22nd of Thermidor, 1535

The two former Red Wolves members sat alone in one of the pubs of under-Kerth, Tevril Meer. Oleander’s head was buried in his arms as he rested them on the bartop. He’d hardly touched his meal of smoked centipedes and eggshells. Cormag on the other hand was already halfway through his meal; his chewing sounded like someone grinding up glass. “Don’t worry about it Oleander, you can always get another horse.”

“Horses cost money. More than I brought with me at least,” his words were muffled. Oleander craved the sound of the piano from the Tilted Flagon or at least a busty barmaid to take his mind off the eventual nightmare of walking all the way home. All he had was a pint-sized bartender who took thirty minutes of convincing to accept human money.

Cormag slammed his fork on the table, “I got it! I know a guy who sells goats—”

Oleander lifted his head. The cocky little fucker just looked up at him with a toothy grin. Oleander said, “We both know how far I can throw you, right?”

The bartender stepped over them carrying two clear bottles of alcohol. “Here’s the rest of the house special, enjoy.” He slammed the bottles on the counter. There was a thick layer of black sediment at the bottom that shot up through the liquid; it looked like volcanic ash raining down.

“Cormag, what the hell did you order?” The monster hunter asked.

“Drink it, I promise you’ll enjoy it.” Oleander looked over to the plate of food Cormag ordered for him, which he also said would be enjoyable.

Oleander let the sediment settle and took a long drink from the bottle. It had a bitter, nutty taste. The kick to the back of his throat was nice, but the taste felt familiar to him. It was of something roasted, “Wait, there’s coffee in this?”

“I knew you’d catch it. Wild rice alcohol and used coffee grounds. Not bad, eh?”

Oleander shook up the bottle and took a drink with the coffee grounds. It felt like gently rubbing the back of his throat with sandpaper. “It’s alright, take some time to get used to it—”

“—HEY!” A gruff goblin that was even taller than Selozha strode into the pub with a small posse of archers. “You human! You were up on the surface when that thing attacked, weren’t you?”

"Yeah, what of it?"

"We have a couple of questions,"

"Am I being arrested?" Oleander asked. Cormag peered from around Oleander's waist and slowly flipped open one of the containers on his belt. The hunter reached back to stop his eager friend.

"Let's not make this difficult human," the goblin in charge pointed to one of the booths, "Take a seat."

"And if I refuse?" Oleander asked.

"You've never fought an entire goblin strike team, have you?"

Oleander turned towards Cormag, "How about a single goblin maniac?"

The troop of goblins stood firm, and in front of the only exit.

"Alright, alright. Let's play along Cormag. I'm not in the mood to get thrown out of this city and having to walk all the way home."

Oleander and Cormag shuffled into one side of the booth. The leader of the goblin posse took the other side. The troop itself surrounded them both, warding off strangers and even the bartender as he approached. This goblin soldier's appearance was in stark contrast with the others. He not only had a full head of white hair, but also a silvery, scruffy beard—which Oleander thought was impossible for goblins to grow. His nose was long like Cormag's but noticeably crooked. He swiped Oleander's bottle and took a shot.

"Name's Gurleon, Vanguard of the Sixth Watchtower. I received a report from one of my scouts about a massive human hitching up a horse to one of the shacks on upper-Kerth. Less than an hour later, the dajjert arrived where it collapsed watchtower four and then flew off with that horse. My question is simply: did you intentionally bait out the dajjert to antagonize Kerth?"

"Intentionally? Why the fuck would I sacrifice my only means of travel. This little miscreant over here asked me to come and take care of the flying monster—"

"—Why did you call it a dajjert?" Cormag asked.

"Can you focus for a minute?" Oleander snapped at his small friend.

"No! Dajjert translates to griffin in human speak, but griffins aren't real."

Gurleon replied, "They're not supposed to be real. But the thing above us matches the description of a dajjert. perfectly. I will call it as such. Now, answer! Did you intentionally summon—"

"—No!" Oleander rolled his eyes, "Although now I fucking want to. That griffin made it personal. I want it in pieces and mounted on my wall! Right, Cormag?"

"Hell yeah, we'll eat like kings this time tomorrow!"

One of the smaller, meeker members of Gurleon's troop spoke up, "Wait, Cormag? And you must be...Garrison?"

Cormag howled with laughter; Oleander reached over and slammed his fist down onto the goblin's head.

"It's Oleander. How do you know people in the Red Wolves Hunting Company?"

“They helped track down an Emperor Chilopoda terrorizing the mines deep in under-Kerth. It was a couple of years back," the smaller goblin explained.

“...Damn, that was back when we first formed the hunting company. I think about four years ago. Remember that Cormag—ten meters long, massive pincers, and spat acid.”

Cormag’s eyes lit up, “I ate like a king that day too!”

“Yeah, only you did—”

“—If you’re from a hunting company in Morrigan, I suppose you have licenses. Lemme see them, I refuse to believe you otherwise?”

Cormag dug into his knapsack and produced his old Red Wolves license. Oleander rolled his eyes and fished out his license—that was torn in half. Gurleon swiped both cards and examined them heavily. Each license had a small sepia photograph, the individual’s full name, and the title and insignia of the hunting company they were affiliated with. On the back were Morrigan’s State Seal and the monarch’s signature. In this case, Cormag’s and Oleander’s licenses were signed by King Aethelstan the Ⅲ.

“Well, this changes things. Had you been regular civilians, I would’ve warned you two to stay underground until further notice. Are you two still active members?”

Oleander clarified, “We’re not really with the Red Wolves anymore, but we’re certainly still capable hunters.”

Gurleon sat back and pondered briefly, “I’m not one for asking outside help, but given how elusive the dajjert is, would you two be willing to help us out?”

Oleander asked, “That's what I came here to do. How much would we get paid?”

“We can arrange something for that,” Gurleon remarked with a smirk.

“Perfect, the only thing I need now is some information. I only saw the griffin through the lake and didn’t get a good look at it,” Oleander explained.

“Alright, about a month ago, the dajjert appeared on the eastern plateau gate. It attacked watchtower seven once the soldiers started shooting at it. It snatched one poor bastard in the chaos before flying away. That soldier still hasn’t been found. Seven days go by before that thing shows up again. This time it avoids the watchtowers altogether and descends from the mountaintop. It took a farmer. And then it started showing up every two-to-three days. We managed to blind one of its eyes and rip off some of the feathers on its right wing. It doesn’t engage for long now, but it’s still very persistent."

“How big is it?” Oleander asked.

“Ten feet long, seven hundred pounds. Wingspan...roughly six and a half meters.”

“Aside from the people it’s taken, has it killed anyone?” Oleander asked.

“No.”

“So then I take it the griffin comes up to the plateau to eat. I don’t know much of the surrounding areas.”

“That’s an accurate assessment. The areas around the mountain are heavily forested, I’d imagine it would be hard for it to hunt effectively. Since everything on the plateau is relatively visible from a high enough vantage point, anything big enough to pick up becomes a prime target.

“Well considering it took off with goblins and a horse, but none of the goats that roam the grass fields. It seems to be pretty picky," Oleander thought aloud.

"We've tried fresh meat from goats and pigs, something that the dajjert doesn't have to work hard to attain, but it didn't take the bait. It on;y went towards one of the towers," Gurleon remarked.

Cormag piped up, "Since we know it has an appetite for us, what about making dummy goblins? Humans have a word for dummies they put in fields, scarecrows right?"

Oleander corrected, "Well those are for scaring birds away, but if we stuff them some day-old meat and make them pungent and enticing enough—"

"—Then we might have some halfway convincing bait," Gurleon added.

The bartender interjected from across the pub, "There's a butcher shop down the road."

Oleander and Gurleon nodded. The Goblin vanguard spoke, "Meet us lakeside around noon in two days, we'll get everything ready from when the dajjert begins hunting in the afternoon. Show me what a Morriganese hunter can do, human."