<div style="text-align: center;"><a class="postlink" href="https://creativefreedomrpg.com/viewtopic.php?f=18&amp;t=44473">[OOC]</a></div><br/><br/>From the clouds hanging in the early morning sky, flakes of snow gently fell. Carried by the gentlest of breezes, the flakes coated trees and ground alike. Eternal winter, brought on by the clouds that forever covered the sky, was at its warmest. The Russian summer could barely be called that anymore, but it wasn't as violent as the true winter. Harsh blizzards and ice storms gave way to a simple chill and the light falling of rain and snow. It was cold, it always was, but the wastes were arguably at their most livable state. And indeed, they were not silent. The calls of singing birds, the whistling of the wind through the branches of ancient trees, and the sound of heavy boots crunching freshly-fallen flakes could all be heard.<br/><br/>A group of men, covered head to toe in heavy clothing, were out on a hunt. Food was harder to come by, but as important as it had ever been, and a disagreeable creature had come into the territory. They were all armed. Some with guns, at least a pair with crossbows. One of them, leading the group, held a strange-looking contraption instead. An air-powered rifle, with a pump and a gauge, showed the pressure held by the weapon's tank. The barrels, each holding a metal dart, were ready to shoot at the pull of the trigger. The thing was made from various pieces of metal and wood, and the frame of a revolving pistol could be made out in the weapon's midsection.<br/><br/>Smalltalk was being made amongst the hunters. "So then, I tell the guy I found it in an old ranger station. Guy doesn't believe me, says they've all been raided, and that he'd been in the one I was talkin' about. Didn't see any helmets or masks anywhere. But when I went in, the lockers? All closed. Rookie didn't even crack 'em open," He was explaining. The leader of the group gave a question in response.<br/><br/>"So, did you?" He inquired. His finger, held far from the trigger of his dart gun, tapped the frame of the weapon's handle absentmindedly. Viktor, as he was called, gave him a glance from beneath his coat's hood. The mask worn under it kept his face concealed and warm, save for his eyes.<br/><br/>The other hunter shrugged. "Well, no, but this one was under a desk. But it's the thought that counts. You can't just go scavving and then say there's nothing left if you don't check."<br/><br/>Viktor shook his head, as if in agreement. But, he was curious. "Why didn't you check yourself?"<br/><br/>"Walked 15 miles to get there. I was tired, man. Ain't gonna pry open something when I don't have the energy."<br/><br/>A quiet chuckle escaped Viktor. "Yeah, okay. You're a dumbass, Georgy." He kept on walking, ignoring the exasperated groan the other hunter gave. For a while, they kept moving, until Viktor raised a hand to silently stop them all. He crouched, and taking a closer look at the snow, noticed a very large imprint. Multiple, leading deeper into the woods. They were massive, each almost the size of his torso, and the smaller indents ahead of the larger ones suggested the presence of claws. Viktor stood back up, and motioned forward. "Looks like we got a trail. Everyone, keep close. The bigger and louder we can make ourselves look, the better. On me."<br/><br/>With that, they all moved forward in unison, keeping near the paw prints. They positioned themselves in a way that sort of blended their outlines. If they could confuse their prey, force it into hesitation, then they could more easily take it down.