[Center]Orion Armstrong[/Center]

Orion was alerted of the need to change his and Arara’s plan by an annoying pinging sound that resonated from the W.A.T.C.H. The device was proving itself useful once again, due to its ability to detect the cache’s movements and soon Orion was wondering how best to try and tackle the difficulty of a moving cache while ignoring the obvious ‘dive in and wing it’ strategy. 

Thankfully, he seemed to have struck gold with his partner. She was quick to react to the change and was even quicker to put both her thoughts and his own into words. It made things a lot simpler that she understood what he was going to say without saying it: god forbid he get embroiled with some racist who saw him as a foolish monster, or some braggart who thought himself the next fucking Arrun Towers or Inigio Drake. 

Indeed, as she brought up the map of the surrounding area, it was clear that the cache was going to be moving volatilely for a while; which could spell disaster for their chances of claiming this cache. All in all, that meant only one thing.

[i]” “You should jump on ahead, Orion. If the currents are strong enough that it can bring the data cache that far in, it might be swept out of the island soon as well. I'll stay around the perimeter, in case of that. Contact me if you find it, or if you think that the data cache is stuck somewhere…”[/i] She paused for a moment, as if measuring something…someone, perhaps? [i]“Your thoughts on this ‘adjustment’?”[/i]

Orion looked at Arara, then at the lake, then at the weapon in his hand. It probably wasn’t the best thing to be using in a lake, but it sure as hell beat a sword or, god-forbid, an axe. “What do I say?” Orion shrugged as he shifted the position of his hand on the Polearm he used as his weapon: the shift in hand position had him holding the weapon like a harpoon; focused on thrusting actions. “I say there ain’t nothing too it, but to go ahead and do it.” With that, he offered the woman a little wave and jumped into the lake, not bothering to flare his aura as he began a swim towards the direction island, and the hopefully, the cache itself. He wasn't sure if he should have offered to carry Arara across the river, but it was likely she could handle a small swim on her own. As he swam, he felt a small amount of trepidation. Things had been easy thus far: perhaps too easy?
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[Center]Isaac Markeel[/Center]

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Isaac was calmer, now that he had abandoned Rygar on his little ant hunting quest. Instead, he had moved towards a different cache altogether, avoiding the cache that might prove the bloodhungry fool right and instead heading further into the mountains. His partner had seemingly failed to make use of the W.A.T.C.H that the prospective hunters had been awarded, because he had missed an obvious cache that was even closer than some wild goose chase after a bunch of ants. 

Isaac’s journey through the mountains had been quiet. His chosen method of moving about had allowed him to miss several opportunities to kill groups of lesser Grimm, and each time, Isaac had felt a twinge of annoyance. He wanted to destroy the monstrosities, but that might leave Isaac further behind Rygar. If the annoying bloodhound managed to find a cache before he did: he suspected a great deal of annoying jibes would follow.

Despite this motivation, Isaac could only stomach so much. His every instinct was to hunt Grimm. His father had trained him to be a hunter, and that would be his job. He would hunt, and he would kill. The Grimm were nothing but prey in front of Isaac’s weapons: his fangs, his claws, his deadly hunter’s web.

Isaac soon found himself descending upon a group of Beowulfs. The creatures were disorganised as a pack, and the first one, the biggest one Isaac could make note of, was dead before Isaac hit the ground. Several bayonets had pierced through vital organs and Isaac dragged himself towards the perforated cadaver: planting his feet onto the beast’s chest and using it as a landing board. He looked around the group of monsters with a grin as they slowly turned to realise their leader was dead. He flicked out the bayonets attached to the WALTER unit’s ten deadly wires, waiting for the Beowulfs to strike. Three surged in at once and were put down by a variety of clinically precise stabs, at the back of their necks. 

Four were down, four remain. Each was hesitant to approach the hunter in his prime, who took a carnal delight from delivering such brutal death to the Grimm. “Who is next?”

Location: A4/B4 border.