Great Hunt: Ravenous

By the Patrons, he was bored. 

He'd been tracking a damned witch for weeks now, gallivanting all around the south of Ivras chasing this patrons-be-damned witch, Jakob by his side. Perhaps it was the clanking and whirring of the gears on his brother's legs that let the witch constantly give them the slip, but Falke didn't go anywhere without his brother-in-arms. 

After seeing your entire town killed in front of your eyes, you didn't leave the side of the only other survivor. 

His tracking skills were phenomenal- he was a trained hunter long before he was a Witchfinder- and he drew the new fox fur-lined cloak around his shoulders. Some nights in the Sunless Jungle were still chilly, after all; while he hated himself for letting the other mage get away after allowing his pet fox to be killed- who even did that, he thought to himself- he did enjoy the fineness of the cloak. 

Now he only had to catch the witch and bring him back to Namarast. Then all would be right with the world- or as right as Falke could make it. 

"It's going to be dark in a few hours," Jakob said, heaving and panting from his efforts of moving through the jungle on heavy clockwork legs. "Should we try and find somewhere to camp for the night? If we get to bed early, we can leave at first light." 

Falke swung his head around to look at his brother, the slightest twinges of pity on his face. Normally, Jakob would have been the last one to tire, not wanting to stop until the job was done. That go-getter attitude and ability was yet another thing taken by the fall of Foxglen. "No," he said, his voice gruff. "Give it another hour or so, brother, and then we can stop for the night. This trail goes a little bit further and I want to see if there are any other offshoots, like the last time, so we can formulate a plan of attack. This damn witch has been on the run for long enough." Turning back around, crossbow held firmly, he studied the prints left in the soft mud of the jungle, moving forward. 

Then- a crack, a rustling in the bushes around him. Falke's head shot up, and Jakob went on alert. The figure began to fade away, hiding in the shadows of the jungle, but Falke raised his crossbow and sighted at the figure, his smile a smirk filled with dark promise. "Stop!" he cried, eyes firmly on the newcomer who thought he could get away from a trained hunter Witchfinder. "By order of the Order, Archon Miriam and her loyal Witchfinders, come out of the bushes and present your papers. Don't make any sudden moves or try to escape- I'm a damn good shot and tracker."

His grip on the crossbow only tightened as he waited for the figure to comply or run, his blood heating at the thought of a more thrilling chase.