Dirk rubbed Pat’s head as sludge rained from the sky.

It was a bad day to be out near the Raven’s bones – whatever abominable spirit haunting its corpse had extended to the clouds, blackening what should have simply been water. A noxious scent accompanied the falling drops. The gunk didn’t contain Ravenblood, but it was mildly poisonous. He had dressed his hound in a coat prepared for this exact scenario, wearing his own less expensive rain-jacket. Pat deserved the best, after all. Upon his advisement, the rest of the group had donned similar outfits and covered the mules, horses, and supplies with a tarp. Even so, the wind whipped the shower back and forth – often causing the disgusting substance to somehow shoot beneath a person’s hood and directly into their face. The weather made Dirk uneasy; black rain was never a good omen.

The expedition had set a basecamp a few leagues out from where he and his squad had encountered the monstrosity months earlier. They had been chasing a small critter: an Oxkin formed from what used to be a rabbit. Even with the rabbit’s inflated size, its innate flightiness had caused it to flee instead of fight, leading Dirk and the gang on a long and wild chase. Then the monster had unfolded itself from behind a rock, devouring the rabbit with one massive bite. Suddenly and inexplicably terrified, they had fled, Dirk only stopping to scoop Pat up onto his horse. Glances behind had revealed a sprawling aberration, endless maw snapping after them, with doughy skin and four legs splayed like an ant’s. Eventually, the beast stopped chasing, though they rode for what seemed like an age afterwards. When they slowed to a halt, there were two less hunters to be found.

Of his crew, only a pair of hunters had joined Dirk and Pat on the expedition; Tam and Blunts. The other four were too scared of the monster or too furious at the Old Guard to join. Tam was a good, reliable partner – a veteran of nearly six years’ worth of hunts – however Blunts had become far more volatile. Her lover had been one of the two eaten, and the usually fiery woman now moved with subdued, fatalistic movements. He had seen the look in veterans after the Raven's fall - she was searching for a way to die. If they weren’t so short on hands, Dirk would have never allowed her to come.

He shook himself out of his reverie. There were still fortifications that needed to be made, tents to put up. They couldn’t half-arse their preparation if they wanted to kill the beast. He huffed, then went to yell at Tam and Blunts, Pat dogging his heels.

After driving in several sharpened stakes and erecting their portable wall – a surprisingly sturdy object woven from the desert’s native plants and purchased at a heavy mark-up – the hunter was ready to begin setting camp for the night. The clouds were beginning to darken, the sun setting behind them. They could strengthen their position in the morning, maybe dig some pitfalls if the Esfarian soldiers were willing to get their hands dirty. Yet none of the Guard’s troops were readying for the night. The past week had seen camp being set with military precision, night after night. Dirk’s companions, Stitch and Jackson were left twiddling their thumbs; the construction had just been too meticulous to interfere. Yet, on what promised to be the most disgusting and rancid night since the expedition’s beginning, they did nothing.

Dirk scowled and wandered over to where Jackson was, puffing on a pipe full of dullweed. The fumes stunk, and the air currents blasted the smell throughout the camp, so he covered his mouth and nose with a bandana. For some reason, Oxbloods loved the stuff. What would put regular men in a coma only gave the giants a mild buzz. General Maja used to constantly smoke; he hadn’t seen her with a pipe for eight years, yet it was always a mild shock to see it missing, though it was less of a shock than seeing her bumbling attempts to care for children. She had gotten better at it recently - Dirk still felt bad for poor little Orvi, having to put up with the General for years. Somehow, her smoking habit had spread to her successor, though Jackson still took it a bit less seriously than the General had.

“Oi, Jackie,” Dirk called as he approached, “can you tell some of your boys to start gettin’ ready for the night?”

The giant shook his head as Dirk sidled up beside him. “No. We’re killing the monster today, then we will leave.”

The hunter scowled. “Whaddaya mean? We can’t do it today.” Pat, sensing his irritation, began pacing anxiously. “Look at the bloody clouds. Awful day for a hunt.” He gestured towards their camp. “Place might survive a stiff breeze, but not some old salt Ravenkin. Thing might’ve been sucking up godsblood for eight years.”

“Captain Vernon believes it will not let up for another week.” Jackson let out a deep rumble of a sigh, then continued. “Representative Fedor wants to return to the Foot as soon as possible.”

Dirk spat a wad of phlegm onto the brackish dirt. “Bleedin’ Fedor. What’s his rush for?”

“The Old Guard needs a presence in the city more than it needs this godsblood.” Jackson reverberated. “Besides, the sooner he can report his success, the more likely it is that Lord Irwin will send more soldiers.”

“No good if we’re all dead.” Dirk grunted. He made a subtle gesture with his fingers, and his hound barked. “See? Pat agrees.”

Jackson chuckled, however his mood quickly darkened. “Pat’s thoughts don’t matter. Neither do yours or mine. The Representative and Vernon have the only say that matters. And Vernon couldn’t care less.”

“Well, Fedor’ll haveta care if Pat can’t track in this downpour.”

The Oxblood tutted. “Maybe. But Vernon might not need help to find the monster.”

“Tch. Guess we’ll see.”

Dirk, Pat, Vernon, and Fedor all rode out barely a half-hour later. Jackson ran alongside them; his bulk would break even the most robust non-Oxblood stallion in two, however his long legs allowed him to easily keep pace. The hunter hoped in vain that a horse would break a leg - not unlikely given the weather - thus forcing them to stop for the night, yet the putrid rain failed to topple a single one of their steeds. The downpour made visibility poor, however even with the wind sending filth in their faces it was easy to see the boulder where his men had been killed; it was the only landmark as far as the eye could see.

The five of them slowed, then halted. Dirk sniffed. “You better keep Pat and me from bein’ monster-chow.” With no small amount of trepidation, he dismounted, pulling his dog from a large saddle-bag. He grabbed a pike as well, though he knew it would be little use.

Slowly, he approached the rock, looking for any signs of recent activity. It wasn’t difficult to find some – the stone was covered with asymmetrical scrapes. The beast had been testing its claws on it. Underneath the puddles of darkness beneath them, Dirk felt sudden depressions. He prodded them with the butt of his polearm, and it immediately became obvious that there were tracks. Four legs and two talons, if he judged it right.

Pat let out a small yip, and the hunter knew the hound had somehow caught a scent. It must have stunk fiercely, for the dog to have smelled it through the blackened rain. He yelled the news through the whistling wind, then gestured for Pat to continue tracking it.

The four humans and their horses followed the hound for a few hundred paces, before Pat suddenly made a large turn back to where they came. The trail must have been older than Dirk had thought: they should have seen the monster on their way over if it was fresh. This observation was belied by far more potent evidence; the area stunk of the sharp and potent smell of sweat. It was a queer scent for a Blooded creature to have: such potent sweat was a very human trait.

They continued onwards as Dirk pondered this thought. The monster must have been close, but its behaviour was… he swore ferociously, scooped Pat back up, and swung them both up onto the horse again. With a sharp kick, he set his steed galloping back towards the camp.

The Dolphinblood and Owlblood lagged behind, startled by the sudden change in speed, yet Jackson was astride him almost immediately. “What is it?” he rumbled, voice easily thundering above the deluge of rain.

“It used to be human!” Dirk yelled, wind screaming in his ears. “Probably Spiderblood in it too! It’s headin’ back to the camp!”

The giant stumbled, then caught himself. Withdrawing his halberd from its holster, he spoke. “Why? For what reason?”

“Dunno!” Dirk spat. “It’s strange! Ravenkin should want more godsblood – I guess it figures this is its best shot at gettin’ some. It's queer though: you three are the only Blooded in a hundred leagues!”

Jackson cursed, then began pumping his legs faster. The Oxblood pounded his way through the sludge, outpacing the hunter’s horse quickly. His broad back dimmed as he moved further away, finally vanishing into the deluge moments later. The urge to spur his steed faster tore at him, but Dirk slowed instead, to allow the other two Blooded to catch up. If the two of them got lost in these featureless plains, they would starve before finding their way back.

Representative Fedor entered earshot, gleaming red armour now black with sludge. “What is this about, hunter?!” he bellowed. Dirk could feel the faint hum of the Dolphinblood’s rage thumping at him. He recounted his observations as quickly as possible, giving Captain Vernon time to arrive. For the first time since Dirk had met the Owlblood, his gaze was sharp. Whether his focus was due to the excitement or Fedor’s influence, it was impossible to know.

Pat barked, signalling something to Dirk, so the hunter trained his ears. There was a faint whining in the wind, gaining clarity the closer they got to the camp. Barely moments after Dirk recognised it as screaming, the smashed remains of their fortifications raced into sight, and the group rapidly thudded to a halt, shocked. Half of the company bled into the dirt, screaming into the storm.

The monster bellowed its fury, and Dirk felt terror once more.