Post by vincentbriar on Sept 15, 2018 18:39:22 GMT -6
Enough was enough, he thought. Too long had Vince spent in his workshop, hammering away at toys and trinkets for others.
People were in danger, and the burning weight of obligation had begun to smell awfully close to shame. Something must
be done. As the sun began to sink below the horizon, and the final streaks of orange and purple light smeared across
the low nimbus, hanging lazily in the sky, Vince readied himself. An old oaken heavy crossbow felt like a natural part
of his body, after so long as a monster hunter, it had become an extension to his arms; a long flak coat rested over
his shoulders, years of long hunts and experience leaving too many scuffs and repairs that even Vince's simple mending
charms had faded far sooner than expected. Finally he reached for the dagger with the ivory handle, a gift, and it's
carved pommel a symbol of the House he served; a flash of memory, the voice of Lilliandra the guardian angel almost rung
through his mind "I know something you do not" "I prefer to work alone". A look of distaste crossed the hunter's face,
his had slowly retracting from the gift that had rarely left his side. Tonight the dagger remained on his bedside table.
Once, Briar had also preferred to work alone; now, he mused to himself, was a good time to return to old habits.
Whispers of shadow stalked through the undergrowth, unnaturally silent footsteps granted by the woodlands themselves,
boons not lightly given to humans. Vince had served his Lord for decades now, an elongated life ensured that continued
servitude, and the hunter had paid his pound of flesh for the right to do so. Blood and sap flowed through his veins,
a sweet-metallic concoction that had altered the old hunter which leant more than passing semblance to the trees he
now darted among. The world around him sung with life, and his own heartbeat responded in kind, feeling overwhelming
thrums of every life in the Bayou. With some difficulty, he began to filter out the noises, one by one; the slow creak
of trees growing older by the second, the frantic darting of small birds looking for insects between the fallen leaf-
litter, young crayfish exploring the underwater delights of gurgling brooks; and the low, rumbling chuckle behind it
all. The ever-present reminder that Vincent Briar served two masters. It was then that he felt them, hounds not unlike
the ones that had almost mauled the young unicorn. With renewed fervor, the hunter tracked his prey.
The hounds had made their warren underneath the trunk of a fallen tree, propped up by a ridge, over the next rise.
A low growl snarled from behind Vincent, the growing laughter at the back of his mind, having hidden it's presence.
From the brush, a huge black dog held it's head low, snarling. It's short snout bared foul teeth, fresh from recent
hunt, and it sprang from the shrubs, leaping at the hunter encroaching on it's stolen territory. With a sharp *fwpt*,
a bolt loosed from the heavy crossbow, embedding itself into the shoulder of the mutt; it yelped in pain, thrown
off-balance by the impact, yet never slowing it's charge. As the hound lunged at Vince, he brought his crossbow up
to block those rows of festering teeth, knocking the mutt aside. With well practiced motion, a second bolt is loaded
into the heavy oaken weapon and leveled at the beast. As the trigger is squeezed, heavy pair of paws land on the turned
back of the hunter, a second hound had been draw to the sounds of combat, and the weight throws off Vince's aim, the
bolt landing wide into the dirt. A second pair of nashing teeth rend at the hunters neck, large gashes drawing blood.
The crossbow drops to the dirt, as Vince wrestles with the hound tearing at his neck. With great effort, he throws the
beast to the ground, but the first had circled around and flanked the hunter, lunging at his arm. Stumbling from the
weight of the charge, Vince finds a foothold, and grapples with the foul mutt. Yanking the bolt still lodged within
the hound's shoulder, he pulls it free, and plunges it into the eye of the dog. It whimpers, and falls down, limp.
Once more, the second whips around and jumps at the old hunter, this time knocking him to the ground. With the snarling
beast on top of him, Vincent reaches for the dagger at his belt, only to find it missing, still sitting on his bedside
table. The laughter in the back of his mind reaches a crescendo, and the taunting horrors urges him to call on the void.
Use it, command it, let it consume you. The gnashing teeth snap ever closer, and in desperation, claws of black nothing
curled around his fingers, and he plunged them into the belly of the beast. The dog yelped and attempted to jump off,
but Vince held tight. A black rage engulfed Vincent, and he let it consume him. Nothing remained, but bloody mess.
When he finally regained his senses, he was covered in a mix of blood and black ichor. Vincent recovered his crossbow,
and loaded it. The night spanned on for some time, and by the end of it, the nest of those black beasts were dead.
People were in danger, and the burning weight of obligation had begun to smell awfully close to shame. Something must
be done. As the sun began to sink below the horizon, and the final streaks of orange and purple light smeared across
the low nimbus, hanging lazily in the sky, Vince readied himself. An old oaken heavy crossbow felt like a natural part
of his body, after so long as a monster hunter, it had become an extension to his arms; a long flak coat rested over
his shoulders, years of long hunts and experience leaving too many scuffs and repairs that even Vince's simple mending
charms had faded far sooner than expected. Finally he reached for the dagger with the ivory handle, a gift, and it's
carved pommel a symbol of the House he served; a flash of memory, the voice of Lilliandra the guardian angel almost rung
through his mind "I know something you do not" "I prefer to work alone". A look of distaste crossed the hunter's face,
his had slowly retracting from the gift that had rarely left his side. Tonight the dagger remained on his bedside table.
Once, Briar had also preferred to work alone; now, he mused to himself, was a good time to return to old habits.
Whispers of shadow stalked through the undergrowth, unnaturally silent footsteps granted by the woodlands themselves,
boons not lightly given to humans. Vince had served his Lord for decades now, an elongated life ensured that continued
servitude, and the hunter had paid his pound of flesh for the right to do so. Blood and sap flowed through his veins,
a sweet-metallic concoction that had altered the old hunter which leant more than passing semblance to the trees he
now darted among. The world around him sung with life, and his own heartbeat responded in kind, feeling overwhelming
thrums of every life in the Bayou. With some difficulty, he began to filter out the noises, one by one; the slow creak
of trees growing older by the second, the frantic darting of small birds looking for insects between the fallen leaf-
litter, young crayfish exploring the underwater delights of gurgling brooks; and the low, rumbling chuckle behind it
all. The ever-present reminder that Vincent Briar served two masters. It was then that he felt them, hounds not unlike
the ones that had almost mauled the young unicorn. With renewed fervor, the hunter tracked his prey.
The hounds had made their warren underneath the trunk of a fallen tree, propped up by a ridge, over the next rise.
A low growl snarled from behind Vincent, the growing laughter at the back of his mind, having hidden it's presence.
From the brush, a huge black dog held it's head low, snarling. It's short snout bared foul teeth, fresh from recent
hunt, and it sprang from the shrubs, leaping at the hunter encroaching on it's stolen territory. With a sharp *fwpt*,
a bolt loosed from the heavy crossbow, embedding itself into the shoulder of the mutt; it yelped in pain, thrown
off-balance by the impact, yet never slowing it's charge. As the hound lunged at Vince, he brought his crossbow up
to block those rows of festering teeth, knocking the mutt aside. With well practiced motion, a second bolt is loaded
into the heavy oaken weapon and leveled at the beast. As the trigger is squeezed, heavy pair of paws land on the turned
back of the hunter, a second hound had been draw to the sounds of combat, and the weight throws off Vince's aim, the
bolt landing wide into the dirt. A second pair of nashing teeth rend at the hunters neck, large gashes drawing blood.
The crossbow drops to the dirt, as Vince wrestles with the hound tearing at his neck. With great effort, he throws the
beast to the ground, but the first had circled around and flanked the hunter, lunging at his arm. Stumbling from the
weight of the charge, Vince finds a foothold, and grapples with the foul mutt. Yanking the bolt still lodged within
the hound's shoulder, he pulls it free, and plunges it into the eye of the dog. It whimpers, and falls down, limp.
Once more, the second whips around and jumps at the old hunter, this time knocking him to the ground. With the snarling
beast on top of him, Vincent reaches for the dagger at his belt, only to find it missing, still sitting on his bedside
table. The laughter in the back of his mind reaches a crescendo, and the taunting horrors urges him to call on the void.
Use it, command it, let it consume you. The gnashing teeth snap ever closer, and in desperation, claws of black nothing
curled around his fingers, and he plunged them into the belly of the beast. The dog yelped and attempted to jump off,
but Vince held tight. A black rage engulfed Vincent, and he let it consume him. Nothing remained, but bloody mess.
When he finally regained his senses, he was covered in a mix of blood and black ichor. Vincent recovered his crossbow,
and loaded it. The night spanned on for some time, and by the end of it, the nest of those black beasts were dead.