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It was not an unfamiliar situation, finding himself on the receiving end of the wrath of a much smaller, much angrier person. Luckily, Gascoigne had lost the ability to feel an ounce of contrition from such a thing long, long ago. As such, the silver-haired hunter merely straightened from where he had been leaning against the wall with a light grunt, the blade of his axe grating over the ground with a long, drawn-out scrrrrch as he pulled it free from the floor.
Hefting the massive weapon over his shoulder with apparent ease, Gascoigne lumbered past the strange, screechy man and young woman. A glance was spared for the man lounging about on the shadowy roof of the cavern, a faint discontented rumble rousing from somewhere deep inside the beastly hunter’s chest, and yet he pressed doggedly forward, most of his attention fixed upon the horned beast’s corpse.
He crouched down beside the heap of utterly pulverized, yet only slightly charred remains, mouth set into a grim line. Smaller bodies, those of the horned beast’s prey, lay scattered all about the cavern in dark, smoking piles. Several of these corpses splintered and snapped under his knees as he bent down, blackened bones crackling like dry kindling beneath his considerable weight.
After considering the carcass before him for a long moment, the hunter cast a glance over his shoulder for the… louder, more demanding one. A subtle sniff brought with it the powerful odor of greasepaint, burning, and something else that Gascoigne couldn’t quite identify… perhaps gunpowder? Whatever that smell was, it certainly screamed volatile.
It seemed fitting, in any case.
“…my apologies for the interruption. I had been tracking this one for many days,” Gascoigne’s attention returned to the shredded body, lips peeling back into a snarl as the sourly metallic scent of blood stung at his nose. “An elusive beast, to be sure… and a worthy hunt, at that.”
The hunter leaned forward, one gloved hand delving into the gory mess of the beast’s torso with a wet squelch. Blood and other rancid fluids spilled over his leather-clad fingers, dripping wetly between them. Humming quietly under his breath, Gascoigne began to dig amongst the mess, wrapping one hand around what remained of the beast’s ribcage to—crrrccck—effortlessly snap it apart and cast it aside, revealing more of the beast’s insides to his pawing grasp.
Abruptly, the hunter felt a weighted presence at his side. His head turned, and even through the cloth covering his eyes, Gascoigne was able to discern the slight form of the young woman now standing at his shoulder, peering down at the creature’s remains in apparent curiosity.
Gascoigne shifted, his broad-shouldered frame blocking much of the carcass from the woman’s view. To his amusement, she moved with him— leaning around him to study the dead beast further.
Hmph. Charming.
“A hunter in training, eh?” he asked, a tinge of genuinely welcoming cheer coloring his otherwise gruff tone. He returned most of his attention to his work, crooked fingers clawing through the still-warm mess of shredded flesh and other vile things...
His words seemed to snap the young woman out of her reverie, a pair of electric blue eyes shooting up to try and meet his gaze through the scraps of fabric hiding his eyes. Her mouth shaped into a perfect ‘o’ of surprise, the very picture of shock, before her round face bloomed with a faint smile, plump lips twitching with good humor.
“Oh, non, non— I am a researcher, a scientist,” the young woman explained, shaking her head, a few blonde curls spilling out from her head covering. “My name is Natalie Paquette, and my companion over zere is Kefka. We were exploring ze tunnels…”
“A researcher,” huffed Gascoigne, chuckling a little under his breath. “Tell me, then... what do you make of this?”
As the hunter spoke, his fist closed around… something inside the beast’s decimated chest. Something moving, pulsing, writhing deep inside, attached to the creature’s twisted spine like a particularly dedicated limpet. With a sharp tug, it came free with a sickening snap— a spray of dark arterial crimson cascading through the air, severed veins and torn muscle spilling out from the gaping wound all in a rush.
Turning his prize over in his gore-streaked gloved hands, Gascoigne held it out for Natalie to inspect. The researcher leaned forward at first, intrigued, before emitting an audible gasp— reeling backward in a mixture of disgust and shock, but inevitably compelled to lean back in by her apparently scientific curiosity, eyes sparkling with interest…
What sat in the palm of the hunter’s, admittedly, quite large hand, was what appeared to be an organ of some sort. It palpitated and throbbed, oozing brackish gouts of blood from the purplish-black veins crawling all over it like lichens. These veins seemed to almost… reach for something, like the tentacled feelers of an octopus flagellating about, grasping uselessly at the hunter’s fingers again and again. With a twitch of his thumb, Gascoigne observed as the ugly thing went simply wild— slithering across his palm in an attempt to strangle the vexing digit.
“Ah, what is it? An infection?” Natalie mused aloud, one hand raising as if to touch… but, no! Her questing fingers drew back at the last moment, the offending hand balling into a nervous fist at her side.
Good instincts, Gascoigne noted with some approval. Canting his head to the side like a hound, the hunter took one great sniff of the squalid globule of mostly unrecognizable organic matter. His teeth immediately bared in a wolfish sneer, every part of him riled by the sickly-sweet stench of corruption leeching off from it. So familiar, and yet distinct… darker, somehow, than the plague he had once come to know so intimately…
It unsettled him greatly, much as he was loath to admit it. What was it, indeed?
“That, I do not know,” Gascoigne finally grumbled, casting the vile thing aside. It landed with a sickening splat, seeping back into the horned beast’s carcass with a hissing sound not unlike the sizzling of burning oil; the hunter’s expression darkened further. “I am but a hunter of beasts; the affliction matters not, only that the scourge is repelled. And there are a great many beasts about...”
The old hunter rose to his feet, then, swinging his axe over his shoulder once more. He cut an imposing figure, towering over Natalie and Kefka by several feet at least, though he did not appear to use his considerable height to loom, as it were. In fact, the hunter seemed to almost draw back, consciously reducing his threatening image; like a massive sheepdog attempting to blend in amongst his flock.
Gascoigne gave a cordial tip of his hat to Natalie, and by extension the other two parties gathered, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in an attempt at friendliness. “The name’s Gascoigne. Father Gascoigne, if it pleases you… the title means little to me, now. You must forgive me, but… where is this place? The cold is insufferable, the tunnels… unending…” the man growled, seeming particularly discomfited by this fact, a scowl overtaking his features as he glanced ‘round.