Still, it felt nothing like his time training in the Sacred Training Grounds. There was no Wroth barking orders in his ear, no one-upmanship with Yuma, no constant emotional tug-of-war with Fawkes. He missed none of those things; without that kind of constant pressure hanging over his head, he found that his progress became easier and more efficient.
On his part, Aumir was as absent an instructor as he could virtually be, often leaving the log cabin for two or three days at a time. And even when he was present, he acted nothing like Wroth. Where the Behemoth Nation elder felt progress came from discipline and endless hours of drilling, Aumir placed more value in properly explaining the objectives and general philosophy of his teachings.
“Above all else, Aumir thinks you should practice the ways of the hunt,” he’d told Hunter. “What prey you choose, it matters little. What matters most is that you get a feel for it, of how it is to be on the hunt, of what the hunt means to you.”
Hunter had given that much thought; in fact, he’d spent long hours meditating on those words with Mystic Reflection, cycling his Essence to immerse himself in a state of ponderous clarity. The conclusions he’d come to where the basis on which he’d structured his whole approach on training:
To him, the hunt was first and foremost a means to an end. He was not hunting for sports, chills, or thrills; his approach was purely objective-oriented.
Currently, his long-term goal was to appear before the court of Herne and sway the Great Spirit of the Hunt into amending the terms of their accord. Presenting him with trophies from worthy hunts was the most likely way to earn his favor and improve his chances. And gaining mastery in the ways of the Hunt was the most likely way to secure those trophies.
With that in mind, he’d asked Aumir to help him plan out a training regime that was results-driven, but didn’t feel forced or unnatural. If the gold-toothed smile he flashed him was any indication, the strange huntsman approved of his thinking.
“As Aumir sees it, you should get familiar with the hunt, young osprey,” he’d said. “Immerse yourself in it. Get out there, scout the woods, spot suitable prey, bring it down.”
“What counts as suitable prey?”
“Anything, long as it makes your hunt challenging enough, be it the tracking, the chase, or the kill.”
“Any pointers?”
The hunstman had tilted his head at the question, eyes narrowing as though sizing Hunter up.
“Aumir will just tell you this: most apex predators won’t waste their strength on you unless you force their hand. Corner one, threaten its young, find it starving enough… then maybe. Otherwise, they’ll size you up and reckon you’re not worth the trouble. See, a predator can’t afford a broken leg or a torn flank. You can’t hunt while you heal, and you can’t heal if you starve.”
He’d crouched, dragging the tip of his knife through the soil, sketching the rough antlers of some massive beast.
“Large prey don’t think that way. A moose doesn’t weigh the cost of injury. If it feels trapped, it’ll bolt if it can, but if it must fight, it fights to the death. And if it dies, it’ll make certain it drags you into the grave with it.”
“So what am I meant to take from that?” Hunter had asked.
“Whatever you will, young osprey,” Aumir had replied, gold-toothed smile widening. “Oh, and another thing. A wild boar, they don’t give two shits about risk ofr reason. They just want you dead. Cross one in the brush and you’ll learn that quick enough.”
In the end, the two of them settled on something like this:
Hunter would roam the Weald, scouting new ground to gain ranks in his Pathfinder ability and to spot suitable prey. That could be anything from a chipmunk to a brown bear, but never anything touched by the mystical; he would do as an apex predator did, keeping a healthy distance from creatures that looked anything other than mundane.
Once he’d made his choice, he’d invoke the Rite of the Hunt. Having something of the prey—hair, scat, or a track—would make the Rite far easier. According to Aumir, however, it wasn’t necessary. Hunter could, and should, learn to invoke it without such a focus, even if the effort proved greater.
When it came to taking down his chosen quarry, Hunter would rely on his bow, aiming for a clean kill to. That would be the best way to advance his Archery. Once the hunt was done, he would field-dress the carcass, haul it back to the cabin, and process it piece by piece, making the most of every part. That, as he’d found out, counted towards gaining ranks in his Wildcrafting.
Finally, it would also fall to Hunter to cook and prepare all of Aumir’s, Klothi’s, and Fyodor’s meals, even if he did not always sit to share them himself. That, of course, would raise his Cooking; Aumir was adamant it was an integral part of the skillset any man or woman of the Hunt should master.
What little time remained to him, Hunter would spend in meditation, cycling his Essence and using Mystic Reflection to sink into a deep trance, pondering the lessons of the day.
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Naturally, Biggs and Wedge remained at his side at every step of his daily routine. Hunter made a point of using Resonant Flow and Synaptic Communion as much as his concentration and Essence reserves allowed him to. With their minds, perception, and Essence working in harmony, the familiars quickly learned how to become a virtual extension of Hunter’s very will. the familiars became a near extension of his own will. The three of them needed little conscious thought to communicate; they were linked on an instinctive, intuitive level that had no use for words.
Just as importantly, Synaptic Communion let the ravens draw on even more of his skills and abilities, greatly enhancing their value as scouts and aides and opening whole new realms of possibility for cooperation. And yet, Hunter had the nagging sense he was only scratching the surface of what their shared link could help them achieve in its empowered state. He fully intended to push deeper into that bond, determined to uncover just how far the utility of Synaptic Communion could be taken.
By the end of those three weeks, the progress he’d made was nothing short of spectacular. In Elderpyre, his neuroplasticity bordered the realms of the superhuman; what in the real world would take months or even years to master, here he could manage in a fraction of that time. Not for the first time, he found himself wondering what heights he might reach within, say, a decade.
Which, of course, he did not have.
Still, the rate at which his mastery grew was enough to give even Aumir pause.
“Stay awhile, young osprey,” the huntsman told him one morning, as he was preparing to go out ranging again. “That Exemplars book of yours—could Aumir take a look at it?”
That was what Aumir called the notebook where Hunter kept a regularly updated, hand-copied version of his Character Sheet—a habit he had picked up so he could share it with Fawkes.
“Sure.” He handed the notebook to the huntsman. “Knock yourself out.”
As Aumir pored over the lists of skills and abilities, Hunter leaned in for another glance at them over his shoulder:
Skills:
Archery: 25
Artifact Handling: 10
Athletics: 25
Close Combat: 25
Cooking: 17
Cycle Essence: 25
Evasion: 25
Galdorcraeft: 25
Meditation: 25
Polearm Mastery: 25
Short Blade Mastery: 5
Stealth: 12
Survival: 25
Abilities:
Adaptive Defense: 25
Asymmetric Tactics: 8
Augmented Familiar: 25
Conditioning: 23
Conjure Familiar: 25
Craft Spirit Charm: 25
Danger-Sense: 21
Dodge Counter: 25
Essence Purge: 25
Fulcrum: 22
Glaive Expertise: 25
Low-Light Vision: 25
Make Contact: 1
Mystic Eye: 15
Mystic Reflection: 12
Mystical Phenomena: 7
Opportunist: 25
Pathfinder: 25
Reinforced Channels: 25
Resonant Flow: 25
Rite of the Hunt: 17
Synaptic Communion: 16
Toughness: 25
Wildcrafting: 25
There was a lot to take in. Thanks to his grueling training regimen, no fewer than five skills now sat capped at his Rung’s limit of 25: Archery, Galdorcraeft, Pathfinder, Resonant Flow, and Wildcrafting. Several others had gained a handful of ranks as well; most notably, Synaptic Communion and Rite of the Hunt had skyrocketed to 16 and 17.
His skulking through the woods had earned him a new skill as well: Stealth. According to Mystic Eye, it did exactly what it said on the tin: it helped him move quietly, hide, and slip by unnoticed. At rank 12, the effects were noticeable, though still firmly within the bounds of the mundane.
And then there was Cooking. No one could claim Hunter couldn’t boil an egg anymore. Judging by the gusto with which Aumir tore into his meals, he was more than passable in the kitchen—and that, Hunter knew, was a skillset that would serve him in the real world too, well long after his stint at the Happy Motel.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Aumir said. “I knew you were coming along fast, but I half-suspected it was just the fondness in my heart tinting my view. Them numbers don’t like, though. Rarely have I been so glad to be proven wrong, young osprey.”
“There’s more,” Hunter said, brushing off the praise. “When a skill hits twenty, I usually get new abilities to pick from. This time it was Archery. Flip a couple pages—I jotted the descriptions down for you.”
Aumir did, and started reading through the descriptions.
Hunting Recurve Expertise reflects the archer’s practiced familiarity with the hunting recurve and other bows of similar design. Through repeated use and refinement, the archer learns to handle such weapons with greater comfort, ensuring smoother motion and more reliable performance across varied conditions.
The expertise improves draw speed, steadiness of aim, and accuracy, even when the archer is in motion. Shots loosed while advancing, retreating, or shifting position suffer less from imbalance, allowing these bows to remain dependable tools for both pursuit and defense.
At higher ranks, each of these benefits grows more pronounced. Handling becomes near effortless, draw and release gain a practiced fluidity, and accuracy reaches a standard that few untrained bowmen could hope to equal.
This Ability allows the archer to enter a focused, Zen-like meditative stance when preparing to fire. In this state, movement slows, but accuracy rises sharply, each shot delivered with precision born of discipline and control.
The practice embodies harmony between archer, weapon, and motion. The act of shooting becomes a single, unbroken gesture: draw, aim, and release , all flowing together without hesitation. In this state, the bow ceases to be mere weapon and becomes an extension of the archer’s will.
At higher ranks, accuracy grows even greater and the Essence cost of maintaining this stance lessens. Additionally, the archer’s perception sharpens to an uncanny degree of clarity, stretching each instant as if the world itself moves at a slower pace. In such moments, every arrow finds its mark with near-unerring intent.
Infused Arrow grants the archer the power to channel Essence into an arrow before release. The infusion adds to the shot’s force, increasing its penetreting power, critical hit chance, and critical damage, as well as its chance to potentially inflict debilitating effects upon its target.
The archer may choose to concentrate more Essence into the arrow, compounding its destructive potential. Doing so, however, requires steady focus and additional time to prepare, demanding discipline in the midst of battle.
At higher ranks, Infused Arrow expands the amount of Essence that can be safely woven into each shot. It also allows the archer to empower their shots more swiftly, reducing the delay between the intent and release.
“By Hrunig’s braids, young osprey!” Aumir mumbled, pausing to throw Hunter an appraising glance. “I guess there is a chance to make a true Huntsman out of you yet. How much Inspiration does it take to learn these?”
“One apiece.”
“And how much do you currently hold?”
Hunter flipped back to the Qualities section of his hand-copied Character Sheet and pointed a finger at his remaining Inspiration.
“After maxing out a few skills and abilities… Seven.”
“Seven, he says!” Aumir shook his head in mock exasperation. “Do you hear that, Klothi? And still, he hesitates!”
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