important.

‘Why am I a monster for using natural things to become stronger?’

The faun had answered everything else in some way, whether a confirmation or a rejection. Everything but that one, rather vital question. Only - had she? Had she ignored it? Because at the end, when she was getting ready to leave…

I hadn't been a monster in her eyes, but a man. Maybe a misguided man, but a man. So. While she hadn't vocally answered it, she had. I wasn't a monster for using the natural world, but for using science. Which I now knew she only had negative associations with. A plague, unleashed. A shame that she did not know of the good things science brought. People who had new leases on life because science gave them what they would have otherwise been denied.

Science might be capable of creating disasters. But it was also equally capable of curing disease and saving lives. It was a tool, a valuable one, but one that could be misused like any other tool in the world. A hammer might be used to build a house - or used to break a man’s bones. I hummed as I thought. Then I paused, my thoughts interrupted.

The ship was rocking. Moving. The water was sloughing of the sides, I could hear it through the wooden walls of the cell - the hull of the ship. We were moving, leaving port. I took in a very deep breath. ”My intention is not to kill you.” She had said. Well, she hadn't lied. I just - wouldn't be seeing home for a while, it seemed. I let out a long, deep sigh. I didn't care about very much in this world beyond the Hunt - but I did love my family, and now? Now I had no idea when I would see them next. Fantastic.

One of the rats chittered, slowly approaching me. I looked down at it - the rodent was surprisingly clean. Even after watching for nearly two minutes, I saw no sign of any mites or fleas. Huh. He was also surprisingly calm as I reached out and ran one finger down his back. I shook my head as he pressed against my leg. “Looks like we are, quite literally, in the same boat here, hmm? Here.” I tore off a piece of meat from what the faun had brought me, and offered it to the rat. There was a squeak, and the food was snatched. To my mild surprise, he stayed by my side as he chewed at the meat.

“Well. I could do with worse company for being stuck in a cell for who knows how long.” I picked up the bread and slowly started eating it. I didn't know how long it would be before the faun woman returned, so, I would do my best to make the food last. At least the water skin would buy me another day or two, if I was forgotten down here. The hours began to slip by, my rat companion and I quietly sitting next to each other. After eating, he crawled into my lap - most likely, this fellow had been someone’s pet at some point, he was far too comfortable with drow for that not to be the case.

[Philomel]

It was around an hour after this that the sound of keys began to scrape in the lock. They were more hesitant than before. They moved as if considering themselves if they would allow entrance into this darker, slightly misty room, before the main door opened and through it came - not the faun. But rather, Gosling entered, carrying a plate of good quality food and two more skins.

The Huntsman looked up, and the rat in his lap froze, staring at her. He tilted his head to one side. At some point he had removed his hat, and it was now sitting on the edge of the cot, with his glasses resting on top of it. The man’s fingers were gently stroking the rat, which looked like it wanted to bolt under the cot and hide.

Gosling ducked her head slightly as she walked forwards to unlock the cell door before sliding it open. Then, after setting the keys up, she came forwards, eyes right on him. In the doorway she paused before mumbling.

“The Matriarch would be down herself but she is dealing with … well. A very major occurrence. She said you eat anything?” The man slowly nodded, watching her. His head cocked to the other side, examining her, those silver eyes sharp and intent.

“Right,” she flustered slightly, pushing her spectacles further up her nose before she held out the plate. She was still wearing the semi-formal dress of the previous evening. “And I have wine too. Unless you prefer beer?”

Still unnervingly silent he shrugged. Two fingers lifted up and wiggled at her, and for a moment she thought she saw a quirk of a smirk on one edge of his mouth, but then it was gone, leaving his face blank and impassive, except for that intense stare. Her brow furrowed as she watched his gesture before she huffed and leaned to set the plate down. Her eyes glanced to the other plate, but could not see it right away, but she just shook her head with confusion. A poor quality metal round thing would not be too much use for an escape attempt. Dumping down the two skins she let out a sigh. Her eyes flickered back to him when she realised his eyes were looking at her …

Quickly, she straightened, a frustration coming into her movements. Her hands smoothed over her dress as she stared at him incredulous.

“Don't - don't do that. What, so you now are interested now we are here? You some sort of beast folk now, with 'cycles’ of when you are or are not interested?!”

He let out a slow, low chuckle, and shook his head gently, once. “I never once said I was not interested before, good lady. I merely do not outright seek sex for pleasure. That does not mean I do not appreciate a fine view.”

The sudden speaking flustered Gosling, catching her off guard. “Well - well,” she said, “Don't let my lady find you doing that. People will pay fine high prices for that, you know. More than you could probably afford.” Then she blinked a few times before flapping her hands. “How - so you don't respond then like other men? Why? They are so easy to beguile, you saw, with the techniques I have learnt.”

“Indeed. However, that is because for them, sex is an imperative. They crave it, crave intimacy. I, do not. Sex is a tool for me, a distraction. A pleasant one, at times, but a distraction. I will oblige my body’s desires, but I will not go out of my way to seek out that satiation.” Cool, calm, mildly pleasant - like he was talking about the weather, not sex. Still those intensely staring eyes remained locked on hers.

“Well for most of the women on this ship it was, or still is, at least a part time occupation, so kindly bare that in mind when looking at us.” Haughtily she folded her arms. “Distraction indeed. If the Matriarch wanted she could have you begging for her.”

“Indeed? I doubt it, and I doubt she will ever want to try.” Another soft chuckle. “I do rather think she - ah, not my place to say. I thank you, good lady.”

“Right, it is not your place to say,” she nodded once. Then she paused before stepping back and hauling the bars back across. “I'll go get that damn beer, you ... reptile.”

And there was a scrabbling of keys as she locked the door before sauntering out.

[The Huntsman]

Staring at the door, I had to wonder. How the hell was I a reptile? Was it because I didn't seek out sex? Was it because I didn't care which I drank, out of beer or wine? I honestly had no idea. I also.. Didn't really care. If that was the best insult she could come up with, I doubt she would ever get under my skin. And what on earth did she mean, to keep in mind that most of these women were, or are, whores, when I look at them?

Did she want me to think ‘hey, I could hire one to sate my body’? I somehow doubted it. Maybe she wanted me to think, that they had once been sexually driven but now were not? I - no. I had no idea what she had meant to make me think there. Maybe she meant, that the women who were once courtesans, would be upset if a man didn't take the time to appreciate what they displayed? But - that wouldn't work with me, I didn't care enough about my body and its desire for sex to really pay attention to things like that.

I had looked at the woman who just left - because she had bent over literally right in front of me, giving me a clear view down her dress. I had no interest in seeking out sex, but I would not turn it away if offered - directly, as the woman had learned that attempts to seduction fell rather flat against me. I shook my head. All of this was moot. I was a prisoner here. And I had no desire to break out of what was clearly a moving sea vessel. No thank you, I choose life.

A sound of movement down the hall, and I tilted my head to the side. Well, if she didn't want me staring at her - I reached over and retrieved my glasses, setting them on my nose and obscuring my eyes. Then I leaned my head back and began counting the steps she took to return.

The woman sauntered in with a mildly irritated look on her face, unlocking the doors before shoving a new skin over my face. I blinked.

“Here,” she waved it dramatically. “I'm not bringing any more than one a day though. It's good for keeping you healthy here but … too much and.” She screwed up her face and shook her head. “Take, please, Mr Huntsman.” Very well, as she was asking. I reached up, chains rattling, and took the skin from her. I carefully settled it down in my lap and tilted my head to the side, enough to actually look at her with just one eye.

“My thanks, good lady.” And then I returned to staring at the ceiling. I had discovered I had an uncanny knack for irritating the women on this ship, and I was just going to do my best to interact with the few who came here as little as possible, so that none of them decided to end me.

“Information wise, I am allowed to tell you that we are on our way back to Corone. So … yes. Sit tight as you'll be here a while. Reptile.” I almost, almost snorted. Instead she stared as I remained silent then turned and stalked out with a huff, slamming and locking the door behind her.

So. Corone. That was.. Not as bad as Raeria would have been. I sighed and waited for my rat companion to return. It looked like I would be here a while.

[Philomel]

“My lady?”

A great sigh. Tired eyes looked around and gazed at Gosling running up the stairs to her where she stood on the upper deck. They were making a for headway as the Feisty Fox cut into the waters like a well-honed blade edge, angling down the river they had come and yearning for open ocean.

“Yes?” Philomel was coiling hair around her finger. “What is it?”

Gosling paused when she saw the stress lines in the Matriach’s face. She frowned slightly, before starting.

“He - your … 'friend’ is fed and watered. I think he might prefer beer over wine.”

Philomel dragged in a breath and thought about it. In all honesty, she did too. It was more that people seemed to expect the grand Matriarch of a feminist guild to desire wine over anything. “Right. Thank you, Gosling.”

“Another thing …”

The faun sighed and looked around at her. Taken aback by just how stressed Philomel looked Gosling stopped and shook her head. “N-nothing.” When the Matriach raised an eyebrow, Gosling just smiled sweetly and asked another question.

“What do we know?”

A look of torment crossed over the faun’s face. Her jaw tightened and she looked over to a corner where a small russet fox was skulking, his own eyes full of pain.

“From the reports that Vaeron has managed to piece together,” Philomel sighed, her brow becoming ever creased. “Celandine wandered into the Jagged Mountains. The same place where those old monks live - the Jal’shay. We don't know what has happened, but she basically disappeared right where the last sighting of the medusa was.”

Gosling's blood suddenly ran cold. Swallowing hard, her eyes went wide and her skin began to turn as pale as a sheet.

“The - the medusa?”

Philomel nodded fast, her fingers tensing in and out of fists. “The same one that we have heard stories of living above us, it is believed. Wants to be beautiful, so prays on the beautiful … what might a young girl, blessed by a goddess, be to her hmm?”

“Fffuck,” whispered the secretary, “Drys above.”

“Hmm,” Philomel nodded, her eyes dark with fear and fury. “Yes. Not good at all.”

Silence fell between the two women. Gosling's eyes cast around, surveying where they stood, away from the others before she looked back at her Matriarch. She fumbled as she placed her hands together.

“So - so your friend …”

“My daughter comes first beyond anything,” Philomel hissed sharply. “Even a man who I am literally forcing away from his home right now. Don't even begin to ask me about how that feels. If it the right thing. You never know,” she spat. “Corone might be a good eye opener for him.”

The secretary paused and looked down. “Is there anything I can get you my lady?”

“Only news that my daughter is safe,” Philomel replied, gripping the hilt of her dagger. “Only that.”

[The Huntsman]

The human woman stepped away, having just dropped off another plate of food and a skin of beer for me. They had been mostly ignoring me the last few days - I would see the human, when she brought me food twice a day and beer with one of the two meals. I drank the beer sparingly, and she was distracted enough not to realize I had at least two full skins still under the cot. I thanked her as she left - always in a rush, this one, like she could barely stand to see me. No matter, I wasn't perturbed. I was however, itching to hunt. It had been nearly a week now since I slew something, and my blood was beginning to boil just ever so slightly.

So I settled back in to continue waiting, chewing on the chunk of bread. My little rat companion - now named Radford in my head - slowly came out and I gave him a piece of the citrus fruit that sat on the plate. Then - there was the sound of hooves, faint on the wood, coming down the hall. My right eyebrow rose. Was the faun coming down to see me? This would be the first time since before the ship set sail that I saw her. I settled back, chewing on the crust.

The door was shoved open and the sight of a stressed and anxious looking woman greeted me, but one who seemed determined to bring me food. After opening the cell door with a loud thud she stared at me for a while with a creased brow and dark eyes before walking in, then she settled down on the floor.

“Back to resume our conversation,” she announced. I tilted my head - then reached under the cot and tossed her one of the skins of beer.

“Drink, first. You look like you need it.” I normally wouldn't have cared - but this woman quite literally held my life in her hands if she cared to. She popped it open and sniffed, and her eyebrows rose. “I am truthfully not much of a drinker, so the beer has been accumulating down here.” I explained, shrugging one shoulder.

The faun glared for a moment before she swigged down a gulp. It seemed to help, as her eyes on swallowing the first mouthful dropped down to the floor, then filled with a sort of sorrow. Heavily, she sighed before drinking more.

She took a few mouthfuls, seeming a lot more calm, before she wiped her mouth with her wrist and lifted her eyes back up to look at me.

“My name is Philomel,” she said thickly. “I am a priestess of the goddess Drys, goddess of trees, fauns and earth spirits. Drys charged me, some years ago, to seek out those who seek to harm her creations.” I tilted my head to the side. That was - well. It was a reason to hate industrial projects. Not science perhaps, but industry. I reached over and moved the second skin for of beer out from under the cot and set it down near her. Then I sat back, chains rattling as I moved back.

“I am a Huntsman. The only Huntsman, from my graduating class from the academy. I follow in the footsteps of my father, and hope to inspire my siblings to become Huntsmen or Guardians themselves.” If she wished to share some of her past, I will do the same. “Guardians are the shields of the small cities, Huntsmen are the swords bared against the monsters that would threaten out homes.”

She nodded slowly. “I see. So presumably you had a name once but it was lost to your determination to follow in your father's footsteps. Interesting.” She took another drink. “Tell me, why did you seek to improve your body with a serum? Was yours not good enough?”

I tilted my head as she spoke. Not quite right about my name - I just didn't care if people knew it, calling me Huntsman or Hunter was enough. Hell, some people legitimately were named Hunter. Names implied relationships, and for now I didn't seek those. But - let her think as she pleased. But she - she wanted to know why I had sought to improve myself. I hummed in thought before replying.

“When I was young, learning from my father, he imparted on me a lesson that I hold near and dear to my heart even now. ‘Huntsmen are sometimes all that stands between the beasts, and civilization. A good Hunter then, must use all tools at his disposal to Hunt, to keep those beasts at bay.’ Good Priestess. I grew up, and attended the academy, with the goal of being a Good Hunter. Decades, with that refrain in my ears. So, I use all tools I can to Hunt. Science. Blade. Serum. Even magic.” It was not something I told many. Magic was, even now, shunned in Alerar. But - but the Saw-Spear carried an enchantment of its own. A valuable tool for me, and one I cherished. I tilted my head forward and looked over the edge of my glasses at her, silver eyes glinting in the light. I watched her slowly take a drink as she processed all I had said.

Her brows rose. “Magic? But you have more or less told me you do not use it. Hence the whole, shoving laboratory sick into your body. Willingly.” Laboratory sick. I. I couldn't help but blink at that one. Laboratory sick? That was - a disturbing image. I shook my head to dispel it.

“Wrong. I told you, I use all tools. I value them equally. Magic is just highly, highly difficult to obtain in my homeland. Why go out of my way for something that would draw the ire of everyone I knew? In Alerar, most view magic as you do science.” She had to know that though. Why was she so surprised that I did not torment myself with the nearly impossible to obtain, when it would only bring me suffering from my friend and even family? Despite my father telling me that, I had taken it more seriously than he did. Even the vampiric enchantment on my weapon was extremely weak, and it took me from more effort to obtain than anything else I used.

A slight frown creased in her brow. “Another thing that has been bothering me: your king worships the Thayne Khal'jaren. Where do you stand yourself on this, with gods, the deities. I know your race discarded much of the authority of them when you diverted from Raiaera but … why abandon gods?” I sat back. Of course a priestess would want to know who I worshipped. I sighed and slowly shook my head.

“The matter is a prickly one. From my understanding, it is actually rooted in our separation that you mentioned. We left behind many of the tradition that the high elves follow. They had divinity and magic intertwined with nearly every aspect of their culture. And we despised that culture, rejected it. They too ostracized and hated science, hated those who tried to learn and understand. After generations of being crushed under them, when we broke free, we rejected them and their beliefs. Science, rationality - these became our champion principles. The gods? Magic? Fickle. Change between person to person. Science is - it is neutral. Science is the same no matter who performs it. It can benefit all, and be adjusted to help those who need more specific requirements.” I frowned. I - disliked speaking this much. But she asked, and I would answer.

“And as for myself. I am ambivalent towards them. As I told you before - I do indeed respect them. Khal’Jaren is - well. He believes in some of the same things we do. Wisdom. Knowledge. Understanding. You say science meddles in the realm of the gods? He openly invites it.” I shrugged. I knew our king was a devout follower, but I - as with many other things - considered it - hasslesome. I just wanted to Hunt, not worry about what god I was or wasn't pissing off. Because nearly every animal under the sun had some god or another that wanted it to be protected.

[Philomel]

Her eyes burned on his. Certainly she had asked the question but his answer was … so much bloody information. Almost too much, and in that moment, for a moment, she regretted coming down here at all. Truly, this man had had time to think about his life and what he believed. She felt a slight pang as she listened to what Khal’Jaren accepted as being acceptable and it jarred in her mind of what she had learnt about her childhood's gods. Her hands folded tightly around the container of beer and she let out a huff as she tried to refute all that he was saying in her mind.

But who was she to deny the entire belief system of a whole country and culture? Who was she to argue against a being that some of them worshipped and who - well at least they believed he did - supported their scientific endeavours.

Raising a hand she tugged it through her hair, her jaw working as she tried to not think of Celandine. Instead, she tried to organise in her mind what she was steadily learning about this man before her, and understand herself why she believed what she did.

“Stupid girl,” she muttered quietly, her thoughts slipping to how Celandine had gone wandering. Just as lost as she was in this conversation.

“I doubt it.” His voice was still calm and collected, bringing her back to the present. “Unless you are not referring to yourself, in which case, I cannot argue for, nor against your statement.” He shrugged slightly, the chains on his hands rattling.

She blinked, looking up, frowning slightly. “What?” Her head tilted back, her mighty horns casting away from him, but in such a manner that they could be preparing to be thrown forwards into a harder pitch.

“You, are not a stupid girl. Young perhaps, but youth does not imply stupidity.” He shrugged.

She blinked a moment, still confused, before her eyes widened and she gasped a little, realising she had said her thoughts out loud.

“Oh fuck. No I didn't mean me. I might be apparently naïve and a bit younger than yourself, as you say, but I know I am not stupid.” Philomel paused for a moment before she winced, looking away. Or perhaps she was an idiot. For letting her thoughts here become mixed. Clearly it was too early. “Fuck,” she muttered, swigging back the beer. Her heart pounded, and her thoughts urged her to get up and leave but in all honesty here was as good a place as any. The beer was helping. A lot. All she needed to do was steer the conversation back the way she wanted it. “Fuck … what was I going to say?”

“Well. You seemed distraught as you came in here. Perhaps.” And the man tilted his head, one corner of his mouth quirking upwards. “Perhaps you were going to share your woes with a captive audience?” He rattled his chains once as he spoke.

Her eyes flickered back to him, blinking slightly. The beer was half raised to her lips before she fakely laughed. “Oh ha ha. Hilarious, Mr Huntsman.” A genuine smile though played on her lips, the first in many, many days it felt like.

Gently, she snorted a note of laughter, looking back away and shaking her head. But the beer did not return to her lips, and the smile slowly faded, as did the joy in her eyes. It was replaced again with the firm look of despair again as she listened to his words and knew there was some genuine truth in them. All the past week she had been stalking the ship and shouting orders. People had been running to her, either asking questions about the 'latest news’ or to give their condolences. Yes, the sentiments were nice, but honestly - repetitively, from the same people, over and over again?! It made her feel like there was no hope. That she had already lost Celandine to the monster. That what Drys had told her last night had come to pass. That … that …

She dragged her hand through her hair. “I want you to be able to see the goodness of what life is like without your industry. I want you to realise what other potential there is. I want a whole heap of things right now, for one not to be so confused by you and the other to damn …”

Tipping her head up to the ceiling she let out the biggest, most exhausted sigh. “My daughter has gone missing. In a place where … where a medusa is said to have stalked recently.”

[The Huntsman]

I tilted my head to the side. I confused her? Good. That meant she was listening, hearing, and trying to comprehend. Confusion was an excellent first step, past hatred and disgust, towards eliminating that prejudice that had burned in her eyes before. But - but what was that. A child, missing? Worrisome enough on its own - the young needed to be protected, they had not had a chance to decide what they wanted to be in life. But - it was the beast that she claimed was in the area that truly caught my attention.

A Medusa. She of the hungry, staring eyes. My blood, which had been simmering, roared to life. Here, then, was a Hunt. A worthy Hunt, against a foul Beast that stalked the land and threatened people. I forced the hungry smile down, letting not a trace of it show in my lips. I couldn't help the way my eyes lit up in anticipation.

“Why. Good Priestess. You do know, Huntsmen are trained trackers?” Now I did let my lips slowly curl into a smile. “And - I know of measures to take against such a Beast.” My blood was humming in my veins, anticipation burning in my chest.

Philomel's eyes flickered back to mine, and for a brief moment they were full of hope, and her lips were parted with a soft gasp ... but then it was gone, to be replaced with irritation. “You're not getting away from here that easily. Tell me these measures, if you will.” I let out a short, sharp laugh. Even if they knew the measures, they needed a tracker, and she knew it.

“Very well. I care not to escape, but to Hunt. I will help yours, this time. If it is a true Medusa, ‘ware the gaze. Polished metal will deflect the petrification inherent to them. If you could obtain a shield with a mirror set in, then you might be able to truly reflect the gaze, and use it against the beast. If it is more a Gorgon - a closely related monster - then keep your distance, and fill it with arrows. Their stone entombment works through the bites of the snakes that make up their hair, and their hands.” I rolled my shoulders and sat back. An offering, and I knew the priestess would recognize it for the peace it was offering.

“Is there a way to reverse the stone spell, if it is already set in?” her eyes were steady on mine. I paused at this. I did - I did know of one. But. I sighed.

“A magical one? I know not. You are more likely to have that knowledge than I.” Carefully, I looked away from her. I would not force her to use something she clearly detested.

Her eyes went stone. And her breath was short, her body going still. There was clear tension in her jaw as she calculated what I was saying.

“So there is one that is not magical,” she stated more than asked. I gave a slow, methodical nod. Breath rushed from her lungs and she closed her eyes. “I see,” she replied thickly. “I do not want to know any more about that, thank you.” I - well. I would not force her. I merely nodded again.

“Well. Mirrors, polished metal, and bows. That is the optimal method of dealing with either of those races. You'll know which is it, by the liveliness of the snakes. If they are active, writhing, squirming. It is a gorgon. If they hang limp except when she screams, a Medusa.” I gave one last bit of advice. Internally, I was raging. I took back my statement about her not being stupid -

No. She was a damn idiot. Her daughter was in danger, and rather than hear the cure, she dismissed it, and dismissed help. I hoped that her daughter stayed safe - because if not, I didn't think the mother would be able to help. Damnation, you titfaun, your prejudice may hurt your child! But - but I bit my tongue, literally, and remained silent.

Philomel stood up abruptly, and stalked out of the cell, leaving it with a slam and a click of the lock. I sighed, then spat the blood in my mouth the side. “I pray your daughter is safe.” I muttered softly, shaking my head.

[Philomel]

The one thing that the Feisty Fox did not have in ready supply was books. Reference guides, treatises, descriptions on history and geography … a ship was not particularly an ideal place for such. Most of those that belonged to the Gilded Lily did so back in the vast fortress where they had their more permanent base. It meant that Philomel had a lack of resources in which to find more information about how to track, find and kill a medusa or gorgon beyond what the Huntsman had told her.

She had found a mirror - that had been the easy part. And in all likelihood Vaeron had managed to collect some also, if he had tracked down the right information first. In fact she had three - two small and a third a foot square plain of metal that had glass pressed as a layer over top. So she had a start, but she had little middle or end. She gathered all the maps she could find from the deck to the very bowels of the ships and poured over them, trying to find what best suited a search over land. The problem was that ships have sea charts in majority but land maps in few, and thus she found it difficult to even begin to construct a plan.

Two days went by of absolute frustration. During this time Philomel went to meet the Huntsman once, and hardly spoke to him but rather shoved his plate down before sauntering off. It was clear from the way he looked at her that he thought she was being stupid now. There, simply waiting for her was a willing hunter born exactly for this sort of thing. A man who she had scorned at first, swore to end, but then faltered. She had dragged him to foreign seas, subjected him to a short life of subjugation - but in physical concept only.

“I won't,” she kept repeating to herself as she tore through copious captains logs, journals even though all of them were irrelevant. “I won't ask him-”

Golden eyes looked back at her. She blinked and then hissed at them, flapping a hand at him.

“Veridian, please -”

I hate the industry of Alerar as much as you, he said softly, But options are staring you right in the face and you refuse to accept it.

“I can kill!” she protested, “He told me the differences, and what I need to kill it.” She gestured angrily at the table. “I'm far more powerful than his weak self. If he can end one life, so can I?”

You can kill it yes. But, Veridian stressed. Do you have the experience and the instinct to understand where it's lair lies, which direction it could move, what behaviours it exhibits.

“I can get him to tell me,” she growled, hastily trying to draw out a copy of the best map she could find of the area. It was poor. “That would be-”

That would take weeks, beloved, he sighed, swishing his tail as he watched her shake her head with frustration. Even years that none of us have.

“Oh - go boil your eyeballs,” she retorted back, and Veridian retreated. But he could feel and hear her heart beat fast. Because he knew that she thought he was right. He knew that she had had these stresses running through her own mind, and he had repeated them back at him.

“I won't,” she said again, to empty air. “I won't, I won't, I …”

The ship got into harbour the next day. Gathering up what she had - the very little she had - Philomel charged down the gangplank. Under her arm she had the rolls of sparse notes and maps, in a satchel at her side she had the mirrors tucked and folded safely away. She strode with purpose and with pride, fully armoured and dressed as her eyes scanned the jetty for a singular individual standing there.

Tall. Brown hair, but greying. Hands shoved into pockets and on his face two scars, one on either check. They gave him the permanent ability to never be ability to smile, but this day it did not matter. For there was nothing to be happy about. When he saw Philomel he let out a grunting sigh and walked forwards to throw his arms around her.

He held her, only as a friend would, but still close. He embraced and comforted her, whispering apologies in her ear again and again. She kept shaking her head, telling him it was not her fault, but he kept saying it was.

“You tasked me with looking out for her and she wandered off.”

“It is not your fault Vaeron,” the faun told her daughter's father. “It is not your fault.”

Vaeron grimaced but shook his head. “Philomel, there is nothing. I found so little.”

Looking up to him and drawing back she waved her hand before grabbing the scrolls of paper under her arm. “I found maps. And some information. It may get us somewhere.”

Vaeron paused, his eyes glancing around the general hubbub of the small town jetty before he unrolled the papers. He blinked, silent for a moment. She waited for his nod, but it never came.

“What is it?” she frowned. “I found …”

“Princess, this is not enough,” he sighed. “Seriously. She could be anywhere, and unless you want to take days scouring the site then, thus increasing her chances of death … well.” His eyes narrowed. Her jaw tightened.

“We need another solution.”

Veridian hopped up onto her shoulders and grinned at Vaeron. Philomel tightened her jaw and began to shake her head.

“No,” she began to say, “No way …”

The unsmiling man frowned, and looked from fox to faun. “What?” he asked after a single second. “What is it? I know that fox's smile.”

The golden eyes gleamed.

“What?!”

“No, I can't-” she began to protest.

“Princess!” he grabbed her shoulder and snarled at her. “This is your heir we are talking about. The daughter you wanted. What does Veridian mean and what is going on?!”

[The Huntsman]

Well, the ship had stopped rocking so much. So we had landed. I itched, my blood boiled. I needed to get out, I needed to Hunt. I needed to get out of the ship. This was infuriating, there was a beast that needed to be slain, and yet that hateful, stupid woman was prolonging it, furthering the risk to her daughter. At some point Radford had left me - we'd landed, and he shot off. I couldn't blame him - I wanted to too.

The sound of heavy footsteps coming down the hall made me blink, tensing up. This was a different set of footsteps, a boot tread that I did not know. Which meant - what. I saw a figure moving very swiftly, flashing past the bars before I could make out who or what it was - and then there was the sound of rattling at the cell door, and it was thrown open, the force making the door bounce off the wall. It was a man. The first I had seen since Philomel and I left the tavern before.

“You.” His voice was rough, thick. “You can track? Track her? And kill that thing?” I blinked, and slowly nodded. Light blue eyes pierced at mine as the man's lips formed a line. “Hmm,” he grunted and then wildly gestured at the manacles at my hands.

“Lift them.”

I slowly lifted my hands up into the air. What on earth - who was this, and what was going on? Was I about to be freed? Was I about to be put on the Hunt?

“The deal is you track, find and possibly help us kill it. In all honesty the Princess could do the killing by herself but,” he shrugged, and looked right at me. “Two thousand gold. Do you accept?”

“You wish me to Hunt. Of course I accept.” I could pretty much care less about the money, they wished me to hunt. I surged to my feet, lifting my hands as much as I could. My body hummed in anticipation. I just hoped this was in time to save the girl.

The other man leant forwards and produced a small key that looked ridiculous in his massive hands. He worked it into the manacles and they fell free.

“Context, I am Vaeron. The kid is my idiot daughter as well, biologically speaking. That is the last time you mention fatherhood to me.” He threw the manacles to the ground. “Ready to go now?” he said without another pause. I rubbed my wrist and started walking.

“I'm just missing my weapon now.” I could, theoretically, fight with just my spikes, but it would be far better if I had the Saw-Spear.

“Up,” Vaeron pointed. “It’s on the jetty.” I nodded and headed up the stairs, back along the route that I had come down, what, was it weeks ago? Up we went, the - father? - behind me. Huh. Well, the girl had to have one. Why not this man?

I blinked as I emerged into the sunlight, and pushed my glasses back up my nose, cutting the light down. There, my weapon. I ignored the other things for a moment moving swiftly. My hand closed around the handle, and I felt more complete. This was better. I swept my weapon, now returned to me, back, and tucked it onto my holster.

Now I looked around. And paused. Philomel looked upset - and was not looking at me directly. The fox was next to her, on her shoulder actually, and the damn thing was smiling. But -

That. Was. A. Dragon. I froze. Staring. I felt my brain stutter, trying to comprehend this. There was a thirty foot dragon staring back at me, watching me intently. No one else seemed to care but -

That. Was. A. Damn. Dragon.

[Philomel]

Khaki green and dirt brown at his basic, golden and emerald at his highlights, Delath hummed a note of amusement at the reaction of the drow before him. His tail twitched with a picture of excitement and he opened his jaw to show many fine, long teeth. His glorious green eyes glowed with a light of eagerness, and he began to rise off his haunches when.

“Delath. Not now.”

The wingless, but not in any way harmless, dragon swung his massive head over to the faun. She was staring at him, brow low, clear irritation in her voice. For a moment the huge beast and the, in comparison, squishy faun stared at one another before he huffed and settled back into his haunches. Spinning his head back around to the Huntsman, Delath grumbled.

A low voice rumbled from his reptilian throat. “Boring.”

“You,” the faun shoved a finger at the Huntsman's chest, her eyes only briefly touching his. “Don't even try to be tempted to hunt him.” She paused. “He'll win.”

“For now. But - oh, that will be a hunt to remember.” The Huntsman never once removed his eyes from Delath. Finally his gaze switched to Philomel, not that she him could see clearly behind his glasses, but he did turn his head in her direction. “But you did not release me to tease me with a hunt of the future.”

“You hunt him and she will kill you,” Vaeron's voice came from behind him, heading over towards a massive, black horse who was casually feeding by the dragon. He shoved a thumb at Philomel.

The faun raised a brow at Vaeron before shrugging before she strode to go behind Delath's tail. Leaning down she picked up a massive saddle. “That is quite true. Even Veridian will help, and apparently he likes you.”

I think you like him more than I do! She threw a glare to the fox.

“I am fairly certain that you already know I do not just attack at my own leisure. This fine specimen - though. You have been changed. Hm. In any case. I doubt anyone will seek me to hunt him. A shame - that would have been a battle to remember.” He shook his head, then slipped his mask up into place before looking to Philomel. “So, good Priestess. Where does the trail you know, end?”

Philomel had clambered up Delath's leg and was now throwing the saddle over. “Half a days ride around the mountain. Vaeron has been there already,” she nodded up at the background landscape, where a huge monolith of a hill dominated. She grabbed one of the girth straps and began to tug. Delath grumbled but moved to assist. The dragon’s great eyes still fixed back on the Huntsman and he lifted his upper lip in a subtle, challenging growl.

Philomel pulled on the straps a last time before nodding and clambering into the saddle. She checked her armour and arranged her swords, letting out a slow, long breath. The purpose was to save Celandine. The mission was to track, find and kill a medusa. That meant accepting that a creature she regarded as an (well, now, not completely - his arguments had been strong) abomination but good and noble in heart, needed to be accepted temporarily into her life. Her jaw tightened, then she threw her glare to him. It changed slightly into a more stressed but accepting look.

“Get on,” she said. “… Please.”

[The Huntsman]

She wanted me to -ride- the dragon. The damn. Dragon. Who the hell was this woman that she had a dragon that let her fucking ride it? Sweet night. I ignored the challenge from the dragon for now - I knew I was nowhere near ready to face such a being, and this one was not a beast or my prey. I tensed, and jumped up, grabbing onto one of the thin straps of leather that were on the side. I swung up and into the saddle behind the faun, bracing myself a bit. She was tense - and ready to snap at a moment.

So I learned back and away from her - thin leather straps and my leg strength would hold me in place hopefully. She shot me a glance over her shoulder. I nodded. “Delath. Let's go.” The fucking dragon - this would take a while to get used to, she had a fucking dragon - began to move, shifting and sliding as he took off. The streets of this place had clearly been designed for the dragon to move through with ease - wide, cleared of obstructions.

It was - an experience to ride the dragon. The saddle shifted in ways that a horse’s would not. It was nearly sending me about like a doll in a child’s hands, and only an intense grip on the leather straps prevented me from sliding forward into the faun sitting ahead of me. I had a feeling I might be dragon chow if I did touch her right now - she still thought I was a monster, judging by the glares gave me from time to time. That-well I couldn't say it was fine. I'd had enough of people looking at me like that because of my eyes, I didn't need it from her too.
The bastard dragon had to know what he did. There was a slight twist to his gait, a bucking from his rear legs - and I was flung forward. His movements had smoothed out before this, so I had foolishly let my grip relax - and I was only prevented from being flung off by wrapping a hand around Philomel. I immediately moved back, cursing inwardly.

Delath did not make any movement or noise, but there was the obvious tension that appeared in Philomel's body. She slightly, very slightly turned her head to eye back at me, but that was mainly interrupted by the most obvious reaction. Golden eyes attached to a russet red face appeared and looked curiously at me, blinking and then giving a wide grin. He held that pose until he disappeared again, and Philomel's gaze had already moved away.

Why - alright now just why had the fox been grinning at me? Did he know something I did not? I detested being left in the dark when it seemed to so clearly involve me. But - I had no way of asking him, not one that would not involve the irritated faun. So instead of asking, I looped my hands through the straps of leather - I was not about to let the damn dragon push me into an untenable situation, not when there was a Hunt and a child needing rescue. Instead - I had to talk. Something to distract her from this angry silence.

“So - Philomel.” She didn't like being called priestess. “Your daughter. Tell me about her?” The more you knew about the girl, the better I would be able to track her. A six year old could move a lot shorter distance than a fourteen year old could.

Philomel was silent for a moment. Then when she answered her voice was soft, like she liked talking about her kid. “Celandine is five, but she learns fast. She has a gift for it. She's a faun too, born out of a plan - Vaeron and I are not together, never have been to give the context.” She bent a little lower over her dragon. “She has a tera’k mount also she should have gone with.”

So. A young child, which would normally have reduced the distance that she could have possibly roamed. However, she has a mount, which would would increase the range considerably. Thankfully the musk oxen would avoid most sources of danger - and even more thankfully, a tera’k would leave a decent trail. Except - sweet mercy. That trail wouldn't just be one I could follow - the Medusa, or gorgon, would be able to follow it too. I narrowed my eyes.

“We will find her, I assure you, Philomel.” I just hoped it was in time.

[Philomel]

Delath skidded to a halt, throwing his riders forwards. Pulling up sharply in front of them the huge black stallion of Vaeron's - Megladon, born to run with dragons - halted the run. His eyes flickered up to hers and she nodded. Half twisting around to the Huntsman she latched a gaze onto him, one filled with worry.

“This is where she was tracked to. Further up the mountain they say lies the realm of the medusa or gorgon we are after. Three days ago my goddess, Drys, told me that Celandine's time was running out.” She paused and looked suddenly desperate. “Can you do it from here?”

The Huntsman leapt down from Delath’s back, his knees flexing as he hit the ground. His attention was wholly on the surroundings. They were near the treeline, on the edge of a trail. He gave a short, sharp nod, the only sign that he had heard Philomel. Watching him, she could see that his body became almost impossibly still, the only movements coming from his breathing, and the deliberate movements. No swaying, no unnecessary motion - just purpose. His head twisted around, scanning the area, then he crouched down and slowly began walking in a half-bent walk. It was actually a bit ridiculous to see, but he didn't seem to notice or care.

His hands removed his gloves, revealing that the skin there was a lighter shade of black, more heavily tinted by purple than his face and head. His palms and fingers skimmed the ground as he moved along the trail, just barely touching the surface of the ground. Almost a dozen yards away from where Delath had stopped, he paused, his head craning upwards to peer at the trees. Slow, steady movements brought him to the brush - and he lifted up broken branches. It was impossible to tell his expression at this point - but when he stood up, still holding the twigs and branches in his hand, Philomel felt a stirring in her heart.

“This way.” Cold, crisp words. Without waiting to see if they followed him, the Huntsman headed into the trees, his head on a pivot as he disappeared through the treeline.

Philomel did not break off her fascinated gaze, where her lips had been parted and her eyes wide. Slipping off Delath's back entirely she gave him a light pat, but her eyes, filled with wonder kept on the Huntsman. “Darling, I think it best if you follow below,” she murmured.

There was a small snort from the dragon but he grunted before bumping her hand with his shoulder and tilting away. Veridian leapt off his back onto her shoulders as the huge mammoth of an animal twisted and took a few large paces back to the way they had come. For a moment he pawed at the ground before suddenly opening his massive jaws and -

Digging, actually gnawing at the earth. There was the sound of rocks splintering and whole tree roots snapping as the beast literally ate his way into the soil, becoming one with nature as his life had always intended. Within seconds he had gone, leaving naught but a shaking feeling and a pile of dirt like an enormous molehill.

Yet still Philomel focused on the Huntsman. She nodded and started after him, her hooves going as swift as she could, head angled high. She strode and as she did she pulled out nothing but her plynt dagger. There was a pause as wordless and stunned Vaeron found himself confused by her reaction to the tracker, but he sighed and shook the reins on Megladon. The great horse snorted and they became the last in the party.

Philomel shoved her senses into the earth, making her aware of her general surroundings. She latched onto the three major impacts on the earth around them - herself, the Huntsman and Megladon and kept stalking. Before her the Huntsman with no name but his title kept on into the foliage. Every movement of his was deliberate, every hesitation calculated. Yet still he was swift. Her heart thudded as she saw in this man a warrior and a true heart, someone that in another life she would be best friends with. She became acutely aware in those few long and numerous minutes that he and she were born of the same ilk, both beings who worked with and around nature. As her eyes picked up broken branches and hoof marks, he seemed to find scratched tiny twigs and the barest of depressions in the mud.

Veridian on her shoulders said nothing, but pressed close, feeling the growing chaos in her heart. Focused, she kept on, trying to think of nothing but Celandine, but once more failing. She kept her awareness on their three markers, and found small hedgehogs, ant colonies and other animals. An ancient oak tree, a whole explosion of fungi that she felt would give glorious conversation and -

The Huntsman seemed to notice it before her though. The true anomaly in their sight. Long strides carried him to something unmoving, a stonework statue. Her heart froze.

“Erik …” she whispered, haunting in her voice. The fear on the tera'k's posture was horribly, horribly all so obvious. Swallowing hard she swung her eyes at the Huntsman, gesturing to the beast as she began to rifle in a bag at her side. “Can you … tell?”

[The Huntsman]

As she rummaged in her bag, I nodded in response to her question. I stepped closer, my eyes narrow and scanning, searching. My fingers ran along the stone - there would be a sign if it was a Gorgon. As I examined the statue, I was also looking at the area around the ox. From the fear in her voice, Philomel had seen the terror in the ox’s stance - but I had seen something else.

He was curled, slightly, around a central point on his right side. Looking down, I could just barely, barely see the scuff marks of tiny hooves on the ground. The weather had disrupted most of them - but almost directly under the statue, a few had been preserved. The girl had escaped, as the tera’k protected her. It sacrificed itself to slow down whatever was pursuing the child. I let my hand rest on its head as I searched long the outside edge of the animal’s form. It had tried to defend her to its last.

My eyes locked on. Tiny, thin little marks, barely visible beneath the stone fur. Three pairs of marks, side by side - my lips settled in a grim line. A Gorgon, then. That - was dangerous, but less so than a Medusa. My lips pulled back from my teeth. I could fight a Gorgon. I could avoid their strikes. I turned around to report - to see Philomel holding out a mirror to me. I shook my head and tapped the spot on the animal’s shoulder.

“Bite marks. This was a Gorgon, not a Medusa. Do you just have enhanced speed, or are your reflexes above normal as well?” I didn't want to, or need to, tell her that from the wear on the stone, it had been stoned for too long for my serum to work on it. I hoped that if the girl had been captured, it was more recent. We’d have a day or two to best.

“Speed, reflexes, jumping,” she nodded as she put the mirror back in her pack. “My fastest speed I have ever run just outlasts a tiger at full charge.” Her hand ran through her hair. Behind her Vaeron pulled up to a halt, his eyes looking between her and I, but he said nothing. “But you know what you are doing best.”

I blinked at her - was that - a compliment? For me, the abomination? I nodded slowly, studying her for a moment. Alright. “Stay at range. The less people in melee combat, the less likely we are to run into each other. I - hope you found a magical cure for this one.” I tapped the tera’k on the shoulder again, and let my hand fall away as I settled my shoulders.

From under my coat I drew my Saw-Spear, gripping it in its folded state in my right hand. In my left, iron spikes settled in between the fingers of my left hand. We were close if the animal had fallen here. After seeing Philomel nod, and Vaeron climb off of his mount, I moved off, following the trail that the tiny child had left.

Her trail was even fainter than the tera’k’s had been. I could see signs of desperation, she was fleeing, trying to escape. I lost her trail for a few moments - and then I saw something that set me back on the trail. I strode by, not looking at the stone squirrel that was hanging, ‘limp’ from a knot hole in a tree, bite marks clear on its side. Why would a squirrel have tried to get out here. Animals should know that a Beast was too dangerous.

I shoved the mystery aside, and picked up my pace. There were more - scattered along the trail. Fuck, they must have come through in such a rush that the animals didn't have time to get out of the way. I crouched down and started sprinting - in the distance, I thought I had heard a shout.

[Philomel]

“Enka … Enka!”

“Celandine!” Philomel screamed, as the words burned in her mind.

She began running, flat out, her eyes wild and her heart racing. Vaeron grimaced as he sprinted to the Huntsman's side and spoke fast. “It means 'help’ in their tongue,” he explained as he continued.

Noticeably, the Huntsman went faster, darting away ahead of Vaeron and leaving the man in the grass. The old mage rolled his eyes but pulled his bow off his back, preparing to throw an arrow made of pure energy from it, should the need arise.

Before them both, her face filled with terror, Philomel ran. She knew it was stupid, darting like that when she had told the Huntsman he should be the one to take it, but this was … it was her daughter. She had cried, in faunish. She had cried out … to her!

She created the top of the hill. Only to see a horror before her. A twisted human torso, covered in scales, long, gangly arms ending in sharp, clawed hands. A screaming face, distorted in rage and hunger, faintly reptilian. On top of ‘her’ head, a writhing mass of small serpents had replaced hair - and they were currently rearing up and back, mouths wide open, fangs dripping a curiously grey liquid. Where there should have been leg, a massive serpentine tail, thick and coloured a disgusting shade of reddish yellow, like the rest of the scales. Before this monster, a tiny, frail faun girl, frantically running.

Celandine seemed to blink, her body paused. Then she twisted to the side, and began running straight for Philomel, her arms reaching out. “Oma! Mother save me!” She cried out, her arms raised as her tiny legs tried to propel her towards her mother.

Then the Gorgon struck. Its body twisted and shot to the side, and the hissing serpents upon its head lashed out. Fangs pierced delicate skin, and a cry of anguish, pain and terror ripped from Celandine’s lips as grey rippled outwards from the bites. The monster let out a triumphant howl.

Eyes grew wild, as a rush of pure, unleashed rage boiled through Philomel. She let out a terrific screech, with rapidly turned into the angriest, most fearsome bleat of anyone's imaginings. Dragging her sword from her sheath she prepared to throw everything she had at this monster - this actual monster before her, all hatred and anger and death. Not the Huntsman, bah he was a man, a simple man who knew nothing better than the world he was raised in. Just like Philomel.

Her jaw tightened at the sight of her true enemy as she began to run. As she did the rage of her ancestors began to burn through her veins and she let it consume her. Her light hoofsteps became massive as her body began to writhe and contort, muscles rippling alive. Another bellowed bleat and her head was becoming twisted, no longer that of a beautiful woman but a full goat’s head, horns proudly born. She began to charge the Gorgon, her body ready to slice it's head off, mind full of fury.

There was a voice somewhere at the back of her mind calling to her desperately, but … bah. This was more important. She threw the image of a tiny fox, struggling up the hill to get to the same place as Vaeron, from her mind to focus on her fight.

That was when the Gorgon sneered. Leaning forwards and grabbed the small stone form of the faun girl who so recently just been flesh. So late had they been, just too late, for Celandine's last prophecy to come true … the Gorgon grabbed the body as if it weighed nothing more than a pebble. Then with a meeting screech it threw the body into the air, and Philomel enraged, paused for a moment - and dropped her sword. Her body went into instinct, arms flying out and legs pounding in another direction, even though she was becoming blind with anger. Motherly instinct was, and had always been, her primary purpose and she was surging forwards, eyes now upwards to catch the falling stone body.

It was a distraction, and a good one. The Gorgon, recognising her prey’s weakness surged forwards now, teeth bared to strike the mighty faun’s back …

[The Huntsman]

Damnation you stupid faun! We can save your daughter don't - she was already gone, charging in. Fuck - Gorgon and Medusae were intelligent, this one would use its wiles to trick and fight. I drew back my left arm, already seeing what would happen. Despite my own fury at the Beast, my mind was clear, and I was watching in almost slow motion as it happened.

The statue was snatched up as the now inhuman faun charged forward. The Gorgon let out a snarl, missed under the goat’s angry beats, and hurled the girl. Not straight at Philomel, but to the side. There was a second of hesitation, and my arm began to snap forward. Philomel twisted, her blade fell. She lunged, her arms cradling the statue, keeping it from hitting the ground. She fell, holding her entombed daughter tight - and the Gorgon attacked, serpents diving in for a second kill.

My silver gaze tracked the serpents, and my throw finished. Thin, sharp spikes shot through the air, propelled by my unnatural strength. One, two three - three spikes, three heads negated. There were two more though, following behind - but I was there, coat flaring up as I knocked the faun to the ground. The serpents buried their fangs into the thick fabric, trying to inject their venom.

Then a thin bolt of energy crashed down between us, and the Gorgon reeled back as a tremor rocked the ground. It hissed and its gaze shot to the side, where Vaeron stood, the fox next to him howling in anger. The man drew his bow back, and another crackling, popping bolt of energy formed against it. The fox took off, charging forward, his paws tearing up the grass as he sprinted at the Beast. With every step, his body grew in size, swelling in proportion.

The Gorgon was scared, now. Scared, and distracted. I ignored the heavy feeling in my left arm, and with a snarl I deployed the Saw-Spear to full extension. The Beast looked back to me as it heard the solid click, and the eyes on every head went wide as my blade drove forward, burying itself in the monster’s gut, just above where the tail met the human abdomen. Impaled, trapped by the jagged teeth, it was unable to avoid the follow up shot from Vaeron, the crackling bolt of energy slamming into it shoulder - and that arm blew off in an explosion of blood that sent tremors into my body through the Saw-Spear.

Then the fox was there, and his jaws bit down on the other shoulder, tearing it free with a rip and a twist. The Gorgon was screeching, a terrible wail, and its serpent hair tried to bite the fox, but he was gone, dancing away before the fangs could snap through where he was. The snake-woman turned her gaze to me, clearly intending to scare me off so it could go free.

Not happening. The muscles in my right arm tensed, bulged, and I ripped upwards, tearing a massive gash through the Beast. It wasn't a clean bisection - but a jagged wound, stretching from near its stomach, up and out through its left shoulder. It hung there, jaw open in pain and shock, and then it collapsed to the ground with a wet thud. I stabbed the Saw-Spear into its tail and flung the east away, not letting it get anyone else in its death throes.

Then with a heavy thud, I sat. Philomel was getting to her feet, her eyes wide and focused on me as she held her daughter in her arms. Good. “The prey … Is slaughtered, Philomel. You, and she, are safe.” I did not want to look at my left arm. And I did not want her to see it. I kept it held carefully, to seem natural.

[Philomel]

Fat tears began to run from the faun’s cheeks as her body began to morph back into its natural form. A thick lump in her throat had formed in the last few seconds as she gazed at the Huntsman.

Double, fucking hell. He had saved her life. And when she had been cruel to him all this time. Her lips trembled as she realised all her considerations about him when they had first met were all wrong. Completely. Yes, she still might not support the idea of him changing his body but - but this. This honourable life saver was what he was. Not the monster. The monster was dead.

Her eyes flickered to the tears in his coat. Light grey skin could be seen beneath the dark slate fabric and though she did not know the colour of his blood, she had a suspicion that his skin of his arm was not naturally grey. Rather, it should be black like his face, his hands. Not grey like … like Celandine.

Her eyes tightened as she sucked in her breath and attempted to avoid a wave of tears. There was nothing she could do. Nothing. No notes in either her nor Vaeron's brief chances of research had come up with a way of curing the stone. This had been her worst fear - that they would be too late. But now her daughter was basically dead, she had narrowly avoided the fate and the Huntsman - he hadn't.

Wait. Wait. He had said something about the possibility of a cure. A river of cold sweat ran over her as she remembered the type of cure it was. His kind. The sort she had imprisoned him for, dragged him away for, and the sort that had pumped his body full of enough energy to save them all! Yes, perhaps Veridian and Vaeron, along with Delath whom she felt quaking in the earth not three metres below them, could have finished the Gorgon. But how many lives? Would there have been time to save her and Celandine whilst they strove to find a cure? Would she have died truly today were it not for this man?

This man who had the answer for his own injury and that of her daughter. She - she had nothing but a few hopes that somewhere in the world a mage had formed some sort of spell. But where was he? Who was he? He certainly liked to remain secret if that was anything to go by …

Her body rocked as she gasped, her eyes on her beloved daughter in her arms. Really, there was just one choice. She saw it in the patient golden eyes of Veridian staring at her, and in the heart the good man before her. Swallowing hard as her mind screamed in protest she slowly, with shaking hands, held out the body of her child.

“All my resources, my holdings and people are at your request,” she struggled through tears. “Just please - please. Save her.” He studied her for a long, quiet moment. Then he forced himself to his feet, his arm emerging from under his cot, showing the jagged tear and the stone that crept across part of it.

“Even if it means using science, Philomel?” His voice was soft. “I am no mage, no warlock, no priest. My tool is science, my training in the natural world. I know a recipe that can cure this. But it came from my training. If you are sure - I will help you. Help her.”

Philomel's eyes looked into his, honestly wide and pleading. “Please,” she whispered, her voice a torment of self-torture. “I literally know of no other way.” He nodded - then tucked his blood-soaked blade away, and carefully, gently took the still form of her daughter into his arms. Stone scraped against stone.

“I will carry her then. We cannot risk her falling from a mount. And your emotions are too raw. I - what we need. The ingredients should be available at an Alchemist. We need a carbonate, a substance called salt-peter, and some lye.”

Philomel nodded, swallowing now before her eyes glanced to Vaeron. “Rameses?” she whispered, using his first name that no one ever did.

The man grunted and got to his feet. “You have it, Princess. I'll be swift.” And he twisted on the spot. With a last nod to the Huntsman he began to run down the other side of the rise, where he would head right for Megladon. The horse would be wheezing by the time they got to A Single Drop but he would still carry his master back as fast as he could.

She looked back to the Huntsman, “We know the best Alchemist this side of the sea.” She held his gaze for a moment before steadying herself against a tree branch, her body suddenly weary from emotional stress and exhaustion. “My fortress is the closest place,she said quietly. “Not a couple of hours walk. There is a herbalist's room you can use.” She slowly began trudging - he had been right. She doubted she could hold Celandine safely right now.

The two of them made their way to the fort - gasps coming, wails falling, as people realized that celandine had been caught by the Gorgon. The silver-eyed Huntsman remained silent as he carried the stone form, ignoring the people who reached out and fell back, tears on their faces.

The cure would work. And he would leave, for a time. She wouldn't stop him, save for swearing him to secrecy about the location of the fort. A shrug, and an oath given, and he left them with the cure working, stealing away the grey that had encased Celandine, and he walked out of the room as the girl took a shuddering breath.

[Philomel]

*~* Fin *~*

Continued in "Awake My Child" (Philomel, Vaeron and Celandine solo) and followed after in "What You Asked For" (Hunter and Philomel)

EXTRA REQUEST: can Philomel please get 50 AP made into Gold. Thanks xx

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

Philomel receives 2905 EXP and 4917 GP (Thread GP + requested AP conversion less spoils), plus the following:


Unbreakable cuffs (enchantment) with secondary enchantment to stop ability to transform into alternate forms.

As the spoil did not request a material, Steel tier was used. They are unbreakable anyway.

The Huntsman receives 1455 EXP and 200 GP.

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

All rewards added.