Twilight was Vane’s favorite time of day. Most people acted like they’d disintegrate into dust if they got caught by the orange-purple of the setting sun, and it’s not like he could blame them what with all the cut-throats lurking around, but Vane found peace in the absence of people on the streets. It made Vaucluse feel ever so slightly different, and different was better. Sometimes he would imagine what it would be like to reach the end of the horizon, to fall off the edge of the world. Would the sun burn him up, or would he fall into an abyss? Maybe he’d just meet the dawn if he kept chasing the day far enough.

Well, whatever. The real best thing about twilight? That’s when the cats came out. A little grey cat Vane affectionately named Smokey was eating a chunk of beef out of Vane’s extended hand at the moment. He felt no greater satisfaction than making sure this stupid stray cat was well-fed; it was a little way to feel like he had some kind of control in the world.

“Vane! I told you to stop feeding the strays!” His dad’s deep voice reverberated in Vane’s chest and he jumped up straight in response. He turned to look at the stoney mug of his father, but the frustration on his face stung too much to maintain eye-contact with. “You know that stuff’s for Alden! Get going already!”

“I know, I know...” Vane sighed and turned back away. This was the last job for the day, which meant that the quicker he delivered the goods, the sooner he could pass out in his bed. But the quicker he moved, the sooner he had to talk to that scary old guy. But he really wanted to go to bed. But he really didn’t want to do it. But he--

Ugh! This was so stupid! His dad knew the owner of the tavern hated Vane’s guts, yet he made him deliver a package of cured meats to the dude! Last time Vane was there, Alden made seventeen different rude comments. Vane counted. It was awful, and he couldn’t even say anything back without jeopardizing the reputation of the family business… This was all those stupid monsters’ fault. If they didn’t exist, then they wouldn’t be terrorizing all the ranchers in the area, and if they weren’t terrorizing the cattle, then their butchershop would have enough meat to open shop like normal and they wouldn’t be making special deliveries! Some people say that ‘demons aren’t real’ or whatever nonsense they want to believe, but if you go outside the town walls for one minute, you’d know that those things aren’t normal!

A shiver ran down Vane’s spine. He suddenly remembered the rumors he heard going around. Strange men sauntering through the town at night, killing anyone they saw. Apparently one of the tailors’ husbands went missing last week. No body was found though, just a trail of blood streaking down an alley. See, criminals? Vane can handle. He’s tussled with thieves more than once, and he’s not too afraid of them anymore. But demons? Vane knew in his heart they were real, and for some reason, they were coming. He wanted to run away, to move towns and forget these monsters ever existed, but something inside of him knew that there was no avoiding the reality of their sick little world and one day he’d have to face it head-on.

He only came out of his thoughts when he found himself standing outside his destination: a dingy pub known for its… interesting patrons. Townsfolk knew it for what it was, but nobody really said anything since they didn’t want to scare away any travellers from what was had become a hub of commerce. Commerce of all types. One time Vane saw someone trying to sell their kid. Some creepy dude bought her. It was a memory Vane actively tried to forget, because if he didn’t forget it, he worried he’d realize just how bad the world could be.

After taking a deep breath in, Vane stepped through the front door and marched his way over to the bar where some six-foot-six dude with a billion scars on his face was shouting stories at strangers. Vane smacked his package onto the counter and stared at the older man until the travel tale died and Alden noticed the butcher boy making a face at him. He briefly wondered if trying to assert his dominance in the situation was working, but any confidence he had immediately disappeared as soon as Alden spoke.

“The hell do you want?” Alden growled. Wrow, tiger. Wouldn’t want a customer to be interested your goods and services or anything. Better scare him off before, God forbid, he pays for something.

“I’m delivering you cured meats. Isn’t it obvious?” He was holding a basket of beef. What else would he be doing? That was literally the only reason he has ever interacted with Alden. The row of men seated along the bar giggled to themselves and it made Vane on edge for some reason.

He rumbled something unintelligible before grunting in an ambiguous tone. “Just leave it in the kitchen.”

“You’re being awfully hospitable today.” Vane rolled his eyes, but he decided to not push the issue, and instead he disappeared into the door nearby to hand over the goods to a grungy-looking cook making an even grosser looking stew. Seeing the fire under the pot reminded Vane of the days before Alden hated him. Oh how he missed eating that suspicious gruel. At least, he thought he missed it, until his stomach churned as he watched the man chop chunks of beef into it, and the fact that he couldn’t tell if it was a good or bad churning made him scared enough to duck back out of the kitchen. Before he could leave, though, there was one last matter of business to take care of: Vane stepped back over to Alden’s bar and interrupted story time yet again.

“What?” Alden barked, shooting an evil eye at the loser staring up at him.

“You need to pay me.” Vane said slowly, trying his damndest not to lace every single word with contempt. “I give you meat, you give me money.”

Alden narrowed his eyes and his voice hit a deeper note. “I already paid your daddy. So get going before I kick ya outta the place myself.” His broad hand clenched around a flagon of beer so tightly the wood almost cracked. That message was definitely received.

“Alright, alright.” Vane raised his hands in defence before stepping away. You accidentally set a man’s pub on fire once, and all of the sudden he wants to kill you every time he sees you. Hasn’t he heard of a thing called forgiveness? Regardless, every minute he spent in that scent cloud of alcohol, smoke, and sweat made Vane more and more nauseous, so he decided not to linger and made a beeline for the door. Stepping out into the fresh evening air felt like he was being reborn, really-- today was a long day and he was ready to finally end it.

That is, until he turned his head and noticed the dude staring at a leaf so intensely that Vane was worried it would explode.

“Hey, you okay, buddy? You look like you’re about to throw up or something.” Vane cocked his head cautiously. Usually he wouldn’t talk to weird drunks since they rarely had anything important to say, but it was rare to see someone wearing peacock colors around these parts. That was like asking to get mugged. “Y’know, if you need somewhere to stay, there’s plenty of places still open around town..” Vane leaned in a bit, side-eying the front door all the while. “But if you ask me, go down the street a bit and hit up a different tavern. Alden’s place is way too expensive for what you get.”

“Wait.” Vane looked the stranger in the eye for a good second before taking a slow step back. “Are you… Oh God, are you the Tristan Baske?“ That definitely explained the snazzy get-up. Ooooh, this was kind of awkward. He’d heard bad things about Tristan Baske, and Vane didn’t feel like messing with rich people. What was he supposed to say? He already engaged. There was no backing out. Vane didn’t really know what level of formality was necessary for talking with one of the richest people in Vaucluse, and he especially didn’t know how to talk to one when they were drunk. “Uh… Do you… need help? With anything? My lordship?”

@Ambra

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Vauclause...How did Nicoline find herself in Vauclause? A place known for cut purses and throats as well as women and children vanishing. Well...to be honest...almost everywhere held that same reputation. But Nicoline was not one to venture far from her home, er, well her 'home'. Home-less sounds more accurate, but at least she was more familiar with the streets there. But now she was in Vauclause, confused and worried, wrapped in cloaks and hoods to try and make herself an intimidating figure in the dimming light. The young woman didn't want attention called to herself, either from unlawful or lawful people. She was searching for her friend.

Yep, Tristan had been the deciding factor in traveling to Vauclause.

Living on the streets Nicoline was able to hear rumors, passed around with no concern for whatever vagrants might be listening. Did you hear? Tristan Baske was seen in Vauclause! The Bastard son of Seth and Laila I thought he was forced out of his home. I wonder if he carries much coin on him. I hear her attracts trouble, poor lad. After hearing these conversations pass through the lips of the locals Nicoline began to worry. She had not seen her friend in some time, and the thought of him falling into trouble was enough to make the fretted woman nearly hysterical. She would travel to Vauclause, and she would find him before some undesirable could.

And so, she went to Vauclause.

The streets here were...nice. Dangerous as any other street, but the feral cats were a nice change of pace. She had spent her first night on the streets of Vauclause sharing a blanket with two furry bundles of joy, she only hoped they did not pass any itchy vermin onto her. She had spent the majority of the day traveling the streets, not asking about Tristan but hoping to hear something about the man. And she was getting closer as the sun began to set, wrapping herself in cloaks to preserve precious body heat.

Nicoline walked silently through the streets, keeping her eyes cast downward towards the cobbled roads. No need to make eye contact with the dwindling passerby's. She watched as a little gray cat skittered by her feet, hurrying towards the outstretched hand of of a young man. It seemed the man was feeding the stray. For a moment her empty stomach ached, and she wished for a moment she was a cat. No fear of kidnappers, only chin scritches and free meat. Nicoline tore her eyes away, continuing her quest for her friend.

Eventually she spotted Tristan, who's face was twisted with seriousness and staring at...a leaf...

Nicoline began to approach her friend, the slightest hints of a smile at the edges of her lips. But the young mage noticed not only the bumps along his exposed arms, indicating cold, but also the scent of alcohol in the air. Nicoline sighed, he was likely too drunk to know he was cold. The girl walked over quietly, pulling a woolen scarf off of her neck and draping it around Tristan's shoulders.

"Mister Tristan, what are you doing outside so late? You'll catch your death of cold"

She wouldn't have time for a response from her inebriated friend, as the woman noticed someone approaching them. Panic rushed through her mind, thinking of every possible bad thing that could be happening. Kidnappers, thieves, mage hunters. Nicoline, in a moment of deeply imbedded fear, turned away from Tristan and hurried off the road, ducking behind a building. Once she felt sufficiently hidden she peeked out from behind the wall, hoping to not observe her friend being robbed. Instead she saw someone, the same man as before, the one who was feeding the cat. And he seemed to be...talking...not robbing her friend.

---

In the soft glow of the setting sun, the streets of Vaucluse quickly emptied as people fled the encroaching darkness. Fair enough, no matter where in Lutaire you went, as it got dark, the relative danger increased. Not that Emil ever feared much in the dark, man and beast alike tended to give him a wide berth when the giant bird beside him started spreading its clawed wings. Curled up in a lazy lounge in the somewhat rough feathers of Greytail, Emil sat on the soft rolling grass overlooking a small creek, his feet dug comfortably into the riverbank sand. Only vaguely aware of his surroundings, Emil snoozed contentedly as the line of a fishing rod nestled in the crook of his arm, was pulled taught. Shifting comfortably in his half daze, Emil as seemingly unaware as the fishing rod slid out of his arm and started retreating towards the water.

"Hey Emil, you're going to miss another one." commented his brother idly, also holding a fishing rod, though sitting more attentively. Both brothers sat taking in the cool breeze of twilight, their Stryxes nearby also relaxing. Work with the militia today had been sparse, their scouting flights had yielded no packs of monsters approaching the town, which meant the brothers had most of the afternoon off, which they decided to spend fishing.

"Ah shoot," Emil replied absentmindedly, his eyes still shut. Greytail! Would you kindly..." he trailed off, lazily pointing in the direction of the river.

The large stryx breathed in deeply- if it were a human, one might have equated it to an exasperated sigh. The brown stryx took off with a massive beat of its wings, Emil rolling onto the grass as the bird deposited its human occupant and took to the river. A rapid beat of its wings brought it a few feet into the air as it dove its beak into the river. There was the sound of fluttering wings, and a spray of water, as Greytail pulled a large trout out of the river, flopping back and forth wildly, fishhook and rod still hanging from its mouth. Before either brother could say anything, Greytail shook its head rapidly, sending the hook and rod clattering to the riverbank, and started tearing into the fish.

Sigmund rolled his eyes as he reeled in a fish of his own. "Luckily for you, I'm generous, we can split this one tonight. I'm heading back now."

"I'll catch up," Emil replied absentmindedly as he collected the remains of his fishing rod.

By the time twilight had rolled through, Emil and Greytail were walking back to the Aviary, passing through town on their way, a pair of freshly caught trout hanging from either side of the Stryx's saddle. The streets were as expected, empty. Though not completely. By Alden's Tavern there was a small gathering, Emil immediately recognized one of the individuals in front as Vane, the butcher's son. They got along well enough, despite their differences. He seemed to be aiding what looked like Tristan, the local lordling turned bastard- the 'Vagrant King' as some people liked to call him. An unfortunate soul to say the least. Emil and his brothers had been friendly with Rodran, before the oldest son passed, but Emil had never interacted much with Tristan- he was too drunk most of the time. Sigmund and Duncan also disapproved of the middle Baske, and so, Emil's contact with the man was minimal.

Nevertheless, he offered Vane a wave in passing as he and Greytail walked by. He was unsure what Vane was doing with the lordling but it was getting late out, and while Emil had no fear of the dark, there was no point in tempting fate if he didn't have to.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Nicoline continued to peer out from around the wall she was hidden behind, her anxiety growing as more and more people began to gather near her friend. Luckily nothing had escalated yet, but the worried mage began to think of a plan. Perhaps creating some sort of distraction, allowing Tristan to escape in the hubris. The timid woman was deep in her musing when suddenly another voice drew her back to the present. A gruff, improper, feminine voice. Apparently the gathering group was gathering on the property of the tavern. Nicoline looked up towards the eaves of the building she was hiding behind. Well the sign hanging above the door should have been a dead give away.

For a moment Nicoline felt relief, this was the perfect excuse for the group to disperse, the mage could find Tristan a safe place to sleep and nothing bad would happen. Any relief that had begun to root was quickly squashed by Tristan's response to the woman. A response that forced a gasp out of the quiet woman's mouth.

The crudeness, the proposition. That was no way for a young man, a young lord, like Tristan to be responding to a woman. Nicoline had never seen her friend in such a light, acting like the men she strove to avoid on the streets. She felt a pit in she stomach for a moment, hoping that it was the alcohol in the young man's system causing him to act so poorly. But even that didn't comfort Nicoline, drunken words are sober thoughts and such.

Nicoline sighed, pulling the hood on she head closer to her body. She briefly considered hurrying off into the darkness, when the scene around the corner began to escalate, or at least began to heat up in a way that made Nicoline more nervous. The...crass...woman stepped out of the doorway and quickly shot down Tristan's offer. But what really could be a problem was the woman's verbal jab at his nether regions. The last thing Nicoline wanted was for Tristan to get upset and become violent.

With a deep breath, trying to quell her nerves, Nicoline again adjusted the hood over her face and stepped out from behind the building, quickly coming up to Tristan's side again. The mage spoke softly, mostly to Tristan.

"Come now, Mister Tristan, there is no need for this to continue..."

Nicoline looked up at the woman standing in the doorway of the bar, and nodded slightly when the girl requested the gathering party go elsewhere.

"Yes...that's a good idea. Mister Tristan, we should find you somewhere to spend the night..."

Unfortunately, the drunk dude turned out to be the real Tristan Baske instead of a very stupid doppelganger, so Vane found himself weighing the options once again. He could just leave. Nobody would have to know this happened. But he didn't seem to be doing anything particularly... bad? He's smashed, yeah, but that isn't much inherently wrong with that. Feeling optimistic again, Vane opened his mouth to suggest the drunkard get home soon, yet a woman's voice came out before his own.

A crude one at that.

Vane pivotted on his heel and stared over at the girl yelling at them. She was one of the barmaids. She was talking to both of them. Vane was flabbergasted. He tried to be a good samaritan once, and he gets accused of being a loitering drunk. Like any rational human being would, Vane started to explain the situation and clear his name, but before he could any more than a single word out, Tristan opened his stupid mouth and spewed out some garbage that was most definitely not going to help the situation.

Vane definitely didn't mind Tristan getting his ass told, but he still didn't appreciate getting lumped in with him in the process. Sneering, Vane intercepted the conversation before Tristan could say anything worse. "Based on his current condition, I'd say he bought plenty enough from this joint to warrant hanging around a bit before shoving off. And I don't appreciate you lumping me in with this drunkard! I'm on your side if anything!" He shook his head in frustration. What was he even doing at this point.

Vane turned around, his determination to get Tristan to go away steeled, but to his surprise, another woman was hovering at Tristan's side. A dark hood obscured her face as she whispered to the royal manslut. He decided to accelerate the diplomatic process by grabbing hold of Tristan's arm and tearing him away from the tavern by force. "You know this guy?" Vane shot a glance over at the mystery girl, completely forgetting his previous attempts at being polite to Tristan. "Do the world a favor and get him home or something. He's bothering business."

@Ambra @Dragonbud

The Durand Aviary

---

The Durand Aviary, settled in just outside of town, was afforded a relatively larger living space than those inside Vaucluse proper. The Aviary itself stretched pretty wide, a large open field in the center, where general work and training took place. On one side of the field stood the main coup and several smaller ones, for the Stryxes. On the opposite side of the field sat the Durand Homestead, a two story building made of a feldstone foundation with plaster and wooden upper floors. Next to it was a second building- a smaller bunkhouse for staff. The top of the house sat a small tower-like structure, wide windows affording it a view of the entire aviary.

Though their birds were highly sought after throughout Lutaire, the Durand's rarely employed other staff, mostly supplementary trainers and a few fieldhands. Of the half dozen men and women the Durand's employed, only one was a guard. As a result Emil and his older brother Sigmund often helped out as guards. Tonight was not much different. Emil and Tork, their hired guard sat at the top of the tower in the homestead, seated on opposite sides of a short table, a small lamp off to the side illuminating the open-air little gazebo. The two hunched over the small table, a cards in hand, a bottle and handful of coins on the table. Not much happened in this isolated town, so they passed their time with cards and drinks.

"Yer call Durand," Tork drawled as he pulled a pair of silver coins out of his pocket and placed them on the slowly growing pile of copper and silver pieces. He folded his arms and leaned back in his seat, confident.

Emil's eyes narrowed, darting back and forth between his cards and Tork's face, trying to find a chink in Tork's armored persona. His leg bounced up and down lightly. After a minute or so of complete silence, Emil shook his head and threw a pair of silver coins on the pile. "You've got nothing Tork," Emil replied confidently as he threw his cards down face up.

Emil allowed himself a small smile as he saw Tork's eyes open wider, and began reaching out for the small pile of coins. Before his hand could reach the coins though Tork swatted him with a hand. "Ah, close little Durand, very close."

Emil cursed aloud as Tork revealed his cards with a flick of his wrist. Tork laughed a loud, guffawing laugh as he casually swept the coins into his purse. "I tell you what Durand, sometimes I think I make more money from these games than the wages you lot pay me."

Not to be discouraged, Emil fished out another pair of coins and was about to put them down on the table when he heard the clacking of a Stryx's beak. Tork heard it too, and he stopped moving, motioning to the window with a finger. The two of them peeked out of the tower, their eyes quickly centering in on a torch nearby the coups. Emil rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, how had they missed that? It was a good thing Sigmund wasn't up, he'd be livid. Emil immediately recognized the Stryx out in the field as his own- Greytail. Greytail seemed to have been accompanied by a man- he couldn't tell in the dim light or distance, but they didn't have any guards other than Tork, so Emil was unsure who it could've been. The man seemed to be holding a pitchfork, which was pointed at the torchbearer. Tork reached over and grabbed a crossbow, pulling the cord back with a click before he slit a bolt into place, meanwhile, Emil tossed his lance out the window and hastily slid down the ladder, scooping the spear off the ground as he made his way across the field.

As Emil made his way across the field, he saw Greytail rear back, spreading his wings wide- in an intimidating gesture before giving out a sharp, piercing screech. In the dark and relative silence of night, the screech broke through like a thunderclap. Greytail's legs spaced out, and he beat his wings several times as he reared back, ready to stab his steel hard beak through the encroacher.

"Greytail! Heel!"

Greytail suddenly stopped mid-charge and reset himself, talons digging up dirt as they skidded to a stop. The large Stryx took several steps back and crouched slightly, his angry yellow eyes glaring intensely at the apparent invader- though seemed perfectly comfortable with the other 'invader'. That information in and of itself was confusing to Emil- Greytail liked very few people, not Tork, few of the trainers, not even his eldest brother.

"Who goes there?!" Emil demanded, his voice taking on an uncharacteristic bark as he planted one end of his lance into the ground, his right hand gripped around it loosely, but confidently.

Not even the cats were stirring at night. It was like he stepped out into another world where the sun didn’t exist and the gods never made life. The shadows cast by the candle Vane held dared not move an inch, lest they be caught slipping away to where they weren’t supposed to go. Something about the fact that the moon was swallowed up by a sea of clouds made him a lot more anxious, like it was some kind of omen. He generally didn’t laud himself as a superstitious person, but Vane knew when the world was giving him a sign. Something bad was going to happen in Vaucluse that night.

As he walked down the stone street, bow string digging into his chest as he carried it around his shoulder, Vane failed to see why he couldn’t stop himself from doing what he was doing. It was completely irrational: he had a family, a town he grew up in, yet… Yet somehow the demon biting the back of his brain compelled him to go. Something about the long days plaguing him as of late made him desperate for some kind of release. This wasn’t even a spur of the moment thing, either. He had a plan. A friend in a different town who had a place for him to live and work, a pocket full of coins he had saved up, and a bag full of his personal effects. As creepy as it was, seeing the streets of Vaucluse one more time made him reluctant to go.

Though, it’s hard to get consumed by doubt when there’s a dark figure standing a good half dozen meters ahead of you. Vane could barely make out the silhouette of the man, and truth be told he had jumped a little, but he tried to tell himself that it was just another person out on a casual midnight stroll. Nothing unusual.

“Hey there.” He called out to the figure, but to his dismay the man did not answer. No, instead it merely shifted a bit where it stood. “Who’s there!?” Vane clenched a hand around the string of his bow, the other reaching back into the bag strung over his back and pulling out an arrow that was sticking out of the top. As much as he didn’t want to admit that he was afraid of monsters, the rumors floating around were too gruesome to ignore. There was no way he was going to get a good shot on a shadow hiding in the darkness, so he readied the arrow in case he needed to make a quick stab-and-go exit.

Right as Vane started to step away from the figure, it shuffled down into an alleyway and disappeared from view. A pang of panic struck his heart, and all of the sudden Vane found himself compelled to look behind him. He threw a glance over his shoulder but there was nothing there. He turned around and around, desperate to find something to fight, but there was nothing. After a moment of nothing happening passed, Vane took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. Maybe he was freaking out over nothing. It was probably just a weird cat he saw and it got freaked out when he moved. Those wives’ tales were just smoked ham in a sandwich of hogwash. With a renewed confidence, Vane started forward again, but right as he passed by the alley, a gust of wind blew by and extinguished his candle. The world faded away in the breeze, the only light guiding him disappearing as something lunged out and grabbed him by the shoulders.

It ripped him back, throwing him off his feet as it tried to drag him into the alley. Instinctively, Vane shot his arm back and thrust the blade of the arrow into the arm of whatever was trying to grab him. It snarled out in pain as the arrowhead bore into its flesh, its arms retracting in panic. Quickly, Vane jumped back onto his feet and screamed out for help. His voice cracked in a pitiful way, but he couldn’t help it when his heart was beating a million miles an hour and he was desperately fumbling for something else to use as a weapon. His enemy was invisible and he didn’t know how to fight in the dark. He was a fly caught in a web.

Emil blinked with confusion as the man with the black cowl and sword removed his headwear, revealing himself to be none other than Tristan Baske. He exchanged a glance with Tork, who had caught up by that point and responded with a roll of the eyes and a grunt. Emil had no idea who the other one was, with the pitchfork- he certainly didn't work for the Aviary, though his seeming friendship with Greytail might have suggested otherwise. Both of them seemed to be trying to get on his side- the pitchfork wielding lad calling him a lord, and the actual lordling trying to spin him a lie.

"I'd think that stryx handlers and thieves would be tucked away in bed by now. A shame really... I really didn't want to run into anyone just yet."

"A shame, yes." Emil responded somewhat sarcastically as he idly stroked the wing feathers of the vicious bird at his side.

"But seriously. Don't go running for help. I'm not a cold-blooded thief like that guy over there. I only wanted to borrow this stryx for a little bit. I promise I was going to tell you."

At this, Emil laughed a mirthless laugh, "Oh, yes right, of course you were. I assume you were just going to leave a little note signed and sealed on our doorstep yes?"

At this point, Tork, the Aviary guard turned to Rylan, "Oi, you there. Ye might be fast, but do you think yer farster than my crossbow? Stay where you are." With a huff, Tork regarded Emil, this time with his eyes firmly locked on Rylan. "Emil, whats the plan eh? Cut their hands off or leave em to the Stryxes? Don't much like thieves or thieving bastards."

"What I'm more interested in," Emil replied, responding to Tork and addressing Tristan at the same time, "Is what an untrained layabout wants with a Stryx denmother, other than to feed himself to her when she gets hungry."

While the Durand Stryxes were domesticated enough to the point where they wouldn't actively eat humans, chances were these two didn't know about it. At least, Emil assumed they wouldn't know. Tristan was trying to take one of their female Stryxes- which, while larger and more powerful than the males, were considerably more stationary- similar to male lions, and made poorer mounts than their smaller male counterparts. Tristan must've thought the bigger Stryxes were the better stryx, which was why he was trying to steal one of their females- arguably the most valuable Stryxes in the entire Aviary.

"So, Lord Baske, of what need do you have of a Stryx?"