"Why did I let 'ya talk me into taking the long way around again, Tam? It's colder than a witch's tit out here tonight, and I'm tellin' ya, we're goin' in circles!" The drawling, whining tone reverberated off the nearby trees, even when the portly man talking kept his voice at little more than a stage whisper. The hunting pair, Vern and Tam, were out in the woodlands known as the Valdweald. Once the sun went down and the directionality of light was lost, this forest was notoriously difficult to traverse. Why was that? Because the trees grew together with unnatural closeness and ferocity, their foliage combining into an intensely tight-knit canopy that made it all but impossible to see the sky. The Valdweald stretched for over a ten-day travel on horse to cross from one side to another even if you kept on the few roads it had. Even keeping to the fringes was enough to make most folk nervous, as one wrong turn was all it took to delve deeper than you expected. There was no going off the stars to orient, and as for climbing the trees to scout around? No one did that if they wanted to get out of the woods alive.

Some superstitious folk claimed that the trees themselves would move around when no one was watching them, to coax you into losing a landmark or making a wrong turn, and those were the nicer ones. Some of the tales spoke of trees that ripped men from their paths and buried their bones deep beneath their roots. Still, for all the dangers people whispered of when travelling on the ground level of the woodland, none thought traversing the canopy a better choice. A type of long-limbed, saber-toothed feline that the locals just called 'Vald Prowlers' liked to make their homes up in the canopy. They rarely ambushed prey that remained down below, for reasons the locals weren't certain of yet remained grateful for. The deadly felines seemed content to make meals of the birds, snakes, and other creatures that also lived high in the dense foliage zone.

"Do 'ya ever bitch about not fallin' down the stairs because it was slower 'ta walk down em? I swear, Vern, you always want to go huntin' with me because I've got Dangersense, but 'ye always want to complain like 'ye got a sore tooth when I go around the stuff I sense!" Tam matched his companion's volume level, enough to converse over the ten-or-so feet between them as they picked their way through the tangle of growth, trying to avoid rustling any low foliage or step on any branches. The pair made their way through the dark without much effort, the pair of hunters both equipped with Darkvision skills, but that didn't mean either of them enjoyed being in the pitch black. The skill had the unpleasant side effect of dulling all colors to bland shades of grey, making it that much harder to pick out threats from the background, emphasizing more on noticing motion.

A sudden shudder ran down the lanky fellow's spine, and Tam felt his pulse quicken with a sudden spike of adrenaline. "Down!" He hissed through his clenched teeth, jumping forward in a diving tackle for cover at the base of the nearest tree, curling himself into a defensive crouch and grabbing at the knife hanging from his belt, drawing it. Vern had barely started to react, turning toward Tam with a question on his lips, when a small figure flitted rapidly around the tree trunks, approaching the rotund hunter. One of the scouting Picantch had traversed to the area, scouting along with Malcom's orders in search of 'people, towns, roads'. It found people! Now. What was it supposed to do with people? Lacking any further orders on the matter, the avian monster decided to follow its instincts to deal with the situation. The black-hued beak opened wide, and the bird approached Vern from the rear.

Sharp-tipped talons latched onto the thin leather padding on the man's back, the soft leather performing pitifully as an attempt at armor and doing better as a perch. With a sharp, stabbing motion of the beak, the Picantch bit down on the side of Vern's throat before he could so much as defend himself. In the time it took the man to start a scream, it was interrupted and forcefully turned into a gurgling wheeze of bubbling sounds, a chunk of the hunter's neck being ripped away as the bird twisted its head aside. Blood gushed from the wound, flowing both down the man's frontside as well as down his wounded throat, his attempts to breathe causing the awful bubbling sound. "VERN!" The lanky man dove forward, stabbing at the bird latched upon his companion. The bird's talons disentangling from the leather padding, flapping its wings and shrieking into the night, blood running down its beak as it turned its attention toward the new combatant. Vern latched one hand against his throat, trying to stem the wound and gasp a breath, but he was already looking pale as a ghost, dropping to his knees before falling over in a sprawl. The hunter never stood a chance, his body just hadn't accepted that he wasn't going to be able to recover from having half his throat ripped out.

Unlike the man who had been caught off guard, Tam managed a steady fight with the bird, receiving scratches along his forearms as he fended off the talons, preventing the bird from latching onto him as it had his companion. The Picantch showed no signs of retreat, or self-preservation, as if its sole purpose was to kill and its survival was merely an optional objective. It began to take knife wounds to its wings, ripping through its frame and making it harder to maintain its flight, let alone its agility. "Mighty blow!" With a sudden surge of strength, Tam backhanded the bird hard enough it rebounded off a nearby tree, sprawled on its back on the grass. Tam leapt at the prone figure, driving his knife into the bird's chest, pinning its wings to the ground beneath his knees. The bird shrieked and screamed into the night, as the enraged hunter stabbed the chest of the bird again, and again, and again. Even once it stopped moving, he stabbed it a few more times to be sure, before dropping the knife and scrambling across the ground toward his fallen companion.

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It hadn't been long, but even the attempts to breathe had stopped some time ago. Grabbing at the man's vest, he half lifted the fat man's body upward, resting his forehead against his fallen friend's. "Damn ye', Vern, why couldn't ya' just listen when I tell ye' to get down... Ye' always had to know why. Ye' always had to question it. Why didn't ya' just listen to the warning!" He shouted his frustration to the night, tears dropping from his face to fall downward over his companion's. His heated gaze turned toward the monster's body, lying sprawled a short distance away, "I don't know what kind of demon-spawn that bird is, but if I ever see any more of 'em, I'll kill every last fucking one. I gotta warn everyone else back in town. Vern... I can't take 'ya with me that far. You'd know that. If I stick around to bury 'ya, I... hell, Vern, I might join 'ya. Don't haunt me because of this. I'll try an' come back with others. I promise." Tam grit his teeth, knowing that as much as he might try to keep that promise, some creature would like as not come along to take advantage of the 'free meal' well before he could be back. "Alderin, guide his soul to rest, and lay your peace on mine for being such a terrible friend."

He touched his left hand to his heart, and his right hand made a swaying gesture to draw out a symbol on the air before him. High and right, across to the left, then diagonally down to the right again, as if he was drawing a backwards seven. Upward half the distance again, then down and to the left once more, completing the gesture. He closed his eyes for a moment after offering the prayer, before stomping over to the Picantch's corpse, hoisting it unceremoniously by the throat and starting to march into the distance again. The night seemed colder than it had a few minutes prior. As much as he complained about Vern's whining, the Gods knew he was going to miss it.

Level 1 Hunter Slain - 1 Experience Gained

Progress to level: 1/10

Fresh, intense hatred has been directed at the dungeon.

Mana generation as been slightly increased.

This increase will persist as long as the hatred is maintained at the necessary intensity.

Congratulations for your first steps upon your Aspect.

Malcom stared at the alert with mixed feelings, having felt his summon perish a few moments prior. On the one hand, he now had concrete numbers to plan around, considering that one kill had netted him one experience. On the other hand, he was frustrated by the attention this could bring to his surroundings. He had sent out the birds as a scouting force, not an assault force! He immediately amended his orders to avoid combat unless there was absolutely no chance of escaping from a threat, but the damage had been done. Since a dead man couldn't hold hatred for him, someone had seen his bird kill a hunter, then killed it and lived to tell the tale. Unless his new mana generation vanished in the near future, he could be certain that word was going to spread of this happening. After thinking about it for a moment, though, he found that it didn't bother him as much as he thought it should. He was frustrated that things happened when he didn't want them to, but the idea that people might start coming to the area filled him with... anticipation? 'All I have to do is catch one making their way in or out and follow them to find out where they stay. Even if I only find out from which direction they come nearby from, it would narrow things down.'

In the hours that had passed, he had continued to make progress on the spiral staircase entryway he had designed. By now, it was fifty feet from the ground floor of his entry chamber to the base of the staircase, and he continued to dig. He was currently pacing it so that he was using his mana to dig at close to the same rate it was being generated. He had to tweak his speed to increase ever so slightly since his mana generation just recently increased. He planned to go for a solid hundred feet underground before he stopped increasing depth for the time being. He wanted to feel secure even if he could imagine someone dropping a bomb on his hilltop. Once a few hours had passed and he achieved his goal, he began to draw out another long tunnel, pushing his core pedestal further and further away from the entrance. If he was going to potentially have unwanted visitors, he wanted enough space to buffer between his core and any interlopers. The more space he had, the more potential traps he could put in before they could get anywhere near him. He might have commanded his remaining birds to avoid combat with anyone they saw without his express order to attack, so the surface shouldn't be an issue for visitors. But if they decided to barge into his home uninvited, well... whatever happened next was upon their own heads, now, wasn't it?