The Hunting Grounds III - Second Most Dangerous Game

[Recaiden]

[Above]

Yes, ignoring that...tiny...little concern.
It's of course just at the moment that he thinks he's safe that the ground under the fox is dislodged and starts sliding on down.

[Below]

Poor unlucky guy.
Maybe there's a few drops left in the healing potion's bottle? Not that either of them are still holding it.
Hunter does what she can to bandage up his head. Can't have him bleeding out here before he can get real help.

[Fenric]

[Above]

The mother dragon bellows in uttermost fury and rage.

[Below]

The external bleeding is not so bad that he is really in any danger from it. The question is one of internal bleeding, for which there is no good diagnosis at this point. He is certainly out cold... maybe he had more than one potion?

[Further Below]

After a brief an un-instructional flying lesion, the DART agents land in a heap atop recently tumbled rocks: severely bruised, sprained, and dazed... but still alive for the time being.

[Recaiden]

[Above]

The fox leaps to a less-mobile rock, tumbles a bit, but then seems to be on solid ground.

[Below]

No, all that's clear is he's knocked out, and getting less and less likely to wake up again.
Hunter goes through his pockets and gear, looking for anything that might be of use.
And if he still has any weapons, to throw them aside. Just in case.
Another potion, some bizarrely advanced medical scanner, anything that might help.

[Further Below]

The time being. Can they make it to safety?

[Fenric]

[Above]

The dragon takes to the air, roaring ferociously while searching for the eggnappers: turning any unfortunate creatures she encounters to stone (or at least breathing her deadly petrifying energies on them).

[Between]

Aha! He does have another potion. Not all the hunters are idiots after all...
And being outside is probably not all that healthy right now anyway.

[Below]

The agents finally struggle to their feet: spurred on by the furious roaring above. Their cloaking device appears to be out of commission now as they hobble painfully but determinedly down the slope.

[Recaiden]

[Above]

And just like that, the little fox is a solid rock.

[Between]

On the other hand, maybe a thicker skull would have protected him from that rock.
Hunter takes the second potion, verifies that it's the right color, and tries to pour it between his lips.

[Below]

The earth shifts, ever so slightly. Probably just tremors from the rockslide. Nothing to worry about. Well, nothing more than they're worrying about already.

[Fenric]

[Above]

Aww... poor foxie! We'll have to find some "Oil of Stone to Flesh" for him.

The dragon is still searching, but the chances of getting distracted by some other random unfortunate hunting party is high.

[Between]

The potion works quickly, and soon the cultist coughs weakly

Must have been some party, considering this headache.

[Below]

Careful as they have been so far, the DART agents do indeed disregard this latest shift and continue to hurry as well as their damage will allow.

[Recaiden]

[Between]

"You fought the mountain, and the mountain won the first round."
Hunter sets a hand on his chest, motioning that he shouldn't try to get up too quickly.
"Should probably stay in her till things settle down."

[Below]

When it happens again, in should be pretty obvious that there's something else. Something beneath them.

This isn't a volcano too, is it? Those would have Greater Volcano Dragons nesting in them, right?

[Fenric]

[Between]

The cultist chuckles, and refrains from trying to get up. He rambles a bit: still rather scrambled from that blow to his head.

A helmet might have not been a bad idea... but we weren't exactly expecting this, and as you surely noticed: Zack and Steve weren't the brightest bulbs in the box. Weren't the best to begin with, and you all have done a good job scaring off or killing all the better hunters. Darn clergy going and starting a feud with Inari and getting all sorts of folks out to get us.

---

[Below]

The agents look around in concern: what was supposed to be a simple, fox-free fetch and carry mission continues to get more and more complicated. They don't even bother wasting time with trying to scan and instead immediately veer off away from open ground and back to rocks, hoping that whatever it is can't tunnel through stone.

[Recaiden]

[Between]

"Never go hunting without a helmet."
Hunter taps the side of hers and sits down nearby.
"So what's your name, brighter bulb?"
"And has anyone told you that Tenjin is gone? Dead?"

[Below]

Good call! The rumbling something stops at the edge of the rocky area they've retreated to, and after a few curious taps, the ground settles down.

[Fenric]

[Between]

The cultist nods

Yep. And name's Mel.

I certainly do know. Don't care particularly, and frankly, I didn't care about that fool even when he was alive. I'd been an adventurer, and none too picky about the jobs I took. Time came I got recruited by the Hunters - but back then, it was an elite group not the shabby fanatic faction it turned into later.

I had some good mates in the squad, though, and some promising lads I wasn't going to leave to some idiot, so I stayed with it: guiding folks best as I could and keep folks alive that I could.

Since then, I've been trying to get things back to the old way now that the priesthood's pretty well gone. There's a few of the brainwashed sort left, of course, but they're gradually falling off. But then DART shows up and wouldn't you know they've got my name as one they want. I've seen what their poisons can do, so I'm gonna listen to what they say.

And well, there's no shame in a dragon hunt! Nothing about religion or barnyard vermin, but still I'd rather not risk anybody worthwhile - so I took the two "best of the worst" and figured they'd be good for bait if nothing else. Turns out I was right about that part.

---

[Below]

The DART agents look forlornly at their transport vehicle parked on the other side of a grassy field. The roaring of the dragon overhead strongly implies that an airlift is not going to be coming, so the only escape would be to cross the field... with something large and probably hungry waiting beneath.

They sit on the rocks and contemplate their options.

[Recaiden]

[Between]

"Mel. Nice to meet you."

"Kind of a shame though; I was looking forward to hearing what the fanatics thought about it. But that's alright, getting things back together. What does DART want out here? Other than ruining my dragon hunt."
"I never saw them as having much interest in hunting or wildness or even dragons."

"Say. Do you think the two of us have a shot at taking her down still?"

[Below]

Whatever's underground is nuzzling about, feeling out the shape of the rock formation they're hiding upon. For the time being, it can wait.
Not like the little two-legged ones scurrying here and there all the time, with no appreciation for a good trap.

[Fenric]

[Above]

Poor stone fox is still stone

[Bewteen]

Mel snorts

Dragon eggs. And apparently they wouldn't lose any sleep if we could get one of the parents too. Couldn't tell you why, though: we were there to do as we're told, not to explained to. Personally, I didn't like the notion of messin' with the eggs: Mom or Dad would be back soon enough if the hunt was successful, but if you take the eggs they're gone.

Then his eyes light up

Now we're talking something interesting.

It'll be a challenge: she's right furious by the sound - I'm guessing those two sneaks got the eggs after all. But all that noise is mostly a trap.

He smirks

You didn't think there was only one dragon, did you?

Dad's bein' silent, which means he's doin' the serious hunting. She's bellyachin' to spook us and the sneaks off the mountain and out into the open where Dad can get us. But Mom wants her eggs back, so he'll get them first... You got his tail and he's gonna want to hurt you back after that.

My original plan was to get 'em from the side while tweedle-dee and tweedle-dumber distracted 'em. You can get at their heart from the side and a bit behind, aim just back of their armpit. Believe it or not, these 30-cals we brought are more than enough if you know the trick.

he chuckles

Those Tenjin twits and their 60-cal super-mags lost to a dragon more than once taking them head-on. The dragon's breastbone might as well be battleship armor - they have to support a lot of weight and strain for flying, even with the dragon's magic. Their dorsal and ventral scales'll are tough and angled: they'll bounce even the fiercest bullet right off, and there's plain too much to go through from the back.

[Below]

With the emotion-deadening surgery all agents undergo, patience is greatly enhanced. That does not mean that a curious query from one's superior does not supply additional motivation... one of the agents starts fiddling with his belt. Wonder what he's up to?

[Recaiden]

[Above]

What kind of stone is stone-fox made of now?

[Between]

Hunter shrugs.
"Not like the mom won't lay more eggs someday."

And smiles in return.

"I'd seen the pair of dragons around here, yeah, but I'd held out hope that there was just one nesting in this peak. Now, if he's coming after me particularly, we can use that."

"I'm more concerned about what they can do to us than what it takes to get through their armor. But what about the sneaks? They rate a bullet each, I'm sure. And recovering the eggs will distract Dad for a while."

She heads over to the half-buried cave entrance and peeks outside.

[Below]

Some evil utility object, surely. But who is there to get a look at what DART is trying?

[Terumitsu]

Foothills

The query results in Riss being slammed with a lot of information, but perusing it, it seems there are only a few specifics that it actually requires. It seeks an intelligent being, a truly intelligent one with speech and society. It does require a carbon-based host with a DNA based genetic structure that breathes oxygen. Diet doesn't matter though something or someone omnivorous is preferred as it requires less modification. It would prefer a being early in its life-cycle, a juvenile or a young adult and doesn't want anything in the twilight of its years.

Slammed might be a relative term... Certainly it took a moment to parse it all but it barely required her to devote more attention than she was already. The joys of having such a potent array for cognition were manifold.

She replied with the assessment that while she might technically fit that description, her form was essentially proprietary... Or at least that she would need to give consent to be a host and so far she didn't feel as if that would be a mutually beneficial prospect.

But.. There was that arm...

She could, she suggested, generate a host body from the genetic samples she could retrieve from it. It would take a little time but it was an option.. Plus it would be an easy thing to configure it specifically to the goop's needs.

[Fenric]

[Above]

Well, he's a fox, so it must be Gneiss

[Between]

Mel nods

Besides the usual claws, tail, wings, and teeth, the big mountain dragons can turn you to stone. But it's a beam-shaped effect, it's "all or nothing", and it pretty easily blocked so they're really a lot less dangerous than a red with all the fire. They've also got a roar they can do, but that takes it out of them and they can't do it so often: that's why he left right away.

[Below]

The agents poke around among the boulders, finally selecting a reasonably round and fairly hefty specimen which they laboriously take uphill a distance. It look like they are going to send a boulder rolling out onto the grass. But now a round something is getting attached to it.

[Recaiden]

[Above]

He was indeed a nice fox.

[Between]

Hunter makes some 'tsk'ing sound.
"This suit's pretty fireproof. But it was that roar that laid me out like that."
"What's DART got on them today? Anything besides standard PIE and poisons?"

Oh goodness, what are they putting on the rock?
"And those bombs, mines, whatever."

[Below]

Underground something shifts and scurries, digging out a bit of space for itself.

[Fenric]

[Between]

Mel purses his lips as he considers

Yeah, them PIE things which're more dangerous to the person wearing 'em, in my opinion. They wear vests rigged with explosives... some "safe" variety or other that don't explode without somethin' to start it ... but still, never made sense to me. It's their pistols: they carry a bigger variety of darts than ya'd expect, and they can change 'em out right quick.

I'd expect them to have brought stuff for dragons, and stone-based critters, and of course they always have darts for humans and elves and such... though I can't imagine a tiny dart with something in it to kill a dragon would do anything good to a human.

Below

One of the agents goes to the bottom of the slope and looks up; then arranges some larger, flat rocks into a ramp... taking some care with the length and the angle.

[Recaiden]

[Between]

"Yeah but they keep you not-turned-into stone and all. Probably better than nothing."
Hunter looks down at her armor, wondering how dart-proof it would be. Not enough, certainly, if they're ready to take down dragons with it. She creeps towards the entrance of the cave and starts to climb out as quietly as can manage.

[Below]

It seems busy enough underground, but more or less it's just waiting, getting as much preparation of the battlefield done as it can. Either the prey comes across the dirt, or some other prey comes across this stretch, or it gets the call to go home. Sooner or later.

[Fenric]

[Between]

Mel gets up gingerly and follows as quietly as can be...

[Below]

Satisfied with his makeshift ramp, the first agent looks up at the second and nods. The upper agent gives the boulder a push and down it rolls! Faster and faster until it reaches the ramp which gives it a sizeable lift.

Bounce, bounce, bounce... the reason for the careful arrangement is now clear: it is not at all a bad imitation of someone who jumped off the rock and is now running madly for the far side.

Above and below, pistols are drawn and ready: they have no intention of waiting around to see if whatever surprise they trapped the rock with works - they'll shoot dire venomous darts into anything that shows itself regardless.

[UncleWolf]

Slammed might be a relative term... Certainly it took a moment to parse it all but it barely required her to devote more attention than she was already. The joys of having such a potent array for cognition were manifold.

She replied with the assessment that while she might technically fit that description, her form was essentially proprietary... Or at least that she would need to give consent to be a host and so far she didn't feel as if that would be a mutually beneficial prospect.

But.. There was that arm...

She could, she suggested, generate a host body from the genetic samples she could retrieve from it. It would take a little time but it was an option.. Plus it would be an easy thing to configure it specifically to the goop's needs.

Foothills

The Goo relays the message that such is acceptable, in its own tediously complicated way, and then seems to settle down afterwards in order to just chew on more of the local vegetation. The offer of a host cloned from the flesh of the arm seems to placate it greatly though it doesn't offer any reason why that would be.

[Recaiden]

[Between]

Hunter creeps back the way they came, looking for where she originally fought the cultists, hoping the place hasn't been too buried. But one eye is watching down-

[Below]

Where the earth crumbles and a sinkhole opens in the ground just in front of the bouncing booby-trapped boulder. And a pair of monstrous pincers snap out to grab at what it thinks is a tasty fleeing humanoid falling into its trap. It will be very disappointed.

[Fenric]

[Between]

There's a lot more rubble on the ledge than there used to be, but it's far from "buried" - most of the rocks continued on their way down. The petrified cultist has been pounded into gravel, though, and there's just a wet spot where the one that got eaten had been.

---

[Below]

The agents both fire the moment the pincers become visible, but stop after a single shot each: there's scarce hope that their darts will penetrate something like that.

They wait a moment, then detonate the suicide vest that had been wrapped around the boulder.

[Recaiden]

[Between]

Poor statue-cultist.
But more important than him, over here, safe underneath the shadows, is Hunter's gun, which she grasps, slips on, and powers up. Now for DART. They'll have to backtrack a little ways to get them in sight.

[Below]

There's a pained roar and the ground shakes slightly as the monster thrashes about. It scuttles back into its tunnels, the dust starts to settle, and everything is still.

[Fenric]

[Below]

The agents make a break for it: sticking near the rocks for as long as they possibly can and cutting around the hole in the ground in two wide arcs: each having taken a share of eggs.

[Between]

Hunter an her tag-along will get to an edge with a view about the time the agents are halfway across the clearing, about level with the hole the monster left.

[Rebonack]

[The Lobster Pot]

That would invoke images of a large steel pot full of boiling water. An impending, horrible death for any innocent lobster. And, after a fashion, that's what the pot is. Except instead of steel, it's a lake in a volcanic caldera. And it isn't boiling, it's-

Well, no.

It is boiling.

Typically only the bottom, closer to the molten rock oozing up from the heart of the mountain. Typically it doesn't get hot enough to boil the whole lake. That would be crazy.

And, of course, there are also lobsters.

Assuming one is willing to count thirty foot tall abominations that combine all the worst aspects of spiders, lobsters, and squid as 'lobsters'.

So yes.

The Lobster Pot.

It is here that, with a sharp crack, a rather large mech quite abruptly begins existing. Its charcoal grey composite armor is pitted with impact craters and scorch marks. One of the jump jets on the back appears to be badly damage, seriously limiting its mobility. It's the blocky, chicken-legged sort of machine, a mech. Not to be confused with the impossibly agile humanoid (or animaloid, depending) mecha. A walking tank rather than a giant battle android. Emblazoned on each shoulder of the machine is a flaming Eevee skull above a Roman numeral VI. Thankfully its weapons are all fully functional, otherwise what happens next would probably be pretty unpleasant for the war-machine's pilot.

"What the hell was that?" comes a rather shocked voice from the machine. Typically one would expect these sorts of transmissions to be on secure radio channels, but then no one would get to listen in and that just wouldn't be any fun at all. "Can anyone identify that weapon? My display is nothing but snow." A moment passes. "Echo two? Echo two, do you read? Serena, do you copy?" By now the 'lobsters' have noticed the displaced war machine and are skittering closer for a more violent inspection. "Don't tell me that fried the radio, too. Come on, girl, don't up and die on me now. We've still got a mission to finish."

Suddenly, visuals!

SUDDENLY LOBSTERS!

"What the hell."

The mech gets tackled by several tons of irate crustacean.

[Fenric]

There is a familiar yet strange clumping, and soon enough three 'mechs of a completely unfamiliar variety stomp up: bipedal, with twin gattling-style autocannons and twin AA missile pods with a single large laser canon mounted centrally. They wear an insignia utterly unlike any standard clan.. but yet again familiar: a flag with a central logo...

Bravo one: Newcomer located: near the Lobster Pot - ground defense initiated. Hostile lobster already in action: air support recommended.

Bravo two: taking the high ground. We've got a tank inbound already, one: one minute to holy ground.

Roger, two: Caroline's coming to nuke the place.

Newcomer mech: can you hold out for sixty clicks? Over.

[Rebonack]

[The Lobster Pot]

With a sound of scraping carapace on composite, the machine stumbles back a few steps as a lobster collides with it, gnashing with far too many gribbly limbs. The pilot releases a rather imposing looking Gauss rifle from his left waldo, the weapon catching in mid-air on nothing before vanishing rather than flopping to the ground. With the mechanical hand now free, a broad blade snaps out of its hand compartment, its cutting edges glistening with water and filling the air with a low hum as it suddenly blurs. The pilot steps back again, dragging the creature with it and causing the monster to stumble as its footing becomes a bubbling slurry of of mud.

In goes the vibro blade.

Out comes a spray of neon blue crab juice that blossoms into a plume of violence.

Poor crab.

Down it goes.

The pilot raises his other waldo, the rifle snapping back into existence as he opens fire on the other approaching abominations. The beast on the ground begins to rapidly regenerate. Great.

"Echo Six to unknown MAWs, if you can provide covering fire please do," the pilot replies over his radio. He continues to fire until a second lobster drops, but by this time the first one is skittering back to its way-too-many feet again. "These things don't like to stay down."

[Fenric]

[The Lobster Pot]

The three Goliaths open fire with their gattling cannons, blasting away at the Lobsters.

Roger, Echo Six.

A strange hum fills the air as Caroline's hover-tank glides into view.

I'm painting the friendly.

Caroline answers

Affirmative, Bravo Two: I've got him marked. Keep the close ones away while I set up.

Roger that.

[Rebonack]

[Lobster Pot]

With the absolutely withering fire blanketing the area, even the preternatural regeneration of the lobsters is being taxed. Typically the mech pilot would use this as an opportunity to use his jump-jets to leap to safety, but with the device damaged he would probably just end up face-planting the machine in a wholly unhelpful fashion. To that end, he has to simply make do with backing away, keeping his Gauss rifle trained on the crabs. After another burst of fire he ejects the weapon's spent magazine even as a replacement appears in his free waldo. With a mechanical clunk the ammunition is slammed home and-!

Thankfully the lobsters are getting back up quite so quickly.

And just about the time the pilot is begging to think the encounter is going smoothly, things get much worse.

The Big Lobster rises from the caldera.

Now, the other lobsters are pretty big to begin with.

But this thing?

Well, kaiju scale would probably be an apt enough description.

"You have got to be kidding..." the pilot mutters as the towering behemoth opens its maw and spews a wave of caustic sludge over the area. While the acidic goop might not be corrosive enough to melt someone's flesh off, it IS tacky enough to gum up joints and cause gears to seize whilst melting vital lubricant. Just what a mech doesn't need.

[Fenric]

[Lobster Pot]

Up on the hill, the hover-tank has stopped hovering and put down retractable braces. The smaller main gun has retracted down and an unreasonably large replacement has unfolded from the chassis and swivelled around.

Tavlii's original gift didn't include an Arclight cannon... but what good is a siege tank without siege mode?

Oh look: a target.

Fire in the hole!

Rad-screens at full.
Brace yourselves.

Bravo two to Echo Six: you probably want to close your eyes.

With a "whump", the tank fires it's heavy gun: lobbing a small packet of antimatter surrounded with shells of various materials designed to catch the hard gamma radiation and convert it properly to heat. The "fuse" is nothing more than the charge on the capacitors that hold the high-density magnetic field which prevents the antimatter from finding it's opposite. A tracer-coating of magnesium burns brightly, showing the arc of the projectile as it flies through the air toward the lobster.