A Murder on the Move (Dated) [Ask First]

[Ragnar Snowtalon]

Nov 12, Year 4
Just After Curfew

Ragnar's cape swayed on him as he walked behind the Valyrie who was keeping a close vigil on Kestrel as the two exited the Griffon Headquarters out into the damp, cold evening air. The aging griffon let out a breath of amusement, "Indeed I shall... I always do." he responded in the ancient language of the Northr. Forgetting and forsaking his roots would be the last thing the warrior griffon would be willing to do, "I can feel that you do not look kindly upon the prospect of serving the Kingdoms as directly as Feliks wants you to. But I can tell you right now, that assuming that means backing away from what makes a griffon truly great, is a mistake."

Ragnar held up a talon and motioned for the Valkyrie back away a few paces as Ragnar approached, keeping his grip on his Ranseur tight, "Feliks may seem like an angry extremist, but I assure you that he carries with him the ideals that could make the griffons great once more. I can feel that you want the same for us all... We are weak right now, but this weakness is only the hurtle we must jump in able to return to our former greatness. A greatness which Feliks and the Tsar are working towards. Would you not want to be a part of it?"

[Kestrel]

The Hunter was silent as Ragnar spoke, letting the older griffon state his counter argument before he even considered responding. Seeing that the griffon was motioning for the Valkyrie to move away a bit the Hunter became suspicious. No sign of this showed however, in neither body nor voice; a point proven true by the griffons response.

"Oh? What Ideals are those, Snowtalon? What brings a griffon, all Griffons, to greatness, and why should I help heal your armies weaknesses?" The Hunter started, gaze never moving from the area before him. He sounded genuinely curious...well as curious as an unwavering serene monotone could sound that is.

[Ragnar Snowtalon]

The Valkyrie glanced unsurely between the two Northr griffons conversed in the ancient language, not understanding them, "Sir?" he asked toward Ragnar unsurely. Ragnar responded with a talon in the air in his direction, for the griffon to remain silent. It was refreshing to Ragnar to speak his first language again anyways.

"Look around us, we stand upon the streets of a city built by ponies. We fight their insurgency at every turn. And for what? Land? Power? Our leaders in the Tsardom are blinded by their newfound victory. If we can stop the resistance here, we would be able to ease them into seeing that we aren't what we are supposed to be. We should be hunting these creatures around us, not ruling or even subjugating them."

[Kestrel]

Again the Hunter waited until the one beside him was done speaking before responding, and again his stare locked forward. "How long has it been, since last you hunted?" the griffon asked. What he'd prepared to say next would depend on the answer given.

[Ragnar Snowtalon]

Ragnar paused for a moment, thinking carefully through Kestrel's question. He had not found himself with what was technically a civilian of his own race in quite some time. And the answer he knew the younger griffon wanted wasn't one he was proud of.

"I have not truly hunted in several years." Ragnar said, "Shortly after the conquest of Equestria. The prey was a pony of the Pegasus variety."

[Kestrel]

The Hunter nodded at the answer, and continued walking; silent for a while. "I see. A shame, to go so long without a hunt." The griffon said calmly his tone never once shifting from its typical dissonant serenity. As he traveled on, a single thought drifted across the Hunters mind. 'It explains why you have become so disillusioned however.'

As the group passed by a nearby alleyway the Hunter spoke up again. Taking his time with the words, letting them roll of his tongue slowly so that the one beside him could hear each and every syllable. "But your past is not why you are here is it? You are here to tell me of my mistake." The Hunter slowed his pace and stared around, looking and studying his environs. An alley here, a sewer entrance there. The Valkyrie behind him. He could do nothing for now, but listen and walk.

Snowtalon had best be smooth with his words.

"So tell me Mr. Snowtalon, what quarry have I denied myself by remaining free? What offer does your Commander present? He did not divulge much in our short meeting."

[Ragnar Snowtalon]

Ragnar shuffled his wings, resisting an inborn impulse to berate the younger griffon for speaking to him in such a manner. He, however, knew that he was a little less worthy of the glory he had attained in his past due to his work mainly in the social aspect of the military. He had no truly glorious feats to his name in quite a while. An old griffon was an old griffon even to the younger generations. Although ones of their tribes were expected to be in the military. Just being in the military wasn't enough for overall respect.

"Your mistake is believing that service to the Kingdoms is unending slavery. If you help us, you shall participate in events that will help shape ages to come. And it does not have to be permanent, if you feel that the missions and assignments we have for you are too much to ask or expect of you, or if you'd like to retire after our goals are accomplished; I would see to it, personally, that you would be released with all your rights."

[Kestrel]

"A high and tempting boon indeed." The Hunter said calmly, his head turning, body flexing in a way that punctuated a bit of honorable interest. Muscles, hidden beneath the strange and elaborate clothing the Hunter wore, flexed powerfully as the Hunter drew in a breath allowing the scents of the environs to fill his senses.

He smelled rubble, rain, death. And should it even be remotely possible, he could even smell...fortune. The deal offerd, strange and suspicious as it was, was tempting. Or at least, it should have been. In the eyes of the Hunter however, the Commander had much to prove before he came to a final decision. Snowtalon did not need to know this however.

As the Hunter was yet again about to speak he stopped, the scent of something new catching his senses. A teasing, familiar aroma. Warm herbs and water, spice and pastry...a cafe. The Hunters eyes jumped, locking in on the locale. It was neatly tucked away, offered multiple avenues of approach and escape, and most of all it was located in the open air.

Seeing his opportunity the Hunter struck.

"In my village such dealings were to be discussed while sitting down, over a traditional brew of herbal tea. If the details of your offer really are as you say, Mr. Snowtalon, perhaps it is best we sit down to continue our discussions? I've a bit of the blend remaining since my last accord was struck." The Hunter offered, voice just as calm and collected as always, while nodding to the cafe' he'd spotted.

He could only wait now, for his quarry to agree, and bite deep into the poisoned bait of this otherwise perfectly innocent trap.

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