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<blockquote data-quote="Manbearcat" data-source="post: 6651908" data-attributes="member: 6696971">It goes off as you plan...save one hitch...The hunts&quot;men&quot; round the final bend of their path and emerge from behind the snow-hewn walls of the carved trail.&nbsp; Their husky/wolves (Hybrids?&nbsp; Purebloods?&nbsp; Impossible to know.) are excitedly and doggedly (!) yanking against their leashes.&nbsp; They clearly have the scent of something that interests them.&nbsp; Two fur-wearing, imposing men and their equally imposing (and equally fur-wearing) hounds file out into the open space where you've been loitering.&nbsp; The third, trailing figure follows suit.&nbsp; Although his beast likely packs a weight fairly comparable to his own, he manages it with tenacity and youthful vigor.&nbsp; He is a boy no more than 12 but the nasty axe adorning his hip has surely bled a thing or two...and can do it again if necessary.&nbsp; Their cloaks all bear the many-red-eyed, black sphere that is the symbol of Ranyon Argoth's Far Realm cult.Your newly acquired allies attempt to address the men but are sharply and tersely cut off by the leader of the huntsmen.&nbsp; &quot;You were instructed to be back within an hour of first light.&nbsp; Sending a search party after a search party is the sort of folly that weak lowlanders must stoop to.&nbsp; You shame us.&quot;&nbsp; The word &quot;us&quot; comes out as more of a yelp as the large beast (the alpha of the pack to be sure) on his leash snarls and darts, dragging the man a few paces toward Rawr's &quot;hidden&quot; position in the heaped snow.&nbsp; The other man's beast quickly follows suit and he struggles to keep the leash from tearing out of his hands, his feet sliding on the frozen earth.Good ole Rawr.&nbsp; He is just too damn big.&nbsp; Just filled with too much fury.&nbsp; Those dogs are a good fight and you find the snow covering him shifting slightly as his patience in the ruse begins to wear.&nbsp; As the master of the huntsmen perceives the oddity, he says under his breath &quot;...what the hells...&quot;The 12 year old, trying desperately to restrain his now frenzying hound backs up and leans back, lowering his center of gravity and planting his bottom on the drift obscuring you from sight...literally right next to you.&nbsp; You could easily put your elven knife through the (no doubt dangerous) boy's neck.[HR][/HR] What are you doin' there guy?</blockquote>

[QUOTE="Manbearcat, post: 6651908, member: 6696971"] It goes off as you plan...save one hitch... The hunts"men" round the final bend of their path and emerge from behind the snow-hewn walls of the carved trail. Their husky/wolves (Hybrids? Purebloods? Impossible to know.) are excitedly and doggedly (!) yanking against their leashes. They clearly have the scent of something that interests them. Two fur-wearing, imposing men and their equally imposing (and equally fur-wearing) hounds file out into the open space where you've been loitering. The third, trailing figure follows suit. Although his beast likely packs a weight fairly comparable to his own, he manages it with tenacity and youthful vigor. He is a boy no more than 12 but the nasty axe adorning his hip has surely bled a thing or two...and can do it again if necessary. Their cloaks all bear the many-red-eyed, black sphere that is the symbol of Ranyon Argoth's Far Realm cult. Your newly acquired allies attempt to address the men but are sharply and tersely cut off by the leader of the huntsmen. "You were instructed to be back within an hour of first light. Sending a search party after a search party is the sort of folly that weak lowlanders must stoop to. You shame us." The word "us" comes out as more of a yelp as the large beast (the alpha of the pack to be sure) on his leash snarls and darts, dragging the man a few paces toward Rawr's "hidden" position in the heaped snow. The other man's beast quickly follows suit and he struggles to keep the leash from tearing out of his hands, his feet sliding on the frozen earth. Good ole Rawr. He is just too damn big. Just filled with too much fury. Those dogs are a good fight and you find the snow covering him shifting slightly as his patience in the ruse begins to wear. As the master of the huntsmen perceives the oddity, he says under his breath "...what the hells..." The 12 year old, trying desperately to restrain his now frenzying hound backs up and leans back, lowering his center of gravity and planting his bottom on the drift obscuring you from sight...literally right next to you. You could easily put your elven knife through the (no doubt dangerous) boy's neck. [HR][/HR] What are you doin' there guy? [/QUOTE]

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