{"id":2017,"date":"2026-07-17T01:30:00","date_gmt":"2026-07-17T06:30:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/libellus.de-fenestra.com\/?p=2017"},"modified":"2026-07-15T11:32:23","modified_gmt":"2026-07-15T16:32:23","slug":"hunters-24-25-october-2000","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/libellus.de-fenestra.com\/?p=2017","title":{"rendered":"Hunters (24-25 October 2000)"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

We’ve all been waiting a while for this arc, which we played out on the group’s Discord server. What follows is a lightly-edited log of the chat between myself and Leks’ player.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n

Leks:<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Leks stares at the reflection in the mirror that moves like him, looks like a reasonable facsimile of him, but is wholly unrecognizable in his new loadout. He subconsciously itches an arm, expecting the wool to actually cause more itching than it has so far. Clothed head to toe in the finest that Magda\u2019s granny-squad could put together, he had to admit that there was a simplicity in the rustic nature of his gear. From the sounds of Minka hammering away at her forge, to the flush he still felt on his cheeks at the granny-squad garnering very specific measurements as he stood there like a scarecrow, and to the shivering wreck that Alexei reappeared as after his adventures, Leks was fairly certain that the bare two and a half days that had passed seemed to have been the productivity of a whole week.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The clothes fit immaculately. Complete with gloves and a cloak, they\u2019d survive as well, perhaps even better than his aged NATO BDU copies. Their neutral colors would serve as equally as any camouflage military pattern, though stealth had never been the big man\u2019s forte. Added to that his size, it made him the perfect machine-gunner for his squad. He looked over wistfully at his MG3, carefully stored nearby, and hefted the spear, and reassured his hatchet\u2019s place on his belt. They were very serviceable weapons, in addition to being what he could only refer to as works of art. His fingers lightly traced the crosspiece that gave the impression of a wolf\u2019s jaw. Minka was a magician with her forge\u2026 though at the thought of magic, he once again squinted over at the pegs that now adorned his wall. Yeah. Magical indeed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Throwing the pack with food and basic first aid amenities over his shoulder, he strides out into the streets of Ponikla. There are some stares, some questioning looks. While he has not hidden the fact that he will be taking a short journey, the details of such he only made apparent to a select few. He was pleased to see some of the local militia taking their duties seriously, and crisply nodded to them in appreciation. At the first group of gawking young boys, he called them over, and gravely sent each to report to various important peoples that he was leaving now. With a scattering, they dispersed, pleased to be on a mission of \u201chigh importance\u201d.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Leks has already calculated the travel time at a brisk pace. Sundown is the appointed time, so he sets off with a little spare time to his liking. He grunts, having looked at his wrist to get an exact time, but he left his watch at home with everything else he had gotten used to. His eyes take in the sun, and with a quick mental calculation, realizes that he can estimate the time of day well enough by just that. He has a feeling that he might learn a great deal more about how to live without the trappings that he\u2019s grown so accustomed to. Sliding the haft of the small lance into his palm, he begins a steady march towards his destination.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n
24 October 2000 | 1649 hours<\/strong>
Bracia Wilk\u00f3w<\/em> territory<\/strong>
somewhere southwest of Opoczno<\/strong><\/pre>\n\n\n\n
GM:<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n
The last glow of nautical twilight fades in the west. Filip stands statue-still, seemingly impervious to the cold, for almost another ten minutes by Leks’ internal clock. When at last he speaks, it’s at the moment that the last sliver of the dying crescent moon dips below the horizon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“With the eyes of no gods on us, we begin.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sergiusz, the eldest of the wolf-brothers, strikes flint and steel to the torch in the hand of Havel, the youngest. The pitch-soaked bark flares alight. Havel circles the hilltop clearing, kindling the other seven torches placed in a rough circle. Beyond the firelight, eyes glitter under wolf-headed cowls: the whole of the Bracia Wilk\u00f3w<\/em>, come to witness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Filip paces clockwise within the circle. “We are heirs to a pact with no name,” he intones. “It is unwritten, unspoken. It has no words. It is a pact of the soul and the flesh.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He completes a circuit. Keeps pacing. “We are men and women. The pact takes from us nothing that makes us human. Fire. Iron. Wheels. Paper. Countless years of learning. The pact does not ask us to forsake our ancestors’ progress.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He passes in front of Leks again. “It opens our eyes and asks us to see. It brings the wind and asks us to smell. It throws open the doors to the halls of time and asks us to remember. It is a mirror that shows us who we are – and what we are.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A third trip around the circle. “But the pact sets us apart. It does not ask us to forsake family, tribe, or flag – but the scent of the wild places is always upon us. This is the pact’s first price.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“When the pact opens our eyes, we cannot close them again. We know what our ancestors’ progress has done to the earth. The taste of smoke is always on our tongues. This is the pact’s second price.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“The wheel turns and we turn with it. We live as predators; we live one turning of the wheel from being prey. Fang and steel. Claw and lead. Always blood – ours or another’s. This is the pact’s third price.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Filip halts in front of Leks and, stern-faced, regards the Estonian. “Leksik M\u00fc\u00fcrikivi. Do you come to us of your own free will, without compulsion or reservation, to join the pact? And if so, tell those you would call brothers and sisters: what are your reasons for taking the wolf?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Leks:<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n
Leks clears his throat, suddenly realizing that it was more dry than he was initially aware of. As if to test the scent of the wild places that Filip has just spoken of, he inhaled deeply, briefly closing his eyes to savor the moment, then opens his eyes and locks them with Filip’s steely gaze.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I come of my own free will, at the gracious invitation of you all. Any reservations I had are done like morning dew burned off by sun. I am her to join the pact,” he pauses, perhaps too much emphasis on the word he almost turned into pack in the speaking of it, “because I wish to be worthy of my metsavennadancestors, my Forest Brothers before me. These not my forests, and those,” he nods his head in the general direction of Ponikla, “not my peoples, but they are now. I made promise to protect those did not choose this war. I also have native urge to resist the Russian sitas\u00f6\u00f6jad<\/em>, those what would put boot on necks of these peoples.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
As he reaches what for his speech patterns is almost a crescendo, not in volume, but in intensity, Leks pauses to force his breathing into an easier, normal pattern. “I come to take the wolf to become a Forest Brother to* these* woods, because I never will see my own again. This is home now. I protect it.” He lets his gaze unlock from Filip’s to quickly sweep around the gathered circle. “If you will have me, I pledge to your pact.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
GM:<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n
Filip nods solemnly and sweeps his gaze around the pack watching from beyond the fire. “Kin and packmates: you have heard this man’s words. Some of you have taken his measure in battle; others, in his deeds. If any heart holds reservations about his worthiness to join the pact, speak now.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Only the crackle of the torches answers him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“None deny this man his chance to take the wolf.” Filip points south, toward the forested mountains at the heart of what Leks knows to be Bracia Wilk\u00f3w<\/em> territory. “Leksik. Somewhere in our forests is a wolf, an heir to the pact as are you. As you have proven your worthiness to this pack, so too must you prove your strength to his. Hunt him as he hunts you. If you prevail, you will take his skin, his strength, and his resolve. If you do not prevail, your blood will turn the wheel.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Leks doesn’t see Filip make a sign, but two forms step forward from the darkness. As the wolfskin-cloaked figures enter the torchlit ring, Leks recognizes Krzysztof, one of the Bracia Wilk\u00f3w<\/em> who fought in the Battle of Radom\u2026 and Zofia.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Krzysztof meets Leks’ eyes for a long moment, searching for something. Whatever he finds pleases him. He gives the Estonian a feral grin and brandishes his hatchet, taken from him a few hours ago when three solemn wolfbrothers met him south of the highway. Krzysztof flips the hatchet and offers it haft-first to Leks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Zofia waits for Leks to inspect the weapon and return it to its place on his belt, then offers him his spear. As he takes it, she darts in and kisses him on the cheek before she and Krzysztof withdraw into the darkness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Leks can’t be certain, but he thinks Filip’s mouth curls slightly. That certainly can’t be a usual part of the rite.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Filip approaches. Inspects him. Claps him on the shoulder. “Go now. Hunt.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Leks:<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n
Leks glances over his shoulder as the last of the torches lit in the circle blink out. He closes his eyes, letting the darkness wash over him, and to reset what is left of his night vision. Blinking a few times to clear the excess fluid from his eyes, he sets his feet in the direction that Filip had indicated, and trods steadily forward.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The terrain is forgiving, mildly hilly with the forests encroaching and reclaiming what was once theirs alone. Nostalgia washes over him as he can\u2019t shake the sense of familiarity. It does remind him of home, of the forests and hills of Estonia. His memory wanders back to his hometown of Tartu, and of a youth misspent in the wilds east of the city. Parents, on staff at the University of Tartu, allowed him the freedom to discover, and reinforced his wanderlust with the bookishness of teaching him the flora and fauna of the area.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Kneeling and pinching off a few berries from a nearby bush, Leks grins as he pops a few into his mouth with a satisfying squish. No matter what he did, his parents connected his activities to learning. It was the beginning of the conflicts that interrupted his entrance into university. His parents didn\u2019t necessarily approve of his volunteering for the military, and he regretted the likelihood that he\u2019d never be able to reconnect to them. Spitting out a few seeds, he sets his mind to the task at hand. He had a new home now, and if the world ever settled, perhaps he might try to revisit what was once home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Forcing the memories from his attention, relegating them to pleasant ephemeral flashes of recognition. Forcing himself to pause and freeze motion and irregular intervals, stretching out with his senses, trying to detect what else might be out there. The sounds of the night settled on him like the approaching morning dew. Normal sounds, for now. He knew, or at least he fervently hoped, that he\u2019d recognize the differing sounds if the other forest denizens detected another predator in their midst. He was both the hunted and the hunted, and his usual feral grin came to his lips. This would be a story to tell, provided he was still in the condition to tell it in a few days time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\n\n\n\n
At this point, we went to PMs… and to the VTT dice, because Leks’ survival was in question.  I didn’t want the rest of the players to know the outcome until someone came back to Ponikla with news.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
Five imaginary internet points to anyone who catches the Steven Brust reference in this chapter.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
We’ve all been waiting a while for this arc, which we played out on the group’s Discord server. What follows is a lightly-edited log of the chat between myself and Leks’ player.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[105],"tags":[36],"class_list":["post-2017","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-kaserne-on-the-borderlands","tag-guest-post"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/libellus.de-fenestra.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2017","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/libellus.de-fenestra.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/libellus.de-fenestra.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/libellus.de-fenestra.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/libellus.de-fenestra.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=2017"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/libellus.de-fenestra.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2017\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2021,"href":"https:\/\/libellus.de-fenestra.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2017\/revisions\/2021"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/libellus.de-fenestra.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2017"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/libellus.de-fenestra.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=2017"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/libellus.de-fenestra.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=2017"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}