The dragons of Grendal could breath fire. So too was it true for the beast that flew above Ferreth's head. It had circled the clearing three times now, curious as to why the pulcher had not bolted upon his first sweep. In truth, the equine beast would have if it could, but such was its misfortune that it was the bait for the very beast that would soon end its existance. After the dragon had finished its fourth circuit, it pulled up to dive on the equine. As it got closer to the pulcher, it opened its mouth and let loose a powerful burst of its fiery breath. The pulcher's screams were mercifully short as the dragon decended upon it and began tearing it apart.
Ferreth gripped his axe in preparation. The dragon was gorging on the pulcher, burning the meat before tearing into it. Ferreth carefully looked over his cover towards the other locations he knew his brothers would be hiding in. As the head of their hunting party, they waited for him to make the first move. Steeling himself, he shifted his position to allow for an easy rise. The dragon stopped its feasting and swung its head over in Ferreth's direction, a warning hissing past its blood drenched teeth.
Ferrth stood, knowing the dragon had already picked out his location, unclasping the cloak that had hid him from even the dragons keen eyes. Standing at 7'2", he cut an imposing figure with his two headed great axe and the plate piece he wore around his torso. He wore no helm, and kept his arms bear as well, choosing freedom of movement and clear vision over layers of steel that would do little against a dragon. He was covered in a flame-retardent oil, though such protection would only protect him from close calls. Should the beast land a direct hit, he would be incinarated.
He approached slowly, raising the axe and swinging it around his head while giving out a howl to keep the dragon's attention, and began to circle it. The dragon, for the most part, played its role perfectly, keeping its front to him and wings unfolding partway to make it look bigger. It knew it was dealing with a predator like itself.
The dragon was a old one, maybe 200 or 250 years old. Given its size, it was well fed, and even had a few scars to show its prowess. Its deep purple scales seemed almost black in the twilight, but its eyes burned a fiery azure. It was nearly twice the size of Ferreth, not accounting for its wing span. The horns on its head were big enough fashion swords from, albeit ceremonial ones, and its teeth and claws were sharp enough that Ferreth's armor would be little more than paper to them.
But then there was the thrill of the hunt. Ferreth stopped at that moment, his howling dying away as he slowly stood up and lowered the axe. He listened to the wind blowing through the clearing, intermingling with the dragons breathing and his own. He smelled the burnt flesh of the pulcher and the sulfiric after effect of the dragon's breath. He took it all in, and realized there was no thrill. At least none for him, not anymore.
He breathed out, knowing it was to late to turn back now. This was a hunt, but he knew the odds of success were ridiculously in his and his brothers' favor, even with primative weapons and armor. But the hunt had started, and he would see it to its end.
He stooped low, knowing the dragon would take it as a hostile sign. Banging the head of the axe on the ground, he began taunting the beast with growls and snarls, recieving the same from the beast in turn. The timing had to be perfect-too slow and the beast would strike first, too soon and it would pull away and blast him with fire. It had to be...
Ferreth lunged forward as the dragon did, both charging each other in the same instant, each roaring their intention for killing the other. He saw the spark, the catch, and the blaze all in a second. The fire formed a wall in front of him, and would have forced him to go through it were it not for the precautions taken for such a defence.
Ferreth dove under the searing hot fire into a pre-dug hole in the ground. The dragon soared over him and came crashing down into the concealed pit that had lay behind Ferreth before the charge. From the roar, Ferreth guessed it had taken offence to the spikes that lay beneath the cover. Still, he had to get up quick, before the dragon got out of the pit and caught him. He struggled to turn around and right himself, the hole more like a small tunnel. He was wasting time, and knew the dragon would be on top of him at any moment.
The yells of his brothers could be heard now, even over the dragon's roars. Ferreth felt a heavy fall beside him and turned to see a pair of black boots. Before he could identify the owner, he felt himself being pulled up out of the hole and onto his feet.
"Next time we'll make it a little wider, eh brother?" The warrior was Orimir, slightly taller and broader than Ferreth, but also younger too. His hair was also black, and long and braided in many parts, though not so long as to get in the way of battle.
Before Ferreth could say much, Orimir turned and charged the beast with his greatsword. Ferreth grumbled as he scooped up his axe and charged as well.
His brothers had the beast surrounded by now, doing what they could to keep it grounded. Not that it could fly with the broken and bloodied wing it now had, curtasy of the spike pit. To each side of it were Kallen and Gilgolor, each with a pole arm. When ever the dragon would try to position for an attack, one would stab at its side to draw its attention and bait it into making a mistake. Behind the beast was Orimir, ducking and moving to attack its hindlegs to slow it down. Facing the dragon head on was Vanhorn, weilding a great axe like Ferreth, using it more to smack the beast in the snout in order to prevent it from spewing more flame.
Ferreth closed in to the other side of the dragon's rear, intent on giving it beast a few deep cuts along its hindquarters before it was put down. Kallen was laughing, fully immersed in the battle. He was the youngest and least experienced of the group, but that did not mean much amoung them. To even join their group, one had to have earned many honors and passed just as many trials. His spot was earned.
Ferreth slowed again, this time looking at Kallen. He saw himself in the young warrior, or at least himself from a long time ago. No doubt Kallen still felt the thrill on the hunt, even with the battle in their favor. How often were they here, in this field, allowed to hunt one of Grendal's fiercest predators. Ferreth hated to admit it, but he had gotten old, if one could even call it that.
Ferreth only had time to hear the warning from Gilgolor before the dragon's tail slammed into his chest, sending him off his feet and sailing through the air a good 10 yards. Ferreth noted the distinct crack of bone as he landed, and the pain in his abdomen told him he had cracked a few ribs from the blow and landing altogether. He cursed as he got up, knowing already there was a hole in the circle formed by his brothers, created due to his neglegence. He didn't get far in his cursing as he felt the fire shooting towards him long before he saw it.
Instinct threw him forward behind cover more than anything else, the fire slamming into and around the boulder he had ducked behind. The oils on his skin and armor sizzled, burning away what protection he had. The dragon stormed past him, using its powerful legs to bound over terrain and crawl along the stony surface of the mountain. Ferreth stood as his brothers ran to him.
"Now what do we do?," questioned Kallen, looking more disappointed than anything.
Ferreth responded, "We chase it down, that's what," and tore away from the group before Kallen could respond, running up the left path.
"Vanhorn, you're with me. The rest of you, give chase and don't let it out of your sight!" Ferreth yelled behind him as he let the adrinaline pump through his veins. There were no questions, and Ferreth was greatful for that. That was twice he had failed the hunt; there would not be a third. The old dragon would be theirs.
"Do you have a plan, old friend?" questioned Vanhorn as he caught up to Ferreth.
"Not really, but if this drake does what I think it will do, then we can trap it again." Ferreth didn't explain further, instead throwing everything he had to push forwards. Vanhorn didn't ask anymore, choosing to trust the older warrior. Not that it was a great margin between their age or experience. Vanhorn was only slightly younger than Ferreth, and they shared many traits, though he had a few more scars and one less eye than Ferreth.
The dragon could still be seen from Ferreth's and Vanhorn's vantage as they ran along the ridge, still ahead of them. The others were chasing behind it, yelling for it to stop and fight, as if it would do such a thing. The beast was free from its cage, and had every intention of keeping it that way.
"We're running out of ridge," Vanhorn stated. He was right, and the path the dragon wound around the very same ridge. Ferreth didn't say anything, instead steeling himself for what would come. Vanhorn must have relaized his intentions, as he began listing all the possiblities and routes the dragon could take. Ferreth didn't listen, and pressed harder forward. Logic had its part in the hunt, but this was not it. Throwing himself into the unknown, gambling literally with his life, Ferreth once again felt the thrill. Now he felt alive.
The ledge came, and he jumped. Vanhorn hesitated, and so missed the opportunity. The dragon had whipped around the corner and jumped across the gap it had come to. The gap which lay beneath the ridge that Ferreth had just leapt from. In a hot instant, Ferreth was the dragon, and the dragon was the pulcher.
His jump had overshot the dragon by just a fraction of a second, forcing him to pivot mid air and sink his axe deep into the beast's hide. The force of its jump nearly yanked the axe from Ferreth's hands, but he held fast. The dragon spun to the ledge of the other side of the gap and began to fall. Ferreth pulled himself close to the dragon, knowing if he fell away from it, he would be broken beyond repair.
The landing was hard, even with the dragon cushioning Ferreth upon impact. He bounced off the dragon, his axe finally dislodging itself from the beast's shoulder. Ferreth once again heard the cracking of bones, but the sharp pain in his lung told him he was seriously injured. The taste of copper quickly welled into his mouth, causing him to gag and cough up blood.
From the sound coming from his right, the dragon was just as damaged, and just as alive. Ferreth grunted as he pulled himself up with his axe and gazed at his prey. Now it was just him and the dragon. The odds were finally fair.
Taking advantage of the pause, Ferreth looked the beast over. The dragon was hurt, but not broken. Both of its wings were now torn and mangled, and Ferreth noticed it drooling a greasy liquid. He knew it was the oil that filled the sacs just behind its jawline which fueled the dragon's fire. With the sacs punctured however, the dragon would not ignite the oil, for fear of it catching in the back of its throat and blowing its head off. The beast was also favoring its front left leg, and black blood oozing from a wound on its head forced its right eye shut.
Ferreth stooped low, grunting past the pain, and readied his axe. The dragon lowered its head and let out and terrible growl. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as both rushed forward.
The dragon struck out, its mouth opened wide, oil and saliva flying form its teeth as it made for Ferreth's head. Once more, instinct and adrinaline kicked in, causing Ferreth to spin counterclockwise, using the turn to dodge the attack and create momentum for the axe. The connection was violent and bloody.
The axe landed at the base of the dragon's skull, biting deep and causing a spray of blood to coat Ferreth's top half. The dragon groaned and slumped forward, mortally wounded but still holding on. It was the second blow from Ferreth's axe that ended the beast, smashing into the spine and severing the connection to the rest of its body.
Ferreth prepared to swing again, but stopped and let it fall to his side when he realized the dragon was dead. He slumped down and turned to lay his back against the dragon's side. The pain in his side was still there, and every draw of breath was agony.
Slowly he unbuckled the armor and painfully removed it. Pulling up his undershirt, he could see his chest was disfigured from a broken rib, likely what was stabbing into his lung. He lay his head back as he reached into his belt to pull out a handful of tools to begin his surgery.
By the time the others arrived he had cut into his side, worked his rib out of his lung and reset it, applied some Cal-cement along the bone to assist in the healing of the bone, and sprayed syn-skin over the wound to serve as a second skin while it healed. Kallen and Orimir stopped dead in their tracks upon seeing Ferreth and the dead dragon, likely believing Ferreth to be dead as well. Vanhorn and Gilgolor merely paused before moving to assist the old warrior to his feet.
"You killed it," remarked Kallen, still awe struck to the scene.
"WE killed it Kallen. I could not have done this hunt by myself," Ferreth stated as he began to move to the side to allow Gilgolor and Orimir to examine the corpse.
"No brother, Kallen is right. You bled the most, and bled it the most," corrected Vanhorn. "The kill belongs to you, Apothecary."
"Throne, I'm glad I'm on your side," commented Orimir as he walked down the beast, taking notes on where good cut lines would be for cleaning it. Gilgolor only grunted in affirmation as he examined the killing wound on the dragon's neck. Ferreth chuckled as his squad began to look to him. As head of the hunting party, they would be waiting for him to make the first move.
Ferreth approached the dragon and reached into its mouth, grabbing for the longest tooth and giving a strong pull. Any mortal would have failed in dislodging it, but as an Astartes, Ferreth had no trouble whatsoever. Turning around so the rest of his squad, the Red Devils of the Purple Dragons 7th Company, could see the prize, he called the end of a successful hunt.
"First Fang!"