# Talon's Quest



## Reynard (Mar 12, 2002)

I have never posted a Story hour before, but one of my group from pittsburg (I live in CT and go out a few times a year to run marathon sessions) just completed a PBeM quest.  It was the first time I had ever done such a thing and it turned out really well. 

 Therefore, I am just so giddy that i decided to post it.

***
TALON’S QUEST

Talon

Talon padded silently through the wood. Not even the crinkle of fallen
leaves betrayed his presence. The potion of Deathly Body was left with the
lady Anabell, in case it is needed to protect the king in his absence from
that cursedly persistent assassin. The kingdom will just have to try not
to fall apart any more while he's gone.

He crushes some berries between leaves of a fragrant herb, and rubs the 
concoction over his skin. Those wolves have sharp noses. If he doesn't mask 
his scent, all the quiet in the world will not help him. He stops at a 
small stream to rub moss and mud over his clothes, further improving his 
camouflage, and hears her words again.

"She's madly in love with you."

An accusation. He still hasn't recovered from the shock of it. He just
doesn't know how to make sense of it. His mind tries to file it away, but
it won't leave his thoughts. Sure, he's spent a good deal of time with
her. Mostly, in the garden she tends, a refuge of peace and nature where
he could meditate on the pulse of life as taught him by the knolls he
befriended as a youth. Fade into the background, one with the trees,
rocks, and mud. Know the land, and it will sustain and protect you, as you
her. He'd never thought about it much before save as a discipline, a
harnessing of the instinctive abilities in his blood.

He had never spoken to an animal before the day the stallion appeared.  
When it happened, he knew the way of it, and it seemed natural. He never
thought he would be speaking to a god. She helped him make sense of it, of
his gifts, and of a world where gods were not only real, as he has known,
but present in the lives of men, which he had not considered. Her company
was good. Natural. He could speak to her of things he would never think
of to any others. But love? It had never even crossed his mind, much like
the possibility of speaking to a god.

He didn't understand it. It was a strange word to him, as was the concept
of affection. All he knew was what was: the hot red rage boiling within
him that the filthy bastard spawn of Khurg would take her away, that he
would face death without a second thought to save her, and that should she
be harmed, he would spend the rest of his days hunting the last of the
monsters responsible until the armies of Dukaemia rolled them all into 
dust. Nothing else seemed to matter.

The suddenness of the realization surprised him, but it was enough for him 
to consider the matter settled for now. With a grunt, he leaped into the 
trees to gather vines. An understanding familiar to Talon settled his on 
his mind: he had a job to do. This was what he was. It didn't help to 
think about it any more than necessary.

He would have to be clever to defeat this foe. Stay to the trees to avoid 
tracks and sight. Shadow his dangerous prey. Wait for the right moment. He 
absently twists the vines into a snare. He will have to pick them off one 
by one when he fights, as he knows he cannot match them in a direct 
confrontation. Hopefully, their movements will lead him to her. 'One with 
the wood,' he thinks to himself, then thinks no more.

He befriends a large ropy rodent with clever paws, sharp teeth, and an
attractive patchwork face. 'Kodo', it says of its name. He'll need all the
allies he can get. A hawk agrees to be his eyes, and Kodo squirms inside a
belt pouch. He feels the tug of rodent friends back in New Erebar, and 
lets them go. A rabbit offers dinner, but he can't afford a fire. He rests 
in a tree, covered by branches and leaves, preparing for a lengthy 
campaign

DM

Days pass slowly as Talon winds his way farther and farther from civilization.  He follows the half eaten carcasses, the piles of waste, the occasional ravaged farmstead or woodsman’s hut.  All these signs show that the Khurg-Spawn have passed this way.  Autumn rolls on and the leaves begin to fall, robbing him of his camoflage. The birds leave for the South – most anyway.  Crows and buzzards, the eyes of Khurg, remain behind, ever circling, as if he were already dead.  Kodo is nervous and rarely leaves the safety of Talon’s pouch.  The hawk does her best to keep the Eyes away, but must sometimes retreat herself under their onslaught.

In the wilderness, the problems of Dukemia and Erebar and Elves and Wizards and Dragons all seem far away.  There is only the wilderness and the Hunt.  Talon knows he is being drawn away – away from his friends, away from the conflict, away from a life that he was making.  He is being drawn toward something – something evil and mighty, something that wants him.

It is not until the moon is new again that Talon understands.  In the middle of the night, Kodo’s frantic tugging on his waistband stirs Talon.  He peers into the darkness on instinct, reaching for his bow and knocking an arrow in a single fluid motion.  It takes him a moment to realize that he can see, even in the moonless, misty night.  He can see like it was twilight.  And what he sees disturbs him:

The Wolf, one of the Spawn, stands only a few yards away, glowering at him.  It’s eyes, a cold blue glowing in his newfound nightvision, bore into him.  Hateful.  Angry.  But also frightened.  In its mouth hangs a shred of cloth.  Suddenly, a voice, vile and bestial and altogether unpleasant, invades his head: “Come, Gaea’s Hunter.  You tarry.  She suffers.”  And the Wolf leaps away, bounding into the darkness.

Talon thinks to fire his arrow, buts stays it.  Thw Wolf is merely a messenger.  It means for him to track it.  Its master awaits.  He lays his bow aside and goes to the shred of cloth left behind by the beast.  Strong, green wool, stained with blood.  A piece of a druid’s robe.

Talon


Talon holds the cloth, teeth clenched, thumb running slowly over it. Why
him? Why all this trouble? Khurg seems to have taken a personal interest
in his misery. Talon is nobody special. He does as he was made, he aspires
to no further greatness than being the best he can. He doesn't understand
this attention. He is not a man of great thinking. He hunts out the evil
in the land like a gardener pulling weeds. He protects those he has given
his loyalty to, and that does not come easily. But mostly, he hunts, and
he is not one to quit.

For a moment, he misses his new friends. He worries over the future of
men, of wars to come, of the welfare of his prince. He remembers his home,
New Erebar, the palace, the giggle of the littlest Witchkin girl, and the
garden. And then he looks again at the blood stained cloth, and all of it
is behind him again. This is what he is. This is what he does. If it is
even a God that waits for him on the trail ahead, he will stalk it from
the shadows until he finds a soft spot to place his arrow. It means only
that he must be more clever and careful in his ambush.

He knows he is being led into a trap. When it meets him, it will want to
do so openly, so it can gloat and face him with its strength, and crush
him. But Talon's strength is in a thicket of brambles, the shadow of a
rock, and steel determination. Even now, he plans on how he will lay
ambush, even though he knows it is likely his every step is known. But
first, he must make time.

The night is open to him now, he understands this. He doesn't stop to
marvel over his new sight, it becomes a part of him, second natured. But
he does spare the slight curl of a smile, for now he can travel night and
day, resting but in short shifts when he must, and make far better time
than before. Putting his gift to its best use is his silent prayer of
thanks.

The Hawk greets him with the morning, and he calls her.

"Bright one, your talons are sharp, but you cannot keep the eyes away.
Indeed, your presence likely tells more of my position than any trail. The
dangers ahead are more than you should face. Go back to the safety of the
heavens, with the sun at your back. It is your eyes I need now, eyes that
can spot a rabbit in the bush from a mile above. Fly far, fly high, fly
wide, fly free. Find them. Tell your brothers, and any creature that hates
Khurg. They lead us in circles, but we shall cut the cord on them yet.
Now GO!"

He releases her, and whispers to himself, "Gaia be with you."

He slips a morsel to Kodo, and takes the trail with a steady lope. He
never follows it directly, always to the side or around it. He scouts out
the hills before taking his rest, ever wary of ambush. He gathers fallen
leaves, and fixes them to his cloak with tree sap for cover. He eats
sparsely. He grows lean. His mind grows silent. He closes in.

DM

Night and day become one for the hunter.  Dusk and dawn are the same, but for which shoulder the blood red rim of the sky sits upon.  The sun and the moon are no longer brother and sister, but twins to Talon.  This is how the great predators must feel, he thinks to himself.  Is that what I have become, the sword – no, the teeth – of Gaia?  He knows the answer, deep in his gut, where a hunger burns like a fire, a hunger for the flesh of dark things spawned by darker gods.  Each step of his path steals a tiny piece of his humanity.  He knows this.  Once, he stops and looks back.  That way, down the mountain slope to where things are still green and full of life, lies what he was.  Onward, where the brush turns to gnarled thorns and the grass gives way to jagged rock, lies what She wants him to be.  Back, human wars and petty rivalries and broken oaths.  Forward, truth in a way that only Nature can define it, pure and honest and unfettered by politics or Back, human wars and petty rivalries and broken oaths.  Forward, truth in a way that only Nature can define it, pure and honest and unfettered by politics or theology.

He pauses only for a moment, then goes on.  His destiny lies ahead of him.  Gaia  preserve the destiny of those he has left behind.

The moon is full again when they come on him.  Wild things, part vulture, part woman.  Evil, fell, ugly creatures.  They sing to him the song of Khurg, of death and destruction and the pleasure of warm blood flowing betweens ones teeth.  It does not stir Talon’s heart, except to anger.  The lies of Khurg have no power over a son of Gaia.  He arrows, ever swift, and his blades, ever cruel, defeat the harpies one by one, leaving their stinking carcasses for more of their own kind.

Winter has come, yet talon is not cold.  He needs no fire to warm him at night, no cloak to protect him from the driving sleet or bitter wind.  For a time, he holds on to these things, the lingering talismans of humanity.  He knows that some day he will leave them behind him entirely.  One day, he knows, he will be as true a child of Gaia as the bear or the wolf, and this man-shell he wears will fall off him like an unwanted shirt.

After many days, the peak is in sight, only a few more days up the cruel slope of this mountain Khurg has made his home.  There are guards – wolves and raptors and harpies and ogres.  They will be but a nuisance to him, or, at worst, serve to warn their master that he comes.  No. It will not do to storm this dark castle as the Prince, his friend – so far away, like all of his friends, so burdened with the affairs of men – might have done.  He is a predator now.  His way is different now.

Talon rests between two boulders, pondering for a moment to determine his course of action.  As he does, he hears something above even the howl of the wind.  It is her.  She is screaming.  Khurg pains her to draw him out.  Animal rage boils in Talon’s breast.  He must act, soon.

Talon

Rage rises in Talon, the familiar curl of his lip bares a tooth as fingers 
tighten on the boulder. He wants to rush up there in a fury, cut down anything 
in his way, anything that keeps him longer from her pain. But he holds. 

Talon may be becoming less man, the weaknesses of humanity tossed aside as She
remakes him as Her tool. Unnecessary baggage is left behind that would only slow
him down. Talon does not mind. He is only doing what he has always done. He is
becoming only what he has always been, and was meant to be. It is as a
realization of what always was rather than the shock of newness for him. He is
only more suited now to the work, more focused, and unquestioningly aware of Her
presence as never before. This comforts him, as he knows he will never truly be
alone, for She is in all things, Her simply truths sense in a world that has
gone mad. And for a moment, a part of him at last begins to understand love in
the awareness of his commitment to her, one that would face death without fear
for She will only welcome his return should he fall.

And then his focus returns, and he thinks no more of it. The rage still boils,
and he must act, though he holds in check. For predator that he is, creature of
Nature, he is a clever beast. He is a tool using beast, a trap laying, ambush
springing, careful, methodical, relentless, and very stubborn beast. He will not
walk into a trap. He will strike from advantage, for this is how this hunter
takes its prey. Not in running down in a field like the lion, nor in brute
strength like the bear. More springing from unawares, cutting of tendons,
gaining every advantage possible before confrontation. And when the fight is 
upon him, it is a wild thing without fear or mercy they face.

Slowly, he begins. She is at the peak, there are no further games of cat and
mouse in the wilds, no more tracking in circles leading ever away from the world
he has left behind. He ascends the slope and begins to circle about, from rock
to rock, staying hidden, but moving quickly for he cannot bear her suffering. He
delays only as long as necessary. This ends tonight.

A wolf strays near, sniffing the air, alone. Khurg's children seem to have less
respect for the laws of the pack. The hunter circles, waiting as the wolf rounds
an out-cropping following his scent. It stops, snuffles at the scuff of feet in
the dirt below the rock, and the arrow pierces its neck and vocal cords before
it can barely yelp. The Hunter is upon it, dropping from above, with the full
weight of his fall behind the sword's bite.

Out of sight, he rubs the beast's foul musk into his outer skins to mask his
scent. This place reeks of their filth, he'll blend right in. Kodo doesn't like
it much, but he knows to stay silent. Talon looks upwards with the steady gaze 
and single mind of the natural predator, prowling upon destiny.

DM

The top of the mountain is like a rotted stump – a shell of stone that rises a hundred feet above, split through the middle but still standing, leaving an shielded hollow to the floor.  Harpies perch upon the rim of the hollow and take flight from there.  Wolves and worse still come in and out of the crevaces on either side that allow access to the Beast lord’s fortress.  There is the sound of gnawing always – it sometimes drowns out the sounds of  her whimpering.  Or perhaps she is losing strength, perhaps time has already run out.

It takes three days cloaked in the scent and skin of Khurg’s spawn for the Hunter of Gaia to scout the entire area.  He learns all the entrances and exits, he knows where they eat, sleep and  (which is mostly in the same places).  He is able to explore a short way into the hollow – a maze of jagged rock and twisted earth.  He thinks he knows where she is being held, though the sounds of her cries are echoes throughout the lair, making it difficult to be certain.  He never sees the beast Lord, but he can feel the monster.  Khurg is a god, a being of pure rage given form on the earth.  His power is like an animal musk, heavy in the air, stifling, settling in to everything.  The Hunter knows that he cannot hide for long, if indeed he is hiding at all.  Talon knows, too, that he cannot resist the rage in the air for long either.  Khurg’s power is to twist beasts to rage.  Talon has become as much beast as man.  Only Gaia’s blessing has allowed him this much success.  But now, talon is in the heart of Khurg’s fortress on Ao, or one of them.  Here, Gaia becomes something less and Khurg becomes something more.

Talon must choose.  Does he explore the hollow, risk becoming caught or lost, in order to find her.  Or, does he take to the high ground where the harpies dwell, where he will be able to see where his poor druidess is being held.  Both offer dangers and hope.  Time is short.  Khurg is growing tired of this game.  It no longer amuses him, and Talon knows he will act the angry child with his playthings when he has finished with them…

Talon

The rage boils within him. Blinding, distracting, limiting his thoughts. It is a
constant thing. It gnaws away at him, reduces him to instinct. Fortunately, it
is instinct that mostly drives Talon anyway, which is likely how he has survived
so far. The rage becomes a comforting thought that banishes any suffering, fuels
his determination. Soon, he will have blood blood BLOOD! No. His head clears
again for a moment. He will get in, and get them both out alive. The Hunter
takes only what he must. Best not to think, the chatter of the mind leads only
to confusion.

Talon studies the rocky walls of Khurg's fortress. He prefers higher ground, as
a rule. Surely Khurg knows this. Harpies circle watching, and jagged rocks below
wait hungerly for him to make a mistake, to fight on unstable ground, to slip
but once. Its all a colossal trap. A sick game played by a sick god. But a game
he must keep active, keep playing to buy time to step through this nest of
ambush, and escape with the bait. He eyes the rocks above, notes the sturdy from
the weak, and carefully plots how he will descend. He prepares his escape well
before his advance. He will have to play to the obvious trap first, before
penetrating the low road.

'Kodo, do you remember the signs?' He whispers in the tongue of beasts.

'Feh. Of course. I'm not a rat. I eat rats. No I don't, rats are dirty stinky
stringy. I eat snakes. Snakes are dumb. No paws,' he chitters nervously. 

'I hate it here.'

Gaia's Hunter smiles. He knows without Kodo's company he may well have gone mad
by now. He slips the clever weasel some of the last of his rations. He'll be
needed most of all in the tunnels below, scouting in places neither man or beast
can go, with an instinct for the underground places. It is a big snake we ferret
out of this hole. But first, up. 

He climbs, staying carefully out of sight, along the lip of the fortress. No
more than half way, that is enough. The hunter finds a hollow, and waits,
simmering in the blood lust. Harpies circle all over. Sooner or later, one will
stray into range, low and out towards the center of the pit. He watches through
a red tunnel, salivating for the impending kill. There... Closer... Closer...

By the time he hears the twang of his own bow, he is gone, hoping from rock to
rock down the cliff face, falling like a feather without sound. He hears it's
cry as he falls, he knows without looking his mark was true to the wing. They'll
be looking for him above now, pecking at holes in the cliff. He slides into the
darkness below. The Harpy, away from the walls, falls further towards its
master. A decoy, a diversion, an appetizer, a message. Scratched into the arrow
and colored in blood, words:

I AM COMING

DM

The Hunter knows that the mountain fortress will come alive.  It is the way he planned it.  When the wolves owl and other things, not so easily identified, roar, rushing out into the open, seeking him, Talon smiles.  Khurg is the Lord of Beasts, and Beasts are ever so predictable. They rage and froth and kill.  Their cunning is consumed by hate for all things.  It makes them stupid.  It seals their fate.

Even as the rocky landscape is covered in predators, Kodo returns, chittering with pride.  “I found her.  Of course I did.  She was easy to find.  The only sweet smelling thing for a hundred miles.  Including you.” The ferret laughs at his little joke.  Talon spares a moment to chuckle as well.  The beasts, in their bloodlust, will give him more than enough time.

Talon dives into the fissures, following Kodo’s tiny, springing form.  Without the little thief, even the great Hunter of Gaia would have been lost in this maze.  Not all creatures have left the fortress, though.  Talon’s twin blades become his claws when a mountain lion, twisted into a six legged, tentacled thing by Khurg’s evil, attacks.  It dies swiftly, almost painlessly.  The part of it that was of Gaia returns to her.  The other part, Talon is sure, rushes back to its master.

There are other watchmen.  The harpies prove most troublesome.  Talon invests the time to down them all.  He does not waste the time and arrows to kill them, however.  To take them out of the sky will be enough.

“This way, this way!” Kodo demands.

Talon rounds a jagged rock outcropping and comes to an open circle.  She is there, whimpering on the broken stone of the “floor”.  Her druid robes are torn from her.  Deep gashes mar her perfect skin.  Yet she breathes.  And before her, pacing back and forth, eyes blazing with cold fire, ichor dripping from monstrous jaws, is the Black Wolf of Khurg.

Talon knows, by Gaia or by instinct he is unsure, that this Khurg, and is not.  It is a shadow of Khurg, a vessel, one of many, which he uses to interest with his newly regained realm.  There are others, talon is certain: the Giant King that stirs the ogres of Dukemia, the Sea Serpent that plagues the Hin ships, the Scorpion God in the deserts far away.  Talon cares not for these, other than that their existence draws strength from this one, his enemy, the Black Wolf.

The Wolf snarls, placing a giant paw on his beloved and tossing her onto her back.  It licks her naked body, drinking her living blood, and eyes Talon with all the hate a God can muster.

“So, Hunter of Gaia, you have come to kill a God?”

Talon

Talon looks the wolf in the eye. He shows no fear. He has no fear. Fear would be his death against such a foe. His hate boils, rushes up, threatens to overtake him in the rage of beasts. But Talon is not a beast, and he knows well how to use the fire within him, as the fires of a forge produce steel. His eyes narrow, and the rage focuses, mastered, to a white hot intensity of now-ness. Time slows, and his senses take everything in with sharp and perfect detail: a skid of pebbles on the rock floor, the sharpness of jagged rocky teeth around them, a drop of her blood, a moment of hope in her eyes, the slightest break in the
wolf's stance as he turns in his pacing while his body crosses itself, unable to leap for a fraction of a second.

The realization comes to him even as he speaks it. The natural order of things,
of Gods, of creatures, of beasts, of demon spawn like his enemy, and the place
Talon and his kind with their steel and their cities hold both within and without the Great Cycle, and the responsibility it brings:

"Only a man could dare"

The pistols explode in a flash of powder and smoke. Silver slugs smash into the
wolf's face as the beast's feet tangle in its leap. He knows this will not kill him. It doesn't have to.

When the smoke clears ahead of the wolf's charge, Talon is gone. An empty metal vial rolls to rest beneath slavering jaws. Stamped in wax upon it, the alchemist's rune for "Invisibility" and a sign denoting greatness.

Talon draws the black arrow of the Assassin from his perch low on one jagged wall. 'We have much in common,' the Hunter thinks to himself of his ghostly advisary back at a come he has all but forgotten. A dark reflection of himself, so opposing to everything he represents and lives for, yet so alike in role and Way. The Hunter of Gaia senses an odd brotherhood with the Scion of Kugaro-Gi as he levels his bow upon the enraged god, and lets fly a weapon of death from the sharp and polarized world of the unseen.

The game is on.

DM

The arrow flies home, sinking deep into the broad neck of the Black Wolf.  It howls, not in rage this time, but in pain.  Its thunderous cream shakes the broken mountain fortress.  The assassin’s arrow seems to writhe and work its way into the god-beast’s flesh until not even the fletching can be seen.  The Black Wolf bucks and staggers, its hind legs failing it.

“Kill!  Kill them!” the howl rises above the shaking stones.  Immediately, the rabid barks and screeches of Khurg’s spawn rises like a symphony of death.

Talon leaps into the open area, rolling past the Black Wolf to reach her.  As he does, however, the beast rears its head and snaps its jaws, catching the Hiunter’s arm.  Talon continues his roll, now uncontrolled, his world suddenly one of blood red pain.  He lands hard on his back, his breath escaping him.  He tries to stand but there is a weakness, a coldness overcoming him.  Through the haze of pain and weakness, he sees the Black Wolf chomp down and then swallow his lost arm.

“I die,” growls the Black Wolf, ragging its paralyzed form toward Talon.  “Yet you die with me, Scion of Gaia.”

“No!”

It starts as a woman’s scream and ends as the roar of a bear.  A great brown bear leaps into Talon’s field of view, standing over him, swatting the Black Wolf’s head away with its massive claws.  Already gravely wounded, the Black Wolf crumples under the blow.  The bear, too, then collapses, returning to human form as she does.

“oh, Talon,” she cries, draped over his cold form.  Her naked skin is hot against him, still burning with the power of the bear-form.  ‘I am so sorry.”

She raises her eyes.  Talon sees the fear in them.  He knows, despite his state, that they are surrounded, that the spawn of Khurg has come for revenge, that they will be destroyed.  He thinks how fine eternity will be with her.

“Oh great mother,” she whispers.  ‘Do not forsake us to these monsters.  Deliver us, for we are your most humble servants.”  She prays with a conviction that bores into Talon’s heart as surely as the assassin’s arrow bored into the heart of the Black Wolf.  Tears rain from her cheeks to his, mixing with his own.

Suddenly, the earth moves between them, boiling p and around them, covering them in the warm, sickly sweet smell of freshly turned fields.  Darkness surrounds them and there are no more howls and barks.

When warmth and light return to Talon, he is resting on a bed of moss in a forest glade.  She is near him.  Both are washed and bandaged.  Just as he lifts his head to see, figures dart out of sight.  Talon’s instincts cause him to reach for his swords, but a feeling of safety overcomes them.  Whoever or whatever they were, they were servants of gaia and could do them no harm.

Reminded by his own motion, Talon looks down at is left arm, the one torn from his body by the Black Wolf.  It is there and it is whole, but it is not his.  It is wooden, a living branch fashioned like a man’s arm.  Just as he begins to wonder at it, his love stirs beside him.

“take me home,” she says to him in a dreamy voice.

“Yes,” says Talon.  “Home.”


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