Hunting the Hunters (D&D)

[Imperial Overlord]

Reynard leaned back against the wall of his house and inspected the blade of his scythe. Another few passes with the whetstone should do it. He drew the stone against the edge of the blade at an angle, honing the edge. Some things were just like old times.

Those times, the days of blood and fire, were behind him pretty much. Sure he was the sheriff and he kept the duke's peace, but he rarely had to reach for a blade. He was more farmer than anything else. How his old friends would laugh if the saw Reynard Red Hand now.

"A rider," said Garrick. Reynard looked up and so there was. He was coming up from the village proper, riding a big black horse and wearing full plate under a green cloak.

"I see him," said Reynard. "Go inside and get my axe," he said to the field hand. "And my shield." No time to don armour.

He could retreat to the house if he needed to. It was stone, two stories tall and stoutly built. The door was thick iron bound oak and the windows were good places to launch arrows from. It wasn't a keep, but it was well fortified nonetheless.

The rider drew closer and pulled back his hood. He wasn't much younger than Reynard, with a short dark beard streaked with grey and hair that was more grey than brown. His eyes were dark and piercing above a hawk-like nose. "Reynard," he called out, "you old bastard. I didn't expect you'd really spend the rest of your days pushing a plow and staring at a horse's ass, but here you are."

"Mathias," said Reynard. The beard and the grey were new, but the voice was still the same. "You miserable excuse for an adherent to the dragon, what are you doing here?"

"Visiting a crusty, cradle robbing curmudgeon," Mathias said with a smile. He slid off his horse and embraced his friend.

"That it?"

"Riding the bounds as well," Mathias said. "Duty never ending."

"I heard you were in the south. Was it as bad as they say?"

"Worse. Better now, if it lasts."

Reynard nodded. "The harvest can survive a day without me. Garrick, get things started." Reynard lead his friend into the house. No one around here would need Mathias's help if the gods were kind.

They were not.

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The hunter sniffed the air again. Yes, definitely dog. He had approached the farmstead from downwind to hide his scent. He had no fear of dogs, but they made things more complicated by warning their owners early. The added challenge of their presence made the hunt more enjoyable.

The gibbous moon provided more than enough light to see by. Two dogs were sleeping on a mat on the farm house's porch. It was a simple building, probably just one large room, constructed from logs and roofed with wooden shingles. The livestock were in an adjacent barn and pen. The peasants in this region were rich, with good land and taxed with a light hand. That made them better sport than the half-starving wretches he had hunted in other places.

He gripped the black iron shaft of his hammer. It was an old weapon, storied and caked in death. Its name was Woe and in his hands it had wrought much misery and suffering. He had taken it from the broken body of its previous owner and no doubt some vicious half grown pup would pry his dying fingers from the haft and take Woe. That was the way of things. It did not bother him. Dying old, weak and infirm, that was a fate to be avoided. Woe would guarantee his death while their was still strength left in his body.

He crept closer. The dogs were sleeping and could not smell him. They certainly couldn't see him and they most definitely could not hear him. He was too quiet, too practiced. He neared the porch, gripping Woe with both hands. He swung.

Bones snapped like kindling. The dog gave a pathetic whelp and twitched, blood spurting from its mouth. The other awakened and the hunter crushed his spine. The dog yelped mournfully and tried to drag itself toward him with its forelimbs. The hunger kicked it away in contempt as he raised Woe again.

The door was wood, probably thick, and undoubtedly barred from the inside. Even with his strength trying to smash it in was futile. Woe made the difference. The first blow cracked the wood and the second went through. The hunter reached in and pulled the bar up. The door swung open and he was inside.

The house had a large bed on one side, a cradle next to the bed, and a smaller bed on the other. A pair of tables and several chairs were in the middle, close to the hearth. A female human was sitting up in the bed. The covers were pulled up to her neck. Her husband, naked, was reaching for a spear that hung on the wall.

The hunter noted the male's quick reactions. He would have to cripple this one quickly. He strode forward, upending a table with his left hand to clear room to fight. The human jabbed with his spear. He was too tentative, too afraid. Not aggressive enough.

The hunter feinted a swing with Woe. The human kept back and jabbed again with his spear, trying to stab the hunter while he was exposed. The dark and the human's fear betrayed him. The jab wasn't far enough. Instead the hunter was able to grab the spear just behind the tip.

The human was a farmer who had cleared land and tilled the earth. He was quite strong. The hunter ripped the spear out of his hands and swung Woe one handed. The blow shattered human's left thigh. He went down screaming, bloody shards of bone sticking out of his leg. The woman screamed as well. She had a knife.

A boy ran at him, scarcely the size of a goblin. He had a wooden club. Pathetic. The hunter tossed the spear behind him and shrugged off the feeble blows. He grabbed the boy by the shoulder and smashed him hard against the wall of the house. He did it again and again. The fourth time he heard bone break. He tossed the boy at the female's feet. Weeping, she menaced the hunter with her knife. The male was gasping.

The hunter pulled the baby out of the cradle and held its head close to his face. His fangs gleamed in the dull red light provided by the hearth. "No!" the woman screamed. "No! Have mercy!"

Humans were so fun when you played with their children. The hunter spoke, using their tongue. "Slit your boys throat," he rumbled, "or I will bite off your baby's face. Choose." He laughed.

He was going to do it anyway, of course. The fun part was making her choose which child would die before he killed both children, her husband, and finally her. Slowly, piece by piece. Would her mind break before she died? He would soon find out.

[Ford Prefect]

Wow, he's a nasty bastard. He could probably do with a nice meal of axe.

[LadyTevar]

More of a butcher than a hunter.

[The Grim Squeaker]

You miserable excuse for an adherent to the dragon, what are you doing here?"

Needs more wit . (Like the next line ).

Looks interesting, although I must protest this copyright infringement! I wrote "Hunting the Hunters" 2 YEARS ago .

I don't mind you reusing the title though, seeing as how I hold no hopes for commercial success or trademarking over my story .

[Imperial Overlord]

Mathias saw him first. He leaned his scythe up against the wall. "Trouble," he said.

"Aye," said Reynard. "Bring any with you?"

"No, or I wouldn't have come."

"Thought as much."

The man came closer. He was pacing himself, going for endurance rather than speed. Reynard cut across the wheat field to meet him. "Stevos!" shouted the retired adventurer.

"My lord," said the farmer gasping. He was a lean man, a little more than twenty, and well over six foot. He was one of the two best runners in the village.

"Easy," said the sheriff. "Take a breath and then tell it to me properly."

"Kandos, his whole family, murdered."

"Bane's bones," cursed the sheriff. "I'll be there shortly." Reynard and Mathias walked back to the house.

The door opened just before they got there. A pretty woman with long red hair, perhaps nineteen or twenty, opened the door. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Don't know yet," said Reynard. "We have to check it out."

She eyed Mathias skeptically, but said nothing. The two old comrades walked passed her. "Give me a hand with my harness," said Mathias.

"Am I your bloody squire now?" asked Reynard with a smile.

"Yes," said Mathias. "I thought you had figured that out." The armour went on quickly. It was a beautiful set, blued steel plate marked with the runes of the dwarven folk.

"How much did this cost you?"

"Nothing in coin," replied Mathias. "A lot in blood. The thane was appropriately grateful." He belted on his sword and slung his shield over his back. "You better don your hauberk."

"I'll keep it in a saddle bag. I won't need it."

"As you say," said Mathias. They walked out to the barn and saddled their horses. "How far is this place?"

"Not far," said Reynard. They went down the road a few hundred yards with Stevos and then took a path that lead west.

"Ravens," said Mathias. The birds were circling a point a farmhouse on the edge of the woods.

"That's how Galvin knew their was something wrong," said Stevos. "They he went and saw." There were a dozen men gathered around the farmhouse. Mathias and Reynard slid off their horses.

"Get back," said Mathias. "Let us examine the scene. The farmers shuffled away from the farmhouse as the two men walked forward. "Lots of tracks, probably mostly theirs," said Mathias.

"Aye," said Reynard. "Dogs dead. Mace or something similar." The carnal stench was heavy.

"Died on the porch, didn't smell them coming," said Mathias. He pointed to the hole in the door. "Must have heard that." They walked inside.

"Merciful gods," said Reynard. It seemed like half the floor was covered with blood or entrails. Flies buzzed loudly as they crawled over the rotting bodies.

"Merciful gods had no hand in this," said Mathias. He saw the spear lying next to the door. "He got to his spear, not that it did him much good." He stepped around the piles of rotting entrails, careful of his footing on the dried blood. He bent down to closely examine the baby's body. He then turned and walked outside. He went to the edge of the porch and sucked in lung fulls of air.

"That's not the worst thing I've seen," said Reynard, "but close enough."

"Something big, strong, and sneaky. With fangs," said Mathias. "Any trackers here?" he called out loudly. Several men shook their heads. "Well, that leaves us." He carefully prowled around the porch. Reynard joined him.

"I hope to Pelor it isn't minotaurs. Those bastards don't have the decency to die after your run them through." He pointed. "There."

The two men men examined the footprint closely. Mathias put his boot beside it. The killer's foot was larger. "Damn," said Reynard.

"Humanoid, probably leather wrappings on the feet, blunt claws on the toes. Five toes."

"Bugbear. A nasty one to drive a mace through a door that thick."

"They only come in nasty," said Mathias. "I'll need a local, someone who knows the forest."

"I'm the sheriff," said Reynard.

"That's why you have to stay behind."

Reynard addressed the crowd. "Stevos, run and bring Sabian and Caam." He turned back to his friend. "How do you see this playing out?"

"The bugbear will try one of several plans," said Mathias softly. "Evasion, ambush, or a decoy to drag as many able bodied men away from the village before an attack. Ambush or decoy means that there is a whole pack of them here."

"I noticed you didn't mention the fourth."

"If they're scouting for hobgoblins, this village is already razed," said Mathias.

[Ford Prefect]

Horrific and scary though the hunter is, 'bugbear' is a very silly name.

[Imperial Overlord]

Horrific and scary though the hunter is, 'bugbear' is a very silly name.

It is. Only massive badassery and cruelty will enable it to remain an object of terror. Perhaps I've said too much.

[LadyTevar]

I'm waiting to see more.