There was a heavy fog lingering between the trees this morning, the sun obscured behind a thin overcast haze. Some might have called it poor timing or back luck, but to the man walking through the forest, it was merely a condition, a factor in a greater plan forming in his mind. It was unnatural, summoned to compromise visibility and hearing. It was justification to his caution and cause for more.
He stopped and crouched to touch an impression in the soil. A pawprint -- one among many, but not so many that he couldn't distinguish them. His dark gold eyes darted across the tracks, adding to the mental tally he had already gathered. Tipping his head, he drew a slow, deep breath and tasted the air. There was no wind in this valley today. His quarry was ensuring that the conditions were in its favor.
A single set of paws came padding up from the side, soft footfalls announcing his companion long before he could see him. Herasmus formed through the mist, head low and sniffing as he walked up to his partner.
Grinnell stood, his hand reaching to stroke his hound's head comfortingly. A dog of equine proportions, the custos canem looked at him and then ahead, gaze following the trail of prints leading deeper into the fog.
"I know. Tomorrow. We'll get Gottfried and convene with the others, and then we'll be back to finish it." He patted Herasmus' head. Neither of them wanted to let it go, but some fights were best fought as a pack. Gottfried was waiting, Gannis was doing some investigating of his own, and Baeshor was on his way. A fight weighted in their favor.
The pair turned back, following the same path he had used coming in. The beast and its entourage were on the move; they would not turn back for a single hunter.
It was a piss poor evening. Tomorrow promised to be overcast, if not outright raining by midday. This close to the southern tip of the Reach, they were spared the snows that would be creeping in toward the Conclave in the next few weeks, but that was hardly a comfort. Grinnell and Gottfried had set up camp for the rendezvous point, but the fire was really all the Venari needed to be comfortable in the wilderness while they waited until morning.
"This will be a notch in your belt, for sure," Grinnell laughed, elbowing Gottfried as he took his seat on the log beside her. He opened his flask and offered it to her. "I think I was about your age when I fought my first legendary monster. Weren't any oldies arpund to help, though. Ought to be quite a show. Gods only know what I'd have given to get my blade in with a leshy hunt in my first field twenty."
For now it was just the two of them. Gannis was still out doing what he did best, but would be back soon to relay what he'd found to build a plan for tomorrow morning. He'd called on Gannis to help sniff out what creature's territory they were wandering into after their prey -- a very, very old leshy -- had crossed into it. One of the better trackers in the Conclave, Grinnell trusted him as well as himself in matters of tracking and deduction.
Gottfried had just been nearby. A stroke of luck on her part. It wasn't every day a young Venator could see a leshy fight. It would be the best kind of lesson the Venari could have: firsthand experience in a controlled environment.
Baeshor, well… Grinnell reckoned if he wanted to be in a fight with a bunch of wolves and a leshy, he would prefer Baeshor over almost anyone else.
"Leshen aren't the best fighters, but their nature magics are powerful and their control of beasts makes them formidable to even seasoned Venatori. They're generally harmless unless provoked, and even then are easily pacified with a sacrifice or an homage treaty with the locals. Whatever has this one riled, it wouldn't accept my attempt to pacify it. It's uncharacteristic of a leshy to be on the move like this; they are usually very tied to a territory. I've tracked this one for almost a week, and its movement is erratic, irregular."
Grinnell's hands moved as he spoke, the much smaller man monologuing very similar to a certain Maior Triumvirate who taught the advanced hunting courses.
"Normally we wouldn't put this much caution into pursuing it, but the problem is that it's moved right into the territory of something else. It looks like either a zilant or a simurgh. If you paid any attention to Peepaw's lessons, you know that both are legendary class beasts and that neither of those are things we want to rile up."
Grinnell was especially wary to upset a zilant, if that was what was nesting in this part of the Allir Reach. He stifled a shudder at the memory of his singular scrape with one. He'd earned a title from it, but he'd also been a young Venator way in over his head. A simurgh would be much easier to deal with, as sobering as that was.
"Hopefully when Gannis gets back, he can say which it is we're going to be trying to avoid when we go after the leshy. Otherwise, we'll be grateful for Baeshor -- if the big bastard ever decides to show up." He snickered and added a stick to the fire. On the other side, Herasmus lifted his head from his paws and chuffed softly, his bushy tail wagging. Grinnell threw his dog a look. "Traitor. Don't be too excited."
He stopped and crouched to touch an impression in the soil. A pawprint -- one among many, but not so many that he couldn't distinguish them. His dark gold eyes darted across the tracks, adding to the mental tally he had already gathered. Tipping his head, he drew a slow, deep breath and tasted the air. There was no wind in this valley today. His quarry was ensuring that the conditions were in its favor.
A single set of paws came padding up from the side, soft footfalls announcing his companion long before he could see him. Herasmus formed through the mist, head low and sniffing as he walked up to his partner.
Grinnell stood, his hand reaching to stroke his hound's head comfortingly. A dog of equine proportions, the custos canem looked at him and then ahead, gaze following the trail of prints leading deeper into the fog.
"I know. Tomorrow. We'll get Gottfried and convene with the others, and then we'll be back to finish it." He patted Herasmus' head. Neither of them wanted to let it go, but some fights were best fought as a pack. Gottfried was waiting, Gannis was doing some investigating of his own, and Baeshor was on his way. A fight weighted in their favor.
The pair turned back, following the same path he had used coming in. The beast and its entourage were on the move; they would not turn back for a single hunter.
It was a piss poor evening. Tomorrow promised to be overcast, if not outright raining by midday. This close to the southern tip of the Reach, they were spared the snows that would be creeping in toward the Conclave in the next few weeks, but that was hardly a comfort. Grinnell and Gottfried had set up camp for the rendezvous point, but the fire was really all the Venari needed to be comfortable in the wilderness while they waited until morning.
"This will be a notch in your belt, for sure," Grinnell laughed, elbowing Gottfried as he took his seat on the log beside her. He opened his flask and offered it to her. "I think I was about your age when I fought my first legendary monster. Weren't any oldies arpund to help, though. Ought to be quite a show. Gods only know what I'd have given to get my blade in with a leshy hunt in my first field twenty."
For now it was just the two of them. Gannis was still out doing what he did best, but would be back soon to relay what he'd found to build a plan for tomorrow morning. He'd called on Gannis to help sniff out what creature's territory they were wandering into after their prey -- a very, very old leshy -- had crossed into it. One of the better trackers in the Conclave, Grinnell trusted him as well as himself in matters of tracking and deduction.
Gottfried had just been nearby. A stroke of luck on her part. It wasn't every day a young Venator could see a leshy fight. It would be the best kind of lesson the Venari could have: firsthand experience in a controlled environment.
Baeshor, well… Grinnell reckoned if he wanted to be in a fight with a bunch of wolves and a leshy, he would prefer Baeshor over almost anyone else.
"Leshen aren't the best fighters, but their nature magics are powerful and their control of beasts makes them formidable to even seasoned Venatori. They're generally harmless unless provoked, and even then are easily pacified with a sacrifice or an homage treaty with the locals. Whatever has this one riled, it wouldn't accept my attempt to pacify it. It's uncharacteristic of a leshy to be on the move like this; they are usually very tied to a territory. I've tracked this one for almost a week, and its movement is erratic, irregular."
Grinnell's hands moved as he spoke, the much smaller man monologuing very similar to a certain Maior Triumvirate who taught the advanced hunting courses.
"Normally we wouldn't put this much caution into pursuing it, but the problem is that it's moved right into the territory of something else. It looks like either a zilant or a simurgh. If you paid any attention to Peepaw's lessons, you know that both are legendary class beasts and that neither of those are things we want to rile up."
Grinnell was especially wary to upset a zilant, if that was what was nesting in this part of the Allir Reach. He stifled a shudder at the memory of his singular scrape with one. He'd earned a title from it, but he'd also been a young Venator way in over his head. A simurgh would be much easier to deal with, as sobering as that was.
"Hopefully when Gannis gets back, he can say which it is we're going to be trying to avoid when we go after the leshy. Otherwise, we'll be grateful for Baeshor -- if the big bastard ever decides to show up." He snickered and added a stick to the fire. On the other side, Herasmus lifted his head from his paws and chuffed softly, his bushy tail wagging. Grinnell threw his dog a look. "Traitor. Don't be too excited."