Null had shifted in her stance, bounding from roof to roof occasionally as the hunt progressed.

It was all so very intriguing. She had always been an observer, yes, but she hadn't seen action like this in cycles. Her tails curled around herself as she found a new place to sit, watching the pure destruction, carnage, and- a flash of fire.

She leaned in, briefly, looking for the source and finding a very burnt and very recognizable form. Hargrave? Panicked, Null dropped down from her roof and sprinted to the best of her ability to the canine's direction, her heart hammering in her ears. Hargrave was here? She was in danger? This wasn't good at all. Breathing out, Null. came to Hargrave's den, glancing about for her.

There. She was out in the open, and Null hobbled close, dipping her silvery muzzle down to press against Hargrave's neck. She looked... So worse for wear. An uneasy breath out escaped Null as she circled around Hargrave, golden eyes wide and wild. Hargrave? Was she okay? Null's throat locked as she let out a desperate whine, searching over the charred body.

She needed something. She needed healing. What would be good for the flame? Cold? But, wouldn't that hurt worse? She swallowed, nudging Hargrave again, before racing off for water.

She wasn't going to let Hargrave die. Not after she'd save her own life, before.

It was a ways for water, Null knew, but there was enough of a puddle to grab and drag- she needed this, sorry ground. It flowed up with a flick of her head and a pulse of her magic, drops dripping onto the ground as she swung it about and let it lead her back to Hargrave.

A soft yip signaled her return. The water wouldn't be enough to cover her friend, but she could try to wash out the dirt and the blood and clear the wound. Her face nuzzled along Hargrave's back as she led the water to pool over her and lightly bring out the foreign contaminants.

Please stay alive, she begged.

Null was observing, but now she's playing medic for Hargrave.

Effluvium would not notice much, as the magic of the hunt began to take over. From the moment the hunt began, it had been as the hounds. It lived to eat. To chase. To hunt. It was also extremely stupid. For it, the temptation to leave and find easier prey would disappear. Its' mind would not focus on anything but the quarry. Even as the lightning storm came crashing down upon the quarry. Even as it passed gembound nearby, even as it passed one burning from its own misfire, Effluvium did not pause in its pursuit.

Its eyes were wild and empty. Less thought than dust in the wind, merely a passenger in the storm of the hunt. It did not think as it drew closer to the quarry. As it gained, faster than it had any right to with that bulk. Its mangled arms stretched forward. Claws ready to clasp the glowing form. All that crossed its mind was to open its jaws, and prepare to bite.


"When I speak."

When I think.

Still aiding the huntsmen! Chasing quarry

"It's the hunt, Pride!" ...?! Confusion, urgency, only rose in him. What the hell did that mean-? He could tell that James had no time to stop, to explain, but it clarified nothing and only seemed to spike higher the sense of fear that swarmed through Orion in a miasma of obscuring mist.

The white stag turned, springing away, terror prickling at his fur. There were sudden cracks, blinding light, and a storm erupting from nowhere--and as he turned, pale eyes illuminated with the white flashes--he saw with horror that there was black lightning in it, too.

Void-black, seething with corruption. Unnatural-
Hooves clattered across stone, and he was sailing, in great leaps and bounds, into the familiar ruins. There was little exhilaration for him, he who had joined this hunt so late, but the fear took him over as if in instinct, thoughts driven away, as he was, before the hunt. Past, history flashed away, replaced by a here and now that seemed as though it had run on forever: dodging through the charred buildings (brief images of Raheerah in his mind, and the terror that had brought with it), along familiar paths, leaping through open windows, staggering over rubble and stumbling through to the other side, only to break into a streaking, blinding-fast sprint along the walkways.

He didn't know why he was being hunted, or by whom--only that he was; and it took a few panicked moments for him to even bring his mind close enough together to try and defend himself. Wild eyes spun in their sockets, body stumbling, white flanks heaving and ruffled. His gaze settled on the behemoth: impossibly large, her brown and shaggy bulk crashing over and through the ruins as though each building was little more than her stepping-stone. Could he stop her, even for an instant-? Enough to truly escape?

Even in his terror he didn't think to try to truly harm her--James hadn't seemed afraid and Pride didn't have all the information. Was it just a game, somehow--was the fear he felt unreal-? Or was Draconua truly trying to... to what, eat them all?!

Pride didn't know, but he did try to grip her by the blood, to neatly wedge her under a ledge--something, anything, that would take her a moment to break free from--and then continue his terrified flight.

The calf's snorts, brutish as they were, became urgent. Anger roiled in him, fury boiled over him, steam rising from the sweating heat of his hide.

He knew nothing, as he thundered (well, sort of) over the bare and blackened rock. He knew only that there were misty, moving things; that there were bodies, everywhere. That flashes of light, of black, of fire--and its reeking stench--filled his senses.

Abaddon was, like so many others, running on instinct--the thrill translating to a furious and delightful rage, a desire for thrashing madness that his bull mentality could absolutely get behind. While the monstrous Draconua was gone from his sight--over and through the ruins, and beyond him--he could see the rolling form of Hargrave, the fire, and the smell of smoke spiked rage in his instincts.

The black calf aimed to charge straight for the wolf (disregarding the companion fox)--to headbutt her with hornless head, to charge and stumble over and continue with the hunt, with the chase. It wasn't clear why he'd chosen Hargrave--or why he didn't attempt to press an attack, if even he hit, if the pair, or someone else, didn't stop him. It seemed a random act of thrilling ferocity in the Hunt, as if the little bull's inner coding was screaming "THE BEST DEFENSE-" and directing him to smash anything that came in his sight.

The gray horse charged--no, fled--the fear-tinged thrill of the chase sparking hot along each nerve. At first he was safe, or so he thought--though Draconua had simply clambered around his small spike of earth (by the sands, she was huge), she wasn't actively chasing him, at least. But the chaos of misty bodies, of fog-forms racing around him, past him, of others that he passed, in turn--it was a maddening thrill that left him mindless.

There was no more focus for magic, for Warrior: instead, as the lightning gathered up above, he scrambled to try and avoid it. Hooves cracked across the rock, scraping, his hindquarters surging and nearly giving out from under him as he turned too fast, leaping away to his left--and just where he'd been a bolt struck, crashing down with a deafening bang and a flash of blinding light, leaving Warrior bolting at a full-out gallop with wide-flared nostrils and pinned-back ears.

Behind him struck the storm, and he fled: weaving into the ruins, the glimpses of other figures little more than a nightmare blur.

Like the rest, Khloros was running blind, now: the chase sparking up a defiant instinct in him. He'd flee, he'd outrun, he'd bolt and weave through these ruins and damn anyone who tried to stop him. Brief anger rose in him, unusual for his typically cold mind: no logic in it, only his every cell screaming to survive.

Around him, behind him, ahead of him--in every direction, lightning crashed. A bolt of searing yellow-white smashed chips from a rock just left and before him, and the horse shrieked and darted to the right, faster now. Rising smoke and the smell of charred rock rose behind him. A tendril of black, blinding fast, laced past him with sinister intent, cracking down, barely missing him--barely missing imparting Khloros with a grim and dramatic fate that he'd never have expected or intended: the curse of corruption. Hooves carried him onward, luck alone driving him safely through the storm and out its other side--and then all was running, breathing, fleeing. Air. Rock. The sweat on his coat, and the cold rush in his lungs, and the thud of his heartbeat in his ears.

There was nothing but the hunt. There was... a sort of purity, in that.

horse stock by venomxbaby on deviantart

"Pride?!" Attikias halted for just a moment, having heard the deer's voice before ducking away. "I don't know! Trying to figure out."

Or, he had wanted to, but now he'd found himself sucked up in all of this, mond racing and alarming as sounds whirled around him. There were so many gembound. He could hear their footsteps, hear his breathing, feel his veins pound in his ears as he continued the sprint. He'll, he could feel his legs beginning to ache.

But he kept going. He wasn't looking for information, now, no- he was prey, being chased along with the others as he struggled to follow to quarry's footsteps. There was a dip to the left, a crawl to the right, holes and patches left by the fleeing prey.

He could be smarter about this. Twisting behind himself, Attikias dislodged a piece of rubble to let the passageway he'dfound himself in topple down, trying to block the hunters from following him as lightning began to strike just a little too close.

He startled with a yelp and sprinted on. More rubble came down behind him, where he could manage it- his idea was more about distance rather than perfection.

Attikias is helping the quarry by trying to create some obstacles (but may end up leaving himself open to the storm?)

THE WILD HUNT

CORNERED

Aiding the Huntsmen and Hounds Madhukar, Draconua, Kitty, Abaddon, Effluvium, Sword
Aiding the Quarry James, Attikias, Talys, Pride, Warrior, Khloros, V-Chaos-Two, Hargrave
Observing Aran, Tahi-shei, Null, Comet, Sharp

_____________

It was difficult, now, to keep track of the Hunt itself. All was thrill and instinct, light and motion, the crash of lightning and the clatter of hooves, the wisping charge of fog-forms through black ruins.

There were those chasing--and through them ran the Heart of the Hunter: the instinct of those who hungered, of those who chased, of the predator glimpsing its prey darting just ahead. For them, there was nothing but desire, pursuit, and determination. Whether with claw or magic--or forks of deadly lightning--the world narrowed to a pinprick in a hunter's eye.

There were those fleeing--and for these, the world was one of diminishing possibility. There was desperation in it--each flight might be the last. Each chase might end in death. The longer they ran, the longer their predators chased them, the less of a chance there seemed to be. And yet... at the core of it, as the noose seemed to tighten around them and funnel them through their fear into the trap that might lay just ahead, there was hope. There were always those who escaped--despite the hunt, despite the stalk, the chase, there were more who escaped than who did not. Beneath the fear lay potential triumph, the wit and reward of the cunning prey: survival.

And there were those simply watching, through whom the thrill of both sides--the equality of it, the balance of this cycle of hunter and of prey--would run. The larger picture, the knowledge that some must die so that others would live, and yet the beauty of life itself, and of its cycles: in the heart of the predator, in the flight of the prey.

It was as though the soul of the Hunt itself infused the caves, if only for a moment.

The Huntsmen and their Hounds swept through the ruins, Gembound guiding them here and there, pursuing, searching. And for a moment the Quarry was visible: crouching, turning, cornered against a broad and crumbling building. It seemed a ghostly hare, large-eyed, large-eared, with nowhere left to run; its fate was sealed, and through all present would run a brief undercurrent of pity, whether they truly felt such things or not. This was it. This was the moment, the Huntsmen fanning out, the Hounds charging in-

-and then the ghostly Hare had leapt away, springing into the ruined doorway of its building, scrambling into the dark mouth beyond. Out a window in the back it leapt, and away, streaking into the darkness before its pursuers had even reached the building.

The Huntsmen came to the building in a sweep of bone-structured fog, skull-faces half-formed to peer into the shadows--to find nothing. The Hounds circled, wisps of mist with claws and fangs, but they, too, had lost the scent.

The Hunt was over.

The Quarry had escaped.

And for a moment, even in the Huntsmen there was admiration: for despite their failure, the disappointment in their lack of prize, the Quarry had proven itself. Their prey had shown determination, and guile, and it had never given up; and for that even the hunters found respect.

Gradually, the milling forms shifted, fading; slowly, one by one, they moved away, drifting through the walls and vanishing from the caves.

_____________

The Quarry has escaped. The Huntsmen and the Quarry have faded, and the Thrill of the Hunt will slowly drain away, though Gembound may strongly remember their experience.

Some time passed.

Enough for the adrenaline to fade; enough for the wounded to be tended.

And then the Three Kings were landing: a flurry of star-sparking feathers, their rich purple-blue a glimpse into unknown galaxies.

"Come to us," they trilled, as one, their song touching the minds of all of those who had run with the Hunt.

The Three Kings waited, perched atop one of the taller of the ruined buildings, a broad, flat area below them heaped with only low rubble. And when Gembound arrived, they spoke. "The Wild Hunt has come--and gone. It is finally ended, once more. Explain to us your choices," all three of them requested, as one.

Alnilam then spoke first, golden eyes peering warmly down at the Gembound present. "For what reason did some of you choose to aid a creature that was helpless, one that offered you nothing in return?"

"Why did some of you choose to watch--not to interfere; what did you hope to learn?" Mintaka asked, gentle curiosity in his tone.

And Alnitak simply snorted. "Tell me why you love the hunt!" he demanded, proudly--as though he already knew the answer.

_____________

Gembound may now post in this thread to come to, and answer, the questions of the Three Kings. Their response, in combination with previous actions throughout the Hunt, will dictate the reward that each are given.

Gembound must be posted in response in order to receive the final reward: those who fail to post after one month, or who leave without responding to the Three Kings, will still receive a lesser reward.

@James (V-Chaos-Two) @Aran @Madhukar @Draconua (Hargrave) @Attikias (Null) @Tahi-shei (Kitty, Talys) @Comet @Abaddon (Pride, Warrior, Khloros) @Sharp

Tahi-shei watched. Observed. Saw. The quarry escaped, and then, time passed -- he went to James, first, to check that he was okay. Then, when the strange purple phoenix was landing, it called for them in three distinct voices and Tahi-shei turned towards them. He pondered for a moment why he had observed rather than doing something different. Siding with the quarry might have made more sense for his nature as a prey animal; the hunters for the nature of his magic.

"I seek knowledge," he finally said. "Standing on one side or the other would have only given me their own perspective. I would've never known what the hunters were after if I'd sided with the prey, or vice versa. I needed to see all sides of the story, or else I'd have only learned half of what I could have."

He looked at the star-speckled creature, his ears laying back. A part of him wanted to ask if he'd given the right answer -- a much more mature piece knew that he'd have been embarrassed to ask such a childish question.

Talys stumbled and fell as the quarry escaped, and collapsed onto his hands and knees as he breathed hard. He was a chubby toddler with short legs -- he was not meant to run like this. He was exhausted, but the fear and anxiety and adrenaline were fading from him, and a thrumming pain was building in his ankles. He'd address that low ache later.

For now, he was pulling himself onto his feet and rubbing the gravel and grit out of his knees and palms before moving over to where the bird was, clutching his basalt rock in his hands. Where had he gotten that from--? It was probably best not to think too hard about where he might have been keeping it.

He frowned at the warm voice's question. "Wha'd'you mean?" he asked, confusion in his voice. "The bunny needed help. It looked sad! I wanted to make sure it was safe. An' it got away! 'Cause I helped," he said proudly, wholly unaware of the fact that he hadn't really done much to help at all. Talys held the stone to his chest, his tail coiling around one of his legs. "Why wouldn't I help it if it needed helping?" he asked, totally unable to fathom why someone would make such a selfish decision.