[ IP ] Into the depts of the Unknown

Albatross d'Ours stared into the deep forest, at the tangle of thorns and seemingly impenetrable vines that obscured the forest floor. The woods were alive with the sound of life, harsh caws of dark birds and the howls of prowling beasts lurking just within the shadows. Other, more comforting sounds d'Ours heard; the soft cooing of doves reached his ears from the boughs of the pines, the bugling call of deer in the far off distance. 
 
 With a charcoal pencil he wrote scrawled notes down on his weathered journal, noting the edible plants and game he saw from his perch. Virgin forests, just waiting to feel the bite of axes and saws stretched off for leagues in every direction. It was a promising land save for one issue... 
 
 The horns sounded out like in a semi-circle around him, low and cruel. Birds, disturbed by the sudden noise, were roused from their roots in the hundreds, their various cries filling the air along with the warhorns. Then screams from human throats started up, a baying chorus, rising and falling in banshee reels. d'Ours did not wait to see who the source was. He threw his notebook into the satchel hung over his shoulder and raced down the massive tree branch, following the weathered bark to the ground. His ride was waiting for him. 
 
 It was approximately twenty feet in wingspan, and some twelve in length. A Xaxon Model V Aeromount. The fuselage was constructed of a monocoque plywood body painted a dark grey on the top surface that lightened to a light cream. A shaped saddle was fitted just behind where the wings connected to the main body. The wings themselves were made of wood and canvas painted a dappled lozenge pattern in sea blues and grays. Long rudders along the wings flexed as he tested their movements, tilting the handles on either side of the fuselage. d'ours half sit, half laid into the saddle, his boots finding the stirrup pegs. As added insurance he tied a silk sash through the saddle around his waist. All the while the screams closer. With a snarled curse he flipped up the cover of the toggle switches, flicking both to on. One activated the levitation spell imbued into the wood, causing the vehicle to float some three feet above the ground. The other was a momentum spell that moved the craft at a slow walking pace. That was enough for him. 
 
 Rotating the handles and pulling back on them caused the aeromount to shoot up towards the sky, and pushed him back from the motion. He just cleared the tree tops when four flying beast leaped from the forest canopy, vicious looking reptiles with wingspans some twenty four to twenty-eight feet in length. Mounted on their backs were men dressed in furs and leathers, the one on the largest beast had a priceless shirt of mail that shone in the noonday sun as well as a falchion shaped blade. Two of them had rawhide shields and spears in their hands while knives were thrust into belts. The fourth clutched a simple self bow, an arrow was already strung and two more in his left hand. They screamed curses and threats in strange tongues at d'Ours, their dragon like mounts racing to close the distance. d'Ours glance at the simple speedometer built into the varnished hull of his craft. The thin needle hovered at 50 clicks. His eyes raised at the sight, and at the closer foes. A wordless sigh muffled by the wind escaped his lips as he drew his spear from its mounting. The shaft was some six feet long with an eight inch blade made with pattern welded steel. The nature of aeromounts in physical combat was a dicey proposition at best and meant most combat was done by bow. Alas. Today was not the case. 
 
 With only one hand on controls, he turned the craft towards the pursuing enemy, carefully gaining altitude on them. His foes in turn urged their mounts upwards attempting to meet d'Ours on equal ground. It was not the case. 
 
 d'Ours spun the craft upside down so that gravity tried to yank him out of his seat, but the silk belt and stirrups kept him firmly in place. Pulling the controls towards him, he sent the aircraft diving towards the ground, the light craft picking up speed and momentum. The mounted archer tried to shoot, but the noon sun blinded his shot and sent the arrow missing d'Ours by a wingspan. He was rewarded with a spear to the throat, the razor sharp blade half decapitating him from the swiping blow. His flying mount noticed its dead rider on its back and twisted its neck to snatch the listing body from its saddle, tearing bloody chunks of its owner with each bite. 
 
 One of the spear men urged his ride to attack but was rewarded with a spearhead into its open jaws, punching through the roof of its mouth and into the brain. The spear snapped two thirds the way up as d'Ours and the savage broke off. d'Ours did n't even bother looking back as the rider screamed as he plummeted towards the ground, his mount dead. The second spearman, likely the previous one's brother by looks, roared rage and anger at the young warrior who quickly dispatched his comrades. He threw a javelin a d'Ours, who shifted in his saddle to dodge. The rusted point scored across the lacquered scales of d'Ours' armor. He was rewarded with the splintered shaft from the spear being shoved into his eye. He screamed terribly for a half-second before it punched through into his brain. His mount, perhaps a shed more loyal, did not eat its former master, but instead shook the corpse off where it fell into the rolling surf of the shore. 
 
 The leader of the savages screamed in anger, spittal dripping from lips to splatter onto his unkept beard. d'Ours glanced at the massive creature the beast rode, gauging its speed and gave a jaunty bow of his head before turning away, pouring as much speed into his aeromount as possible. Perhaps he could have won, but perhaps he would n't have. Three kills is a respectable count anyways.
