Our group consisted of four people: our crazy, yet loveable, old leader Maskov, the fierce Jillian, the lazy Travez, and myself. Maskov was a man pushing fifty, had the strength of the lion from, I assume, his job as part of the hunting group, thought the gray hairs were still coming through. Maskov also enjoyed his drinks, which was why he always left me in charge of finding the next job: someone who is drunk shouldn’t be the one attempting to read fine prints or other details. Jillian…I don’t really know how to describe the red head. She was typically only excited by the hunt, taking a job, or getting involved in a fight. There were few other things that got her as lively as a good bill – shopping does on occasion but that’s only when there is an amazing sale, otherwise she would not even bother with the store. I suppose that’s why I was always left in charge of replenishing supplies. Travez would come in the bar with us when we returned from our trips but only for a drink or two, after which he would wander out and find a place to sleep. The poor lad was always tired, I never really understood it but I suppose walking around with such a heavy body, he was large but clearly it was all muscle which covered his bones, can make someone tired. Maybe carrying the large axe he had made him tired as well? Or…My best guess is that he was just lazy. At every chance there was, he would sleep or ask for breaks along our way. His brute strength must have been his saving point I suppose. Myself? Well…I just mainly wanted a good story so I tagged along with this daring group. Thankfully, I have a good talent for casting spells or else I highly doubt I would have been in the group all together. And the four of us –‘loonies’ as people tended to call us – made the greatest group known to the Blood Talon Hunting Clan… We just lacked a name for ourselves. Maybe by the end of these stories I’ll have thought of one worthy.
It was the same as any day after a successful completion of a hunt, we were back in the pub with the stench of alcohol which could suffocate any who were not used to the heavy smell of the bar. Most of the money earned from the hunt went to the pub rather than replenish supplies, I suppose you could say we were a group who liked to live on the edge though that’s rather typical for hunters of a clan. After all, what sane being would decide to hunt the most foul creatures the world gave birth to or the rarest game known to man? None, I would assume. Then again, I would like considering myself sane to a degree.
Maskov was dancing along the railing of the second floor of the tavern, people watching mystified as the older man occasionally stumbled and almost fell from the railing he always walked on. Jillian had passed on coming to the bar as well Travez, she had found a store with a close out sale and Travez just went to sleep near the fountain last time I checked on him. Like normal, I was in the back, looking over the notice board and searching the postings for our next daring feat. I always thought that I worked well in loud environments only to find myself completely wrong when I joined this group. It was always hard for me to go over the details of different marks which were posted with the loud and horrible singing in the back accompanied with the offbeat clapping of other drunken people who filled the bar before we had made our rather loud entrance.
Finally though, I was able to pick out the one that was to be our next target, the client was in a small village a good distance from the capital where, not only we, but the entire Blood Talon Clan resided. However, travel for us would be no issue and never was considering people knew our group as ‘The Loonies’ (I need to get us a better title) and tended to be against standing in our way. Apparently it had something to do with Jillian losing her temper one time with one of the train operators sometime in the past. Anyway…I can still clearly recall what the bill said on it:
‘Phlinx: A rare white bird of prey which is master of the desert skies. This bird has been troubling our village for the past few months, taking our livestock and ripping off parts of rooftops, destroying the few trees we have and use for shade in our small oasis in the desert. Feathers of the fine bird can fetch a fine price in the marketplace. The reward for this hunt, if successful is as many feathers as one can salvage and four hundred gold pieces. Come to Arcale to speak to me in person. –Delan’
I remember thinking something seemed odd about the bill. Like all the others we had done, the grand two I had accompanied the others on, it seem that some of the details were being left out: an indicator that this mark was far more troublesome than the client was willing to admit to every hunter that may have passed the bill. That meant that new hunters would eagerly run out there and probably be running to their own deaths or if they were lucky, manage to flee. However, I was able to determine the mark, apparently dubbed Phlinx by the locals, must have been a large bird to be stealing livestock. But then again, this mark was right up to the standards of our group.
“Maskov!” I called up towards the second floor, stopping the singing and clapping as I had done before two other times. “I’ve our next target!”
“Oh really? Then we leave at sunset – at least by then I will have sobered up some.”
