Ave ye ever set yer eyes on a griffin, Adventurer? They're 'alf eagle, 'alf lion, an' all 'unter. Just like a chocobo trapper, they stalk their prey from the shadows- or in their case the clouds- waitin' fer the perfect time to strike. The chocobo 'unters o' Tailfeather've got a certain credo about pickin' when to spring the trap- "'unt the 'unter," they say. Whatever quarry yer after, ye stand a better chance o' catchin' it unawares if it's busy tryin' to catch its own prey. Seems it's amotto ol' Senmurv's taken to 'eart. Whenever a group of 'ungry beasts 'eads out on the 'unt, the king o' the griffins'll swoop down from the sky an' carry off as many as 'is beak'll

  Might not look it at first glance, but that Sohm Al's an active volcano. I've 'eard tell there's a vast cave in the foothills that goes right into the belly o' the mountain, a place filled with fire an' brimstone like somethin' out o' the seventh 'ell. 'Course, it's a paradise fer cold-blooded scalekin. By all accounts there's a load o' the buggers down there in the deep?primitive lizards in thrall to the dragons. There's one o' their kind ye've got to be especially wary of?an ancient archaeosaur by the name o' Pylraster. Some say 'e's almost as dangerous as the dragons themselves.

  It's a better man than me that can tell one dragonling from the next, but they grow into all different shapes an' sizes. Take wyverns?they start off like any other dragon, but as they age their wings get bigger an' bigger, till they're spendin' all their time in the air. They ain't no match fer their four-legged friends when it comes to brute strength, but what they lack in muscle, they make up fer in mobility. A mob o' the buggers can easily bring down an airship if they set their minds to it. Ye'd think that speed would drop off with age, but no such luck. The eldest o' their number, the Lord o' the Wyverns, can twist an' turn like no other, duckin' an' divin' out the way o' dragonslayer shells. Small wonder the airship captains want the bastard dead.

  Time was the Gnath kept 'emselves to 'emselves, too wary o' the dragons to ever stray far from their own lands. Past few moons, though, the overgrown ladybugs look like they've finally grown a bit o' backbone. They used to only use them muskets o' theirs to 'unt fer food, but o' late they've been turnin' 'em on anyone unlucky enough to stray into what they reckon to be “Gnath territory.” Judgin' from the number o' chocobo 'unters comin' back to Tailfeather with a back full o' buckshot, it seems that includes any place in the range o' their boomsticks. Someone's got to get rid o' that sniper o' theirs before it's too late.

  Ye'll 'ave seen them bandersnatches prowlin' about off to the north, right? Well, there's one o' their number that's been causin' the chocobo 'unters such a ball ache they've put a bounty on its 'ead. Instead of 'untin' fer chocobos like a good little bandersnatch, this Thextera's been takin' 'is meals from the trade caravans plyin' the trail 'twixt Tailfeather an' Ishgard' Those caravans bring in the supplies the 'unters need to survive, an' carry back the chocobos they catch to be sold at market. The beast's been 'elpin' 'imself to a bit o' both, an' the drivers beside. If the caravans are Tailfeather's lifeblood, then Thextera's the knife in its neck.