The Restoration of the Hunt

[Smithers 388]

 

Restoration of the Hunt

 

  

 

The forests north of Felsen were eerily quiet despite the lively breeze brushing through the bushes and trees. Two men moved near-noiselessly along a forest path - not by intention, but by the rigorous practice of discretion - with a group of three in tow, betrayed only by the soft flutter of their mottled cloaks. One of the two men, a grizzled veteran with a scarred face and a missing eye, led the pack and the other, a hulking man with a scar-crisscrossed scalp, trailed behind. Both men bore two swords each on their backs - one of aurum and one of steel - and medallions of two different schools of the Marked Men hung around their necks. Their steps were eager - they’d gone far too long without taking a contract, having instead thrown themselves into a gauntlet of drills and rigorous training, and had developed a tangible craving for any sort of action.

 

The group of men took pause amidst a forest clearing, and two of the following group of three were ordered ahead. They returned after a time and gave report, and both of the Marked Men advanced across the makeshift bridge of a nearby river and regrouped around an abandoned cabin. They cleared dross and debri from the threshold of its battered door and, on the call of a man from the group of three, scattered and took positions behind nearby trunks of trees. The two Marked Men hoisted heavy arbalests to the ready and nocked aurum-tipped bolts, preparing lines of fire, and trained their crossbow sights on the cabin entry.

 

Spoiler

 

 

After thirty seconds so quiet that a falling leaf would wake the forest, the door of the cabin exploded. A pale blur rocketed outwards and impacted immediately with the closest subject, one of the company of three - an old, pale man, with gaunt skin stretched tightly across his cheeks. He fell with a yelp and the beast reared. It was a fearsome sight; a vampiric fiend with a belly like a barrel of beer, a rough gray trunk covered with coarse hair, and a monstrous snout filled with rows of two-inch teeth. "Fire", barked the elder Marked Man. Two goose-fletched aurum bolts whizzed through the clearing to intercept, impacting in center mass and forcing the fiend back from its impending kill.

 

With a metallic ring, both Marked Men wrenched their golden blades from their scabbards, broke cover and sprinted across the clearing to meet the beast. The monster, its attentions now diverted, arced over its previous quarry and bolted across the clearing towards one of the Marked Men - the scarred, one-eyed veteran. The man pirouetted to the side in a tight, well-practiced spiral and his golden sword bit into the beast’s flank, casting an arc of hot blood across the grass. It spun and roared, sending birds a league around into a fearful flight. The other Marked Man joined the fray and, side-by-side, they beat it back to the nearby treeline.

 

The tides of battle shifted, and the skirmish became more desperate. For all their struggle and exchange of blows, the two huntsmen gained no ground and the beast’s stamina seemed yet unchanged. The fatigue of battle began to show on their faces, for even a Marked Man tires in struggle with a foe so hardy. The one-eyed veteran raised his palm desperately. A hastily-wrought golden spell rocketed over the fiend’s head in a formless blur, ramming into the trunk of a tree and shattering it with eldritch force. A clear miss. The monster seized initiative and leapt for the Marked Man. The veteran sought to evade by way of a tuck and roll, but to no avail; he was pinned beneath the beast and, with an ear-wrenching shriek of victory, it tore into his arm and chest, slicing through skin and muscle.

 

The other Marked Man howled in rage and dismay as his comrade fell to the beast. He threw his hand to his swordbelt and tore free a roughly-hewn aurum dirk. With a fevered cry of determination he launched himself at the vampiric fiend, impacting soundly with its back, and shoved his blade up through its chin and into the base of its skull. The fiend’s roar changed into a whine as it realized that it had been undone, for fear of death tempers any instinct, and it writhed on top of the pinned Marked Man. The veteran below, aflush with adrenaline, beat viciously at the beast atop him, to little effect. The bald man on the beast’s back drove his dirk into the fiend thrice more before pulling himself off of it. He retrieved his aurum blade from the ground, twisted, and, with a clean arc, lopped off the beast’s head.

 

One of the three men in tow approached the Marked Men and presented a reward, with recompense for injury. "Job well done." The sum was a lordly one. The group, its contract complete, loaded its injured into a prepared wagon and departed.

To those who would stumble across the scene at a later date, they would find the clearing drenched in bile and blood. One tree leans precariously to the side like a listing ship, its trunk charred and shattered. The air is aflush with the scent of ozone. Three sets of footprints and deep wagon-tracks lead back towards the human city of Felsen.

[Jentos 9425]

"Where do I sign up." asks a man, peering up at the passing marked men

[1 1393]

Moved to the Archive. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.