With the oxen secured, and the remainder of the cottage not about to fall down, at least not immediately, Aarnr searches about for a conveniently sized rock, with the intent of committing violence on something small and defenceless.

Which, considering the presence of Aarnr and Fergus, could describe most of the likely inhabitants of the hill.

Fergus winces as both Aarnr and the wall take a tumble.  Aarnr is unhurt, though, and seems quite pleased with himself.

"Sure, I've got the oxen hobbled and... say, that was clever Aarnr.  You've gone and made a handy pile of, y'know, things we can throw.  What's the word?"

Fergus selects a few suitable stones from the pile.  He pockets some and carries the two he considers the best.  Thus armed, Fergus waits for Aarnr to finish any preparation he might have in mind before slipping off into the undergrowth to see if he can scare up some game birds or a rabbit.

Fergus moves stealthily for such a big man, but he's not having much luck finding a likely target.

Turning around and about, Aarnr eventually stumbles over a pile of rocks¹ that might have been placed there purely for his convenience, and searches through them for some suitably smallish ones that will fit comfortably in his fist.

"Rabbits, ducks, deer and pheasant if we're lucky, you said ?" he reminds Fergus.  "where's the nearest water ?  Good place to start - might even find some fish."

¹ the pile of rocks formerly known as "the ruined cottage"

Fergus and Aarnr, laden down with ammunition start down the slope behind the ruin.

The land here is open heath, covered with heather and gorse with the occasional tree, most of which are small and stunted.  Fence posts dot the landscape, though most of the fence itself has long since gone the way of the cottage.

Fergus leads the way, away from Fairhill and into the valley.  Before long they reach a small stream, barely more than a trickle of water, mere inches deep and only about a foot wide.

Still, it's water.

There is a sudden movement at the foot of the far slope, perhaps thirty or forty feet away.

A rabbit!  There's a second, a little to their left and slightly further away.  And a third, further up the hill.  Now that they know what to look for, the two men can see at least a half dozen of the animals moving about...

Aarnr's not the quietest chap around either - both in terms of misplaced footfalls and all but constant muttered oaths.  Might be considered almost fervent in some faiths ...

With a stone cradled in a strip of leather as a makeshift sling, the big priest eyes the rabbits.  A bit smaller than the marsh-rats of his homeland, but enough for a feed, and certainly couldn't taste any worse.

With a prayer to his god, "thou'd better froggin' guide this one true ye rank shard-borne haggard !", Aarnr makes his cast, swiftly fitting a second stone and sending it after the first ...

Fergus moves across the heath with practiced ease.  He does a tolerably good job of staying quiet and out of sight.  He's too polite to call Aarnr up on his constant muttering, though it risks scaring off more wary game.

When they spot the rabbits, Fergus tries his arm with a stone.  Unsurprisingly, it's a powerful throw, but a strong arm can't make up for poor aim.

One thing that Aarnr has learned over the years is that Bowbe can be a funny bugger when he puts his mind to it...

The priest's first stone, aided by the power of prayer, almost kills one rabbit.  But only through sheer fright as it strikes a boulder about three feet to the creature's left, with a loud *crack*.

The second stone, aided by nothing but the power of raw muscle and a certain amount of righteous indignation at the miss, takes down the rabbit as it recovers from the shock and attempts to make a run for it.

Fergus, too, attempts to bring down some food, but the rabbits on the hillside are now all in a state of lagomorphic panic, and have become moving targets.  The stone impacts the hillside, hard enough to embed itself in the dirt.

Aarnr can't believe his first stone misses, and his curses at the rabbit and his god in equal measure swiftly degenerate into the gutteral tongue of his homeland.

Though the success of his second cast does give him no little satisfaction and elicits a "Hah ! Thou see that thou droning, dog-hearted whey-face ?!!  That's how it's froggin' done." to the uncaring skies above.

As he strides forwards to collect his kill, the priest looses another stone, but more for the appearance of it than with any real hope of actually hitting one of the furry varmints, now that they're bounding about like flies fighting over a fresh corpse.

Fergus stands up from hiding.  There's not much point skulking after the rabbits have been spooked.  He doesn't attempt another throw.

"Good shot, Aarnr."

Fergus looks about.  There's not much game to be seen and Fergus decides that he and Aarnr will have to move away if they want to add much more to the dinner pot.

Aarnr bears his teeth in a grin at Fergus' compliment.  "Froggin' right !" he avows.  Having successfully scared away all the rabbits, the priest dutifully follows after the young man in pursuit of the next kill, once he's collected his first victim of the evening, of course.  "At least we'll have meat in our bellies tonight," he tells his companion happily.

The two men continue up the hill as the weather deteriorates again.  By the time they reach the crest it's raining once more.  Visibility is reduced, and the gusting wind carries the rain directly into their faces, sometimes with stinging force.

It also carries something else.

There is a foul stench in the air.  Something that burns their nostrils and makes their eyes water (or that could be the driving rain).

Not far away stand two trees, birches.  Another smaller tree, no thicker than Fergus' wrist, lays on the ground nearby, next to a splintered and broken stump.  Judging by the condition of the lower end of the trunk, it was once attached to the stump, but was broken off by some powerful force.  There is a tarry greenish-black substance smeared on the trunk, and on the ground near the stump, which seems to be the source of the stink.

"Mayhap thy pheasant did this ?" Aarnr hazards.  He'd imagined something somewhat smaller than whatever beast was capable of cracking the trunk of this tree, for all it's barely older than a sapling.

Certainly improves his estimation of the folk from these parts if they hunt such for their tables.  But he suspects something that can do this much damage is not going to be much perturbed by a slung rock as was the rabbit.

The priest swaps his makeshift leather sling for his greatsword, drawing it as carefully and as quietly as he can, while his eyes search the gloom as best he can for any sign of the creature.

"Good eating are they ?" he inquires of Fergus.

Fergus' first reaction to the new smell on the wind is to exclaim "Fwoah!  That stinks!"

As they approach the broken tree and Fergus identifies the source of the smell, he answers, "Pheasants are good eating, yes, but no pheasant did that.  More likely one of your monstrous gribbly-types."

Fergus approaches the tree stump to examine the tarry substance (though he's careful not to touch it) "I dunno if that's sap or blood or a scent mark or sumthin' else but the thing that did it was here fairly recently...the tree's only been down a little while."

As Fergus' brain catches up with what he's saying , he turns to Aarnr "Why'm I tellin' you this?  You'll just get your blood up for some bigger hunt."

Aarnr sniffs dutifully as Fergus comments on the stench, but can only shrug his shoulders. "A bit on the nose," he mumbles but without any real conviction.

He listens carefully to his friend's assessment of the cause, his lips splitting in a grin as Fegus finishes up.  "Froggin' right we're going after it !" the priest insists, though there is a sly note in his voice as he adds, "Can't leave whatever did this wandering around - wouldn't be right to let some fawning, elf-born, reeky farmer fall foul of it, eh ?"

Pleasant driving rain ... hideous beast to face ...

"Bet those common-kissing flap-dragons'll be sorry they got stuck having to visit the town and missed going hunting with us !" Aarnr chortles.

Resting his sword on the ground, the big priest squats as he looks about, seeing if he can find any sign of the creature's passage.

The earth here is fairly soft, due to the recent rains, and there are signs that some powerful animal has torn at the ground, ripping up clods of dirt, and leaving deep gashes.  That creature, whatever it is, has left a faint trail, leading away, down the hill, further away from the shelter of the cottage, and from the oxen.  In that direction lays a sizeable patch of dense woodland, dark and foreboding under the rain-filled sky.

And, as if to confirm that the thing has gone in that direction, a sound reaches the ears of the two men (and, incidentally, sends flocks of birds hurtling up from the trees, filled with panic)... a sort of loud screeching, which repeats three times before fading into mournful wail.  If the volume alone is anything to go by, whatever produced the noise was probably fairly large.

"Found it !"  Aarnr announces joyfully as he looks up from the faint tracks in the direction of the bellowing sound and departing birds.

The priest flashes a grin at Fergus as he sets off, loping towards the gloomy and forbidding woods. "Come on !" he encourages his friend.

"An' thou try and keep up, thou pauncy plume-plucked pumpion !" he raises his eyes to the heavens above as he challenges his god.

Aarnr starts down the slope at a run, with Fergus following a short distance behind.  Many of the terrified birds fly away, heading north, away from both the patch of woodland and the approaching men.  A few though, carrion crows and ravens for the most part, veer towards the pair, and start circling overhead.

Aarnr reaches the base of the slope, and finds himself ankle deep in muddy water.  The whole level area between the hillside and the wood, perhaps some sixty yards across, seems to be marsh.  It is, in fact, vaguely reminiscent of the priest's homeland...

Having moved closer to examine the tarry substance, Fergus can't help but notice the torn earth and the trail leading away.  He is grateful, at least, that the creature appears to be moving away from the cottage; his first thought had been to run back and check that the oxen were safe.

Aarnr's attempt to be sly is poorly disguised, if indeed that was what Aarnr intended.  Fergus' problem was that Aarnr was right: they were better equipped to deal with a dangerous beast than most of the locals.  Reluctantly, Fergus draws his axe and joins the hunt.

Now, standing, on the edge of the bog, Fergus is having second thoughts.  "Yeah, I bet they're real sorry to be warm, dry and comfortable." He sighs.  "C'mon, let's be about it...since I've no chance of stopping you."

I'm not actually sure that Fergus would have taken his axe on a rabbit hunt, but I'm going to take a small liberty rather than insist on going back :)

"Sounds froggin' boring," Aarnr agrees with Fergus' assessment of the plight of those in Fairhill.

"Watch thy step," he warns Fergus as he regards the swamp, thoroughly at home. "The lie of the land can change - try to keep to the raised patches of ground as ye can, lest ye stumble on uneven ground - I'd rather not have to carry thee into battle !"

Humming happily to himself, the priest sets out towards the woodlands, looking back occasionally to check on the progress of his friend.

OOC: After the debacle with the undead, I think it's safe to assume Aarnr wouldn't let his sword out of his sight !  But he's left his pack and waterskin with the oxen, so he's travelling light. :>

The two cross the marshland without too much trouble, though the going is fairly difficult in some places - the soft, slippery ground does not provide good footing for such fine, strapping specimens of Humanity.  Finally though, they are able to step on the sturdier roots of the trees, rather than the muddy earth, and soon after that they find themselves on the slightly higher (and much firmer) ground in the wood.

Now they only have to worry about visibility among the moss draped trees.

Another eerie screech reaches their ears.  At least if the creature, whatever it is, keeps making all that noise it shouldn't be too hard to track down...

While the number of trees is disturbing, Aarnr is nothing if not foolhardy, and so wastes no time plunging into the gloomy woods intent upon the source of that screeching.

"Sounds like a bird," the big priest tells Fergus, glancing towards his fellow hunter, forced to raise his voice over the creature's cries.  Though he doesn't say anything, it's obvious that he hasn't completely ruled out his pheasant theory.

"Dark in here, isn't it ?" Aarnr adds, finding himself forced to slow down lest a root try to trip him or trunk lurch into his path.  "Why do ye think the gorbellied hedge-pigs planted these froggin trees so close together ?  Blocks out all the froggin' light ..."

Fergus pauses at the edge of the woods to scrape some of the muck from his boots.  "D'you think so?  Doesn't sound like any bird I know."

Looking around to see Aarnr already plunging in amongst the trees, Fergus hastens to follow, eventually catching Aarnr as he slows to better navigate the dense forest.

He answers Aarnr (somewhat incredulously), "Nobody planted these trees, Aarnr.  They grew here.  I told you this country was bad, didn't I?  What with the need to drain the bog and clear this lot, it's no wonder no-one wanted to take the old cottage."  Speaking of such matter helps calm Fergus, who seems less than enthused by his current predicament.

Making their way further into the wood, one of them with considerably less enthusiasm than the other, the two men look for signs of their quarry.  The screeching noises appear to have stopped for the moment, but have been replaced with the sound of splintering wood.

And then they both smell it again, faintly at first, but growing stronger... the same foul odour that they had discovered near the broken birch.

A few moments later they catch sight of the source of the noises, and it is possibly a good thing that they are still some distance from it.  Barely visible among the trees a large bear is tearing at a tree with its claws.

Something, some noise perhaps, alerts it, and it pauses, swinging its head around to peer through the woodland shadows, and the full horror of the creature becomes apparent.  Circular yellow eyes glare out from a feathered face armed with a vicious flesh-ripping beak.  It opens that beak and gives vent to the same screeching cry that the men had heard previously...
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:17, Wed 14 Mar 2012.

The monstrous creature goes back to tearing at the tree with its claws for a few moments.  Then it turns away, dropping to all-fours, and starts to walk away through the wood.  After a few steps it stops and raises its head, swinging it from side to side, as if sniffing the air.

It's perhaps fortunate for the two men that they are currently downwind of the thing.

With a curious noise, part way between a cough and a growl, it starts to walk again, heading away from Aarnr and Fergus.

Feathers !  Aarnr grins at Fergus in triumph, though with a hunter's instinct he holds his tongue.  These pheasants seem most unnatural, though - like some enterprising wizard has meddled in things he shouldn't have.  Pretty much par for the course for a wizard.

Still, the big priest supposes he should thank them for their efforts.  After all, he did come a long way to find monsters to fight, so it would have been disappointing if he couldn't find any.  The stench is foul, of course, but that's only to be expected.

"Froggin' feather-faced fiend is getting away," Aarnr cries out, seeing the beast retreat.  "Hie !  Come back here thou noisome, bent-beaked, fur-brained, toad !" he yells, waving his sword about to attract its attention.

Whether the beast heeds him or no, the priest starts towards it, eyes shining.