Chapter Three - The Beast of Moose Hollow

  Ulssia wasn't a special town by any metric. Nestled in the alpine forests of the eastern Silessian Mountains, its main exports were wood and furs - which was evident also in the design of the settlement itself. Many of the houses were little more than wooden shacks, with only a handful of the wealthier residences having access to brick and stone to build their houses with. Rather than thatch roofs as may be expected in other parts of the nation, the roofs were lined with the pelts of animals, keeping the residents warm and dry during the cold, rainy months. With little to worry about militarily, the wooden walls that surrounded the village were often undermanned, with the odd guardsman spotted around in case of a brigand attack or encroaching wild beasts.

  On the southern edge, nestled away in a quarter all of their own, was the "meat processing" district, home to the second largest building in the entire town - a regional branch office for the hunter's guild, through which all trade in the quarter flowed. Surrounding it was the town's butcher, tanner and even a bowyer and fletcher.

  All of them reported directly to the guild's manager - it was by the guild's law that they were able to hunt in these woods, as the guild acted with the emperor's authority, granting licences to those deemed worthy. The unworthy without a license were little more than poachers, and doing business with ill-gotten meat or pelt was a crime punishable by execution, or exile at worst.

  The guild building was one of such wealthier buildings, making it stick out in the town like a sore thumb. The standardised design of guild buildings - allowing only for the allowance of local materials - saw to that. It was built to stand out in a city, with a tall roof and multiple stories. The ground floor was constructed with brick and mortar, whilst the upper floors were crafted from Ulssian lumber, capped off with imported slate.

  It bore a canopy on one side with a paved road beneath it, ready to receive a visitor travelling by horse and cart. Visitors that, thanks to the dense forest, were few and far between. Atalanta always hoped that each time she approached the office building, that shed see it occupied. It hadn't been before, and it wasn't now. Indeed, this was Atalanta's first stop on the way through Ulssia.

  Although she had been granted a licence by the guild to hunt in the woods around the town, that licence and familiarity did little to give her any jurisdiction in the outside world. Hunting regulations from region to region could differ, afterall, as could the prey items on offer. It was best to transfer herself to a grajak licence, rather than a regional one. They were more restrictive, sure, but until Atalanta was in Schafgart, it was the best she'd get if she didn't want to register herself in every provincial town along the way.

  She swung the heavy oaken door open, stepping into the lobby. Unlike the exterior of the building, the individual branch office could determine the interior. Here in Ulssia, that lead to a small reception area. There was barely space for one trophy on each wall - a deer's head with a brilliant pair of antlers on one and a snarling wolf's head on the other. Perched upon a rod on the reception desk was a taxidermied hawk. A work of art so immaculate that Atalanta truly believed it was still alive the first time she entered.

  A young woman sat at the receptionist desk, waving Atalanta in with a smile.

  "Greetings, huntress. How goes the chase?" The receptionist spoke in code - although it wasn't hard to decipher. Atalanta just had to return with code of her own.

  "It goes well, although it would appear that my quarry is leading me to pastures new." The receptionist’s eyes widened and they nodded in understanding.

  "So I see. Congratulations, huntress. I understand you've been desiring this for some time. I assume you wish for a transfer request?”

  "That I am. And a bit more. Mind getting the big guy for me?" The receptionist could handle a transfer request - it was much easier than summoning the leferjak - the local GuildMaster - because some sap wanted to uproot and move to a new town. A roaming license carried the weight of their leferjak behind them, however, and any wrongdoings would lead straight back to them. They were increasingly rare because of that.

  "I am afraid that would be impossible, unfortunately. The Leferjak is currently... preoccupied with a hunt." The receptionist looked away, almost ashamed of herself. Had she been unable to prevent the geezer from charging off on some wild goose chase? That was just her luck, though, wasn’t it? Atalanta sighed and shook her head. She couldn't afford to waste time here in Ulssia if she wanted to get to Schafgart with any speed.

  "Where is he?" She slung her travelling bag off of her back, unwrapping her bow from its side and drawing her quiver of hunting arrows. The quiver clipped comfortably into her belt, hugging the outside of her left thigh. They weren’t going anywhere, now.

  "He went eastward, towards Moose Hollow." Not that far, then. She stared at her bag with a frown. Moose Hollow was close, but if she had to assist with a hunt, then maybe she should bring her tent? No, the weather showed no signs of rain for now. At most she'd need food, which she could forage for. She'd be fine travelling light.

  "And his game?"

  "Big. I heard something about a lost mammoth in the area."

  She paused. A mammoth? This far south? In late summer? If not for Bjorn's own hunting trophies, she would have thought them a myth. They roamed far up in the north, in the frozen steppes. A fully grown mammoth was as tall as a house, with a trunk as thick as a tree's, tusks as sharp as a spear and hide tougher than a castle's wall. They were, simply put, a walking catastrophe. Anyone who found a wild mammoth beyond the steppes had the King's permission to slay it, hunting license or no. Not that anyone without a license would, of course. Most people weren't that stupid.

  "...he's gone after it alone? Did he leave his senses at the door?" There wasn't much Atalanta could do herself. Short of an arrow through the eye, a basic hunting bow was practically worthless against a mammoth. But she had to do something. Her being present meant one more body that the mammoth had to focus on, at least. "Take my bag up to the common room. Make sure nobody touches it." She doubted anyone would - the members of the hunting guild all knew the value of being well-supplied and wouldn't dare deprive a fellow hunter of that preparedness - but she still had to be certain. With that command, she flung the door open and ran east. Towards Moose Hollow.

  A storm had blown through the area around Moose Hollow, the likes of which Atalanta had never seen. The densely wooded region around the natural sinkhole had been utterly devastated. Trees, ancient and powerful, had been trampled, gnarled roots torn up as the trees had been tossed aside to carve a path through the forest. Gigantic footprints, as deep as Atalanta's own foot, marred the landscape, and in the distance was the most horrendous sound. A cross between a war horn and roaring thunder. Inconsistent, with each blast of horrendous noise shaking loose some of the little dirt that remained on the roots.

  A solitary boulder overlooked the sinkhole, a boulder that Atalanta had crouched behind many times before. A boulder she crouched behind even now. This was where young hunters trained to hunt bigger prey. Young Moose foolish enough to stumble into the sinkhole, without the wisdom to find a way out. It was a simple, but effective, way of teaching.

  No amount of teaching could prepare her for what she was about to witness. She strung her bow, grabbed an arrow from her quiver, and poked her head out from behind the boulder, just as another blast of thunder came from within the hollow.

  The mammoth of Moose Hollow was a beautiful creature. Far larger than any other beast that had called the hole its temporary home. Its trunk, covered in thick brown matted fur, was raised high in the air, almost breaching clear of the sinkhole entirely. As her eyes trailed downward, following the trunk downward, she met its head. It bore a thick ridge of dark brown fur atop its skull, four tusks jutted out from its face, a smaller pair hugging its trunk tightly and a much larger pair raised high into the sky. The ivory of the tusks bore a distinctive pattern. Magical runes, from the looks of things, that turned the air around the tusks to a sparkling mist. Its eyes, deep and dark, bore a certain sadness. The fur around them was darker, giving the impression of sagging eyes. Did it know its fate now that it was caught down here in the hollow? They were said to be intelligent creatures, surely it knew that the sinkhole would be inescapable?

  She nocked her arrow, drawing the bowstring back. It would be best to put the poor creature out of its misery. Give the walking disaster a noble death, rather than slowly starving here. A singular shot through the eye would work if she was down on the ground alongside it, but from this angle, the shot would be messy. It was all she could offer it though, she was smarter than getting down in the hole with the thing and being trampled underfoot.

  “Beautiful, isn’t she?” A deep voice appeared to the side of her, Atalanta’s eyes flicked to the side. Her vision was filled with a middle-aged man dressed in furs. His hair was dark and greasy with some stray hints of gray, and ran down his back, tied up in a ponytail. He held a bow in his hand, but it held no arrow. Leferjak Ingvar had arrived.

  “So, you didn’t get squashed.” She smirked, but… saw his expression fail to change. This was far more serious than her usual jovial air called for. She slackened the bow-string slowly, bringing it down. She plucked the arrow off of it and returned it to her quiver. She once more looked upon the mammoth, a twinge of pity striking her heart. It was those eyes. Those damned eyes.

  “Some way to greet your hunting partner, Trejak.” So, he was pulling rank. She thought better of him than that. She scowled - the beast was no threat at the moment, she could turn her attention to her stray commander. He’d squat down next to her, back leaning against the rock. The corners of his mouth curled into a smile. He didn’t mean his words.

  “It’s trapped. Your bow’s got plenty of power. You can shape the earth itself. Why isn’t this thing dead yet?”

  “Why indeed, why indeed…” The great hunter turned his gaze towards Atalanta, almost expecting an answer. “Tell me… what’s the mission statement of the hunter’s guild, again?”

  Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

  “To act as stewards of the natural world, and keep order amongst all animals?” It wasn’t all just about hunting, she understood that much at least. However, that was their primary mode of operation. Prevent there from being too many predators by culling them when necessary, keep the population of deer in check to prevent rampant deforestation. The guild still had a kill order out on all mammoths though.

  “Indeed it is. Knowing how to kill an animal is all well and good, but knowing how to protect them is just as important. Take another look at the mammoth, what do you see?”

  There was something about the great beast that she hadn’t noticed? Atalanta frowned, certain that she’d taken in everything about it. She skirted around the rock, getting a clear look at the thing’s body. Its trunk, having ceased its trumpeting for now, dipped in and out of the pond, taking a drink from the frigid water. Its body was gigantic - as wide as a house. Its fur was no doubt thicker than any single roof in Ulssia. Its legs were like tree trunks, and-

  “It’s shackled.” It was old - a singular cuff around the mammoth’s rear-left leg, the chain having long been snapped by the mammoth’s desperate bid for freedom. Just from the size of the chain, she knew it would never have held the giant without some serious enchantment anyway.

  “That it is. It raises a good challenge, right?” His eyes glinted, having moved to squat atop the rock that they had both been behind moments prior.

  She took a moment to gather what Ingvar was saying. It wasn’t just their place to hunt, they also had to protect. This mammoth had been shackled, owned by somebody, before it broke itself free and went on a charge that ended with it falling down into the hollow. It wasn’t fair on the mammoth that it was stuck down here, now, was it? She bit her lip. There was no way it’d be able to get out of the pit by itself, now.

  “We need to get it out. And get it home.”

  “Clever girl. Now, how would you propose we do that?”

  “Break the shackle, and create… a staircase? Or perhaps a slope, to lead it out. Then will be the long journey up to the tundra…” She really couldn’t afford to take a mammoth home and return it to its matriarchal unit. That would take far too long. Thank the gods that Ingvar had a solution.

  “I can handle the slope and trek. Think you can take the shackle off?”

  Oh, it’d be no issue. She stared down into the pit and grumbled. The mammoth would surely panic if she went in there and just started to hack away at its leg. This would take diplomacy, no doubt. Negotiating with a mammoth.. Of all things she could be doing with her life. She sighed, grumble turning into a smirk. She placed her bow back against her back, shooting the damn shackle wasn’t going to do anything was it?

  “Yeah, I’ve got this. You owe me after this, though.”

  “Name it, and once we have our friend out of here, it shall be yours, Trejak.” That was that, then.

  “You’d best get casting, then. Clarabelle here will be out of her hole in no time.” She approached the edge of the sinkhole and began clambering down - boots finding various footholes. A twisted old root here, an outcropping of rock there, a small ridge of dirt… Easy stuff. It was a pit she’d been in far too many times to count.

  “Clarabelle, huh?” Up top, Ingvar sighed, making a break for it himself, running across the edge of the sinkhole towards the other side. Away from town. As he ran, he began to chant. “Spirits of the earth, hear my call…” was all Atalanta was able to make out before he was out of earshot.

  She touched down after a short spell of climbing, the mammoth’s eyes immediately focusing on her once her boots hit the soft ground of the pit. Its eyes sharpened, the air in the hole growing cold.

  “Hey there, girl…” She kept her back to the wall of the sinkhole, slowly skirting around the icy beast. It eyed her warily, slowly turning to prevent her from getting too far out of sight. “I don’t mean you any harm…” She held her hands up, as if to symbolise that to the beast, but it didn’t exactly seem convinced. The mammoth plodded forward, her thick, muscular trunk raised and snaking towards her. That thing could crush tree trunks and uproot even the greatest of oak trees. She dared not think about the effect it would have on the human body.

  Fortunately, she wouldn’t have to find out. The mammoth’s attention was drawn elsewhere. Its ear flicked, its head turned around. Something happened behind it. A rockslide, perhaps, or Ingvar helping her out? She couldn’t quite tell - her whole vision was filled with that mass of brown fur. Whatever it was, she was thankful for it, though. She continued her journey around the edge of the sinkhole, keeping her body low to the ground. The mammoth looked upwards, its attention completely drawn elsewhere now. This was her chance. She dove forward, rolling across the ground to approach the mammoth’s cuffed leg.

  It was a tragic sight. A beast as great as this one, chained. The chain wearing away at its very essence. Its thick fur was matted around the cuff, and with what little give it had - especially as the Mammoth wasn’t eating as well as it could have been in captivity most likely - it the cuff rubbed against the skin of the beast, rubbing the skin around it blistered, bloody and raw. The cuff itself wasn’t anything particularly special - steel, with only a singular engraving upon it. A crest, surely. A kite shield with a winged young girl holding a rapier. Only the nobility would have the money to capture and keep a mammoth, it made total sense.

  “Okay, let’s see here-” There was a singular weakpoint, on the inside of the mammoth’s leg. The joint where both halves of the cuff combined to make one whole piece. It was thick, she wouldn’t be able to brute force it with her hands… and although Balmung’s edge retention was something special, she didn’t want to bash her blade repeatedly into a thick steel chain.

  She stepped back, looking around her at what she had. A hammer and a spike would’ve been ideal… but she didn’t have either of those at her disposal. There were plenty of rocks available, though. She picked one up and approached again.

  “Sorry about this, old girl.” She raised the rock up and thrust it down onto the cuff.

  Clang!

  It bounced off, sparking. Damn! Worse, the clang came with a loud, annoyed trumpet. The mammoth stomped its foot, the earth shook beneath Atalanta, ice spreading out from around the beast’s impact.

  “I’m trying to help you here!” She ran her hand over the cuff. She’d chipped the thing at least. She struck again. Another clang. Another stomp. The chip got bigger. The mammoth got more irate. A third strike. The stone split in half. The mammoth changed its strategy. Rather than stomping, it stepped back. Again and again, approaching the pond, slowly but surely.

  “Come on, really? I can’t help you if I’m frozen in the lake.” She grabbed a bigger stone and smashed it again into the cuff.

  Crack. The cuff was giving way. One more. She dropped the stone on the cuff, the metal had had enough. All it needed was for the mammoth to shake its leg a little and it’d be gone.

  …Which, unfortunately, came all too quickly. Having had enough, the mammoth swept its leg backwards - straight into Atalanta’s chest, launching her off her feet. Those few moments she was in the air were the longest few moments in her life. Her chest burnt. Pain like she’d never experienced ran through her body. Thud. She landed on the ground just next to the pond, thankfully. Gasping for breath. Something had definitely broken in there. She hoped it was just a few ribs. She lay there for a moment. Two. The earth shook beneath her, the mammoth approached. No doubt wanting to finish her off.

  “Come on, Ingvar… I’ve done my part-”

  The mammoth’s trunk approached her. Gently prodding at her arm, as if checking she was still alive, before it wrapped around it. Grabbing her arm and pulling her up to her feet. It was more powerful than she could even have imagined. And yet… somehow more gentle. Despite the strength it clearly had, it bore a certain tenderness. Just enough to be present, but not painful. A quiet trumpet escaped the mammoth’s trunk, its eyes closed. It must have recognised what she’d done for it.

  “You’re forgiven…” She patted the mammoth’s trunk with her free hand. Its fur was coarse and rough. It could certainly do with some love… but then, perhaps that’s just how things were. Nature didn’t allow animals to really care about cosmetics, now, could it?

  The earth opened up behind the mammoth. The whole sinkhole groaning as the earth around it was reshaped. What had been a rough cliff face opened up into a slightly less rough slope upwards. Just wide enough for the elephant to pass through. Ingvar sat atop the edge of the sinkhole, his face coated with a dangerous pallor.

  “Path’s open. Ready when you are, Atalanta.”

  “Go on, Clara. You’re free now.” She prodded the mammoth gently up the slope, stopping only to collect the steel cuff on the way past.

  “Found yourself a souvenir?” Ingvar commented once Atalanta and the Mammoth had made it to the top.

  “No, it’s a clue. I’m… going on a journey. I’ll try and see if I can find who’s been capturing these mammoths.” She turned the giant cuff in her hand, showing Ingvar the insignia upon it. “Any idea?”

  “Not a clue, sorry. You’re on your own there.”

  “Not entirely on my own. That thing I want? I need a grajak’s license. It’ll be some time before I’m back home. Years, at least. Think you can handle that?”

  “That’s an awfully big ask…” He placed his thumb to his chin, pretending to think, but his answer came all too quickly for any deliberation to have happened. “Alright. You’re in, Atalanta. We’ll guide ‘Clarabelle’ here to the edge of town and get your documents signed. You’ve done good. Congratulations, Grajak. You represent the whole Ulssian Hunting Guild now, girl. Use it well, you hear?”

  “I will. Thank you, sir.”

  Post-Chapter Feature

  Flammschwert Bestiary - Pages 204 and 205 - The Eunician Mammoth

  Size Class - Titanic

  - Adult bull mammoths can reach up to 16 feet tall and weigh up to 15 tonnes.

  Typical Habitat - Tundra

  - Mammoths prefer the colder climates of the frozen north, but they will often stray into southern territories during the winter.

  Family Structure - Herding

  - Mammoths live in matriarchal family units, composed of a grandmother, her daughters and her granddaughters. The typical herd will rarely exceed ten individuals. Young males stay with their mothers until they reach adolescence at around twenty years of age, where they branch out on their own to live solitary lives until mating season. The matriarchal units are surprisingly advanced - with feuds being noted between different herds.

  Elemental Affinities - Water(Ice), Wind

  - Natural magic is rare within the mammoth. They are strong and large enough to not require it. However, those rare mammoths that are blessed with some form of magic typically express it in the form of ice magic, freezing the very air around them. The most powerful mammoths - which dubbed blizzard class - are also blessed with wind magic. A single blast of a blizzard class mammoth's trumpet is enough to whip up a localised blizzard. This is known as thundersnow. This name is associated with the myth that it is possible for the mammoth to develop thunder magic. However, no such cases have been documented, and the reported thunder magic is believed to be a natural occurrence from the chaos of their storm.

  Danger Class - ★★★★★

  - Mammoths are walking natural disasters. The land in which they range is forever shaped by them and the average village stands no chance in the wake of a mammoth herd's travel. A singular mammoth is dangerous on its own, but a whole herd of mammoths should be avoided by all except a small army.

  Conservation Class - Kill on Sight

  - All ranks of hunters are cleared to kill and hunt mammoths if they appear beyond their regular habitat.

  Material Class - ★★★★★

  - Mammoths are the single best terrestrial source of water-aligned materials. However, their usefulness extends beyond just the magical realm. The quantity of and natural qualities of materials obtained from a mammoth make them stand out individually. Of particular note, their pelts make for excellent insulators. An unmarred pelt being perfect for a tent or for two winter cloaks. The ivory of their tusks is a potent magical conductor, perfect for creating staves or - with a particularly skilled artisan - magical rune-carved blades. Their bones are hard and sturdy, but once ground up, the bonemeal is an essential component in many high-tier water enchantments. Their meat is high in protein, and can keep a small village fed for weeks with sufficient storage.

  - Perhaps the most important reward for defeating a mammoths however, is the acclaim. Those lucky few able to slay a mammoth alone and provide its head to the local hunting guild will earn the title "Tuskbane". A title enough to turn any head in the know and earn you a pint at the local pub, provided you share the talent.

  Hunting Strategies

  - It is not recommended to hunt a mammoth alone. They are far too large and far too dangerous. Even a solitary bull mammoth is the equal of a full hunting party. However, there are certainly methods of hunting. The old phrase "the bigger they are, the harder they fall" rings true - preferred methods of hunting mammoths tend to require plenty of prior planning and herding. A pitfall trap is preferred - with an array of spikes at the bottom to impale the beast upon - however any number of traps would work.

  - Alternatively, you could take inspiration from the few animals brave enough to challenge these behemoths. Sabercats and Greatwolves. They act as sappers - picking off weak members of the mammoth herd and inflicting wounds upon them. A mammoth is too big for any singular wound to kill it instantly. However, a peppering of smaller wounds. Gouges and gashes in its legs and flanks will drain its stamina. Even the greatest of defences can be pierced if they are too tired to raise their shield.

  For now, though, Ata's tails has successfully broken 10k words! If anybody wants to do a review swap, I'd be more than happy to.