A Hunter's Log

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Damycles
Posts: 4
Joined: Thu Oct 31, 2019 6:54 pm

A Hunter's Log

Post by Damycles » Thu Oct 31, 2019 7:15 pm

Bugs, Tigers, Snake People, and many more reasons to love the jungle:
I will admit a part of me does wonder how I keep managing to throw myself into these situations on such a regular basis. I mean here I am, sitting in the middle of the god damn jungle writing my feelings down to pass the time because my last bit of alcohol ran out somewhere around six to seven hours ago... Gods I'll have to get more when I get back. Still, in all fairness, this entire situation isn't entirely terrible. I think I did say maybe once in my life that I would love to take a vacation in the tropics. Pretty sure this wasn't what I meant but beggars can't be choosers.

Still, to think you'd have to go all the way to Crow's nest just to get a bit of wolfsbane so you don't accidentally transform and maul your boss's arms again. Gods, I feel sorry for anybody else who got infected and can't afford the boat fare. Or has trouble well, hanging onto life when faced with jaguars, tigers, and snake people. And even when they get here they're going to have to wait at most a full day's worth of time just for the damn Wolfsbane to grow just so they can use it on themselves and hope to whatever god they pray to that the lycanthropy goes away. Well, that is, unless of course some bastard... quite like myself, just waltzes in and takes the wolfsbane before them. I really do hope no one else is showing up here for that. If you are, I'm sorry future lycanthropy victim, you have to take it fresh and I can't take any chances with that kind of mistake again.

Since I'm around, however, I might as well take some stock on the local fauna and flora of this place. Maybe make this into a little vacationer's guide... So far nothing too serious. You head through the gates, next thing you know an angry guy that might be part lizard starts bashing at you like you just murdered his first cousin. I mean I did murder a cobra on the way in here so... that might be true but still. Regardless he isn't that bad to deal with. Honestly if anything, it's the damn mosquitos and tigers that are more of a cause to worry. Well, that is, if you can't talk to the tigers. Admittedly Tigers are a surprisingly stubborn bunch. I mean they're apex predators so they have every right to be but once you put the good ol' charm on them they're actually very civil, and very efficient at murdering cultists. If you have the time, you might want to try just laying down on the ground and having your little tiger friends act as a sort of impromptu set of pillows. Despite the claws, tigers are exceptionally soft when they're not looking to eat you.

Which is a good thing... If it weren't for them I probably would have died maybe five, six times over at this point. Gods, I feel like such an idiot. Lycanthropy's a serious thing but that isn't an excuse to go into enemy territory with nothing but a few healer's kits and some potions I just happened to have on me at the time. At first, it was fine but, after you kill the fifth, or maybe it was sixth, batch of cultists the little cuts, scrapes, and bruises start to add on. The Tigers and Jaguars help, but it honestly tears me up just how much I'm not able to tend to their wounds. My hands hurt, my legs hurt, my shoulders hurt, basically, my entire body is wracked with pain and my only anesthetic is this damn writing exercise... I guess my brothers were right. Complaining really does ease the pain of existence. Well, it should only be a little longer. I have to redress the bandages, can't afford to do that for much longer so it has to be only a little longer... Fresh wolfsbane, for the love of god just give me some fresh wolfsbane already.

Damycles
Posts: 4
Joined: Thu Oct 31, 2019 6:54 pm

Re: A Hunter's Log

Post by Damycles » Fri Nov 01, 2019 11:16 pm

Rule 25; A Professional only takes breaks when the job affords it:
Breaks... honestly being ordered to take a break. It's been a while since I've gotten such a strange order like that. You'd think an employer would be more excited when their employee is willingly refusing to take time off but, well I guess there's the whole friend thing to consider. My father used to have a saying about breaks. It was one of those One Hundred Rules to Being a Real Professional that he'd always throw around in our faces. Names aside though, most of it was pretty good advice, as much as I'd hate to admit it. Still, I never really understood rule 25, the one about breaks. I mean, he said only when the job affords it, but I remember seeing the man take plenty of breaks while on the job. It kinda frustrated me. I figured he meant only when the job is done but, maybe I missed something. God, what the hell was it that he used to tell me when I started complaining? It feels like such a long time ago.

Regardless, apparently I'm overdoing it again. And here I am, just, sitting in the damn Bramble Woods staring up at the night sky because for some reason this is my idea of a break. I should be sleeping, not writing. But I guess sleep is still something that's going to allude me for a little while longer. Maybe I'm just afraid of what I'm going to see when I wake up? Who knows at this point because I sure as hell don't.

It's nice though. Once you clear out the hobgoblins and find a nice tree branch to hang around in natural sounds begin to take over and you're just smothered by the rustling of leaves and the sounds of crickets and critters. It's almost like you don't even exist. Like you're part of the scenery. To be allowed to not exist for a little while. That's a luxury if I've ever heard of one. It's a luxury you can only find when you surround yourself in things that are decidedly not yourself. I guess it's like killing your own ego for a little while.

I'm tired. This is all just to distract myself from the fact that I'm tired, isn't it? Why else would I be up on a damn branch? I mean it's supposed to be uncomfortable but, I guess I'm underestimating myself because this feels fine. Honestly, I could just lay down here all night. Right here, with the squirrels watching those damn boars, badgers, and dears just running around after each other. God, I want to just run off to check on a few more things again but.. I mean I want to but...

The page ends with a sloppy line of ink trailing off the edge mid sentence

Damycles
Posts: 4
Joined: Thu Oct 31, 2019 6:54 pm

Re: A Hunter's Log

Post by Damycles » Sat Nov 09, 2019 7:28 am

Of Life and Liqour:
Occasionally I go into a bar, sit down, get my six mugs, drink out of maybe three of them, set the other three aside for a minute, then wonder to myself "why does man drink?" or "what is the point to man drinking?" Then after around five seconds, I stop thinking about that and down the remaining three mugs I set aside without giving it a second thought. Still, here I am, sitting in a bar, now down all six mugs and still pondering those very same, very useless, questions with my logbook open again. Either old habits die hard or alcohol just makes me question the very concept of alcohol.

Still, it would be remiss of me to not say that personally I feel that alcohol is an inseparable part of the professional hunting and or scouting experience. It's a stressful job after all and with stress comes the need to alleviate it somehow. We all can't be saints just piously dealing with the pain of existence without even the slightest hint of vice. Honestly, I can imagine farmers or laborers having a rather similar mindset as a result. Yet at the same time, I can still understand the other side of the argument. The side that says alcohol is nothing but the portent of disaster, a harbinger of bad decisions, and the elixir of an early grave.

You can separate people into two categories. High functioning and low functioning alcoholics. You could also add in a third category, the non-alcoholics but for the sake of this personal discussion, I am just going to treat them as if they don't actually exist. And honestly, they probably don't. High functioning alcoholics well, they're what you tend to usually see when you're frequenting a decent bar at any time of the day. They like their booze, and either they take a lot of it and don't act like it, or they're good at limiting themselves just enough so they don't go completely out of control. To them, alcohol is in a very real way an extension of their lifestyle. Its a means to allow themselves to experience the world in ways that might otherwise be locked away from them were they to not have a single touch of liquid courage. The low functioning alcoholics, on the other hand, are entirely counter to this way of alcoholism. They're the types that can't hold their drink for the life of them and they're either not self-aware enough to realize that or they are and they choose to go past their limits anyways. To these folks, alcohol is less of an extension and more of a substitution. A means of temporarily replacing the daily experience of their lives so that they can perhaps find some solace in the change of scenery, regardless of how destructive or constructive that change may be.

Now, both ways of enjoying alcohol both have their own merits. While I personally don't partake in a low functioning lifestyle I do admit there are aspects of it that sometimes tempt me to dip my hand into it depending on the situation. The main thesis of this all to me, however, is that alcohol, in its most basic sense, which in a way is discrediting to the nuances of alcohol, is a tool. It is a tool that is used to alter one's perspective and lifestyle. It can be used for good, and it can be used for harm. The alcohol itself is not evil but the person using it has the potential to be. But that evil can also manifest in a person's ignorance of alcohol as well when consuming it.

I mean, I just like to drink. Drinking is nice. Gods why am I writing this? I need six more mugs to stop myself.

Damycles
Posts: 4
Joined: Thu Oct 31, 2019 6:54 pm

Re: A Hunter's Log

Post by Damycles » Mon Nov 25, 2019 4:43 am

The Friends we Make Along the Way:
People, they say hunting is a solitary profession. Well, they wouldn't be wrong. Often times it is. Just you, the elements, and the prey. You're stuck in this sort of wordless dance between them, all the way until the shot that decides it all. But that's just hunting and while it might go against the name hunting isn't the only thing folks like me tend to be involved in. Sometimes, it's not about a single bit of prey but an entire population that needs sorting out. Sometimes it's not even about an animal but a person that's going too far and messing with the environment that people desperately rely on too much. When it starts going outside of the usual lines that we're all used to, that's when we go from hunting to battle and battle is something that's much much harder to commit to alone.

But luckily for us, or maybe just me I'm not really sure how other folks in my field usually do things, as long as the field itself is in a place where nature still resides, I'm never really alone. That's the strangeness of this thing known as nature. She's as fickle as anything. One minute trying to turn you into tiger chow the next minute saving you from becoming a bandit's new score. Animals, they're all much more cognizant than what we really give them credit for most of the time. I suppose it's hard to really conceptualize for people who think of intelligence in purely human or elvish ordwarvish, I mean you get the idea. We view and process thoughts and expressions in terms of language. We communicate with each other through these constructs that are simply inventions of this thing that we call civilization. Not to say language itself or civilization for that matter is invalid but, in a sense, it's through that distorted lense that we've come to view this formalized version of language as the only valid means of communicating. Even my colleagues are guilty of this. Animal language, I honestly find the entire thing as a bit of a farce, same thing with Sylvan. I mean, its functional, and the animals due to a certain extent respond to it due to the generalized nature of the various sounds and ques that are baked into it, but it is imposing a sense of formalization upon genuine living beings that have no need for such things. You're making animals talk to you in the human way, not the other way around.

When it comes to communicating with animals, especially the ones that become my comrades for battle, it's honestly much more subtle than that. It has to be after all. You can't have a full-blown conversation in the middle of a life or death situation, which for animals tends to be most of their daily lives depending on the species, and as such you have to send a message to them in a way that they can understand almost immediately. This is the oftentimes forgotten language of the body. The language of slight tells, gestures, eye contact, and maybe just a little bit of skinship to get the point across. It's informal and as such, there's no real way to learn it aside from just doing it, but it does rely on a sense of being genuine with the messages you're trying to put across. The lack of formalization means there are no fancy technicalities to hide your true intentions behind. Communicating in this way is a real exercise of being vulnerable to another being. Hence why it's often lost in the civilized world where guards must always be kept up high, except for maybe lovers. As such, when you've finally managed to bare your soul to them, and you've shown them your genuine intentions, once they accept the call to your aid those animals who most tend to write off as lesser beings show more loyalty than most intelligent species could even dream of displaying. Because at that point you're no longer strangers, you're comrades who share a bond. One that's worth fighting for even to the point of death. A fate your newly found comrades will often times meet.

Whether it be hunting or in the heat of battle death is always a constant and omnipresent friend who will never truly leave your side. I don't say this as an expression of grief but more as a matter of fact. You're either killing things or you're the one being killed or your friends are the ones dying. When you take up a blade or a bow that's a truth you'll have to carry with you till death finally decides it's your time to become food for the maggots. Still, acknowledging it doesn't make it any easier. Rather, it's a tax that you have to pay. A tax on your psyche every time you recruit a new comrade to your cause whatever it may be. The looming shadow that hangs over them is now your own responsibility now that you've become the leader of this haphazard pack of misfits. You never go into an engagement wanting your comrades to die. But wants and realities often have a funny thing of rarely crossing paths and when sword meets sword and claw meets chest plate one single human being can't account for all the intangibles. You see your new friend trying to bite down on the neck of some brigand and for a moment it looks like he's doing well. As such you trust him to get the job done and move on to that spellcaster in the back row who's been nothing but a thorn in your side that's been casting lightning spells as if his life depended on it. You run off for a minute, stab the spellcaster in the throat only to turn around and see that the brigand your comrade was on top of got help from a friend that came in at the last minute running their sword through said, comrade. A comrade who is now nothing more than just a corpse, a wolf corpse in this case, but a corpse none the less.

We're not gods, or at the very least I'm certainly nowhere near one. Our reach is limited, our time is limited, and most of all our awareness is far too limited. It does beg to the question, how? How does one live a life full of such transient, fleeting, and emotionally taxing relationships? How do you get over the fact that no matter how strong of a bond you've made that they're doomed to either be killed or head off on their own never to be seen again once the job is done? In a way, you really don't deal with it. It's not a great feeling and it never will be a great feeling. Each and every single one of them is and has been in some way shape or form a dear friend of mine that I will probably never see again. No less important than the friendships I've made with people, many of which have been equally transient. A lot of people tend to say it's important to focus on the journey of life rather than where it began or the eventual destination. Maybe it's the same thing with those friends that you make along the way? If it's too much to focus on all the goodbyes, you might as well keep those feelings you shared while they were with you close to heart. Maybe then, when you're actually alone, you can look back on those times and find that you're not as lonely as you thought.

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