Hunter: Chapter 2

My gut said to turn around. Leave it and make money somewhere else, but greed...greed has a way downing out your better voices.

Now Fardan sat at a desk. His double gun broken down into it components the smell oil filled the small area as he meticulously went over the double gun. The weapon a reward for survival of training. Built to his hand, build, and personality. He is intamently familiar with every last piece. It was both a ritual and his form of meditation for him. To help clear his head and reflect on the situation.

It is entirely possible that the summoning that was being attempted went wrong and the cult slaughtered that village only to be slaughtered themselves. So that left a demon running around. With or without a group of raving cultists. Both to ends unknown.

‘Should have stuck to regular beasts’ he said to himself. It was a constant debate between the groups of hunters. Where did we draw the line, hunters have taken part in everything up to and including the Assassination of one or two people in high office. Scapegoat mercenaries and a means to an end. Not at all what the first of the Hunters wanted.

Locks back into the stock. Side plates screwed into place. Looking down the barrels from the chamber end the metal bright and clean. The lans and groves of the last few inches clear of debris and fowling. He slotted the barrels into the action and it closed with a snap. Then reattached the fore end with another snap.

The Priest is coming.

Fardan’s eyes flicked to the skull also sitting on the desk seconds before there was a knock at his cabin door. He reaching to his belt he thumbed back the hammer of a wheel gun slowly so it was as quite as possible. From where he was sitting he was facing the door.

“Come in preacher.” Fardan said.

The priest opened the door with bemused look on his face. Fardan only had to glance at the scrimshawed skull on the desk.

“Have a seat. I guess we should clear the air.”

“I do not approve of your orders methods,” the priest said sliding into the chair across from Fardan.

“Well priest that really makes two of us. I may be a mercenary but I’ve never burned anything at a steak.”Fardan said leaning back and pulling out his pipe.

“That is only in the most serious of cases!’

“Yes those women that step out of line and question the men that raped them, or the stargazer that suggests the suns moons influence the firmament and tides, or for the other races to simply exist. All high crimes I’m sure,” Farden hadn’t meant to let himself get carried away. The sins of this mans faith were far reaching but there was a god chance he simply was doing his best to serve them. Not that revenge was a tenant that he new of. But he had paid a good sum for Fardan to do just that. Though I’m sure that he wouldn’t care to much if it did turn out to be just another possession.

The priest surged to his feet with the righteous indignation of a true believer swelling in him. It was brought up short when Fardan’s hands, which he thought were searching for match’s to light his pipe came up holding the blue polished wheel gun. The hunter looking into the priests eyes as he thumbed the hammer back.

“I believe I struck a sore spot. Allow me to apologize. I am aware that you do not like what I am. You could send for your orders own hunters but it may be weeks or months. By then what trail there is will be cold, and there is no telling how many more will die,” Fardan said matter of factly “I don’t want that and I know you don’t”

The priest had not looked away from Fardan, but had at least appeared to listen. “Once this is done and whatever was summoned is dead, because I will kill it, pay me and then continue to cruse me to your satisfaction.” Lowering the hammer.

The priest picked up the chair and sat down. “What do you intend to do” he said

“We will see what the cataloguer comes up with. I will scour through the woods for any tracks but since necrophages had already moved in its hard to say how long whatever did that had moved on. Why did you leave the village”

“I was summoned, To the bishops residence in the city. However when I arrived there...” The priest had turned to look out the windows. Fardan only waited.

“When I arrived they seemed to not know anything about it. Even when I did see the bishop. He denied sending for me, but the letter carried his seal. It was even the paper bore the water mark of the church. “

“And your dreams,” Fardan asked as he pulled two of the straight walled sheets of brass from his belt and placed it into the chambers of his double gun. “Have there been anymore?”

“I can’t say that I have really slept since then”

Not a surprising confession. If he had played host to the actual summoning, it was a wonder that his mind was intact at all. It would have to wait until the morning.

“I recommend you try to rest preacher. I will be out at first light to search the area. Hopefully there is some trail of what they brought into the world here,” Fardan said. He had reassembled his double gun and stood. “If you see anything tonight left me know before I leave.”

The leaves crunched slightly under Fardan’s boots. It had been sometime since they had gotten good rain in this area. It would make his job somewhat harder. There were only a few ways away from the village. Assuming they didn’t want to just fade away into the brush. He held his double rifle looking around him into the brush before looking down for any tracks. A pattern of tracks. The forest floor at any given moment was a cacophony of tracks and things that would make you think they were tacks. There had been clear tracks from the slaughter house of the church to where he had entered the woods but then it had blurred. Honestly had already been more than he expected. He had spent time sketching the tracks, and noting the direction with his compass. They seemed to keep to the west. A small group. No more than four or five. One mounted. What could they need in the west. He let out a long sigh running his hand through lanky dark hair.

“Fine,” he said, reaching down he grabbed the scrimshawed skull and raised it up. Whispers in his ear. Tingles in his hands and feet. The smell of sulfur in his nose. A deep breath. He closed his eyes.

The world lost focus. Became shaper, but tunneled. Fardan held down bile as he looked over towards where the tracks were. Shades stood there. Outlines of smoke. He focused on the one on horseback. The eyes of the steed burning coals. The eyes of the rider the same. They couldn’t be there but they burned into Fardan just the same. He began to feel as if the skull had begun to pull him toward the smoky Figure of the rider.

“That’s...Enough now...” Fardan said through hard gritted teeth. He fought for control. Slowly the world righted itself. His breath shuddered out of him. He noticed something knew. The smell of burning. Looking over at the forest floor where the skull had shown him the vision of the horse and rider, there were four distinct marks, they were still smoldering.

“I hope you didn’t draw to much of its attention,” he said toward the skull.

Ye of little faith

Fardan took out his skinning blade, searching the burnt impressions in the soil after taking note of any thing that stood out. The smell of sulfer was hanging in the air. A deep scar in the earth in the shape of horse shoes.

“The burning hells,” Fardan sighed. It would stand to reason having drained a whole village. Faintly as he studied the tracks, the sound of brush breaking. He brought his double rifle to his shoulder, turning toward the sound. It was a long way off but it wouldn’t have been the first time he was caught flat footed in the wilderness. Again the brush rustled, Fardan thumbed Back the hammer. The head of the priest came into view, eyes went wide, head disappeared. Fardan lowered the hammer, with a sigh.

“It’s alright priest”

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” the priest said. “Had you found something. You seemed to be very far away.”

“Yes, something hopefully not the beginning.” Fardan said

“The beginning?”

“Whatever they summoned. I think it was more than the were counting on, and it went through these woods,” Fardan motioned with his rifle. “Besides the main village is there anything close?”

The priest’s face darkened.

“A place yes. Deeper in the forest. There is rumored to be a place of...but only a mere rumor.”

Fardan stared side long at the priest. “I would really appreciate if you could set aside whatever promise you made to hide your faiths deep dark secrets and tell me,” he was sure that this wasn’t the proper way to ask but members of the priesthood, any of it, really wore on Fardan. The faster he could complete this contract the faster he could get away.

“It’s not that easy. I’ve not been forbidden to tell. The faith has no knowledge of it. Simply a tale told by the old. The ones that still hold the old ways.” The priest said with an air of disgust.

“What do they say about the place then. These now dead old people.”

“That it is the home to something dark. Something that cannot be truly fathomed. Something that can only devour.” The priest said it with a tremor in his voice.

“Sounds like about what we are looking for,” Fardan. “You should go tell the cataloger about this priest. See if he can find a map to it.”

They started out of the woods together, riding in heavy silence. Fardan keeping his double gun across his saddle. Couldn’t be to careful. Something out here might just be hunting them.

They were staying at one of the now vacant houses of the small dead village. People from the larger had come buried the remains of the dead. Burned those of the monsters but still chose to stay well away. They spent the rest of the evening looking over maps of the expansive woods surrounding the dead village. All the maps ended around the same area. As if no cartographer had thought that anyone would come to that place so there was no reason to draw it.

“It is there.”

“There is a blank spot on the map priest. There is a whole lot that could be there” Fardan said after taking a long pull on his tobacco. “You’ve never been there?”

“No. It was forbidden. Only the stories of the land of the lost damned.”

Through this exchange the Cataloger remained silent reflection. It wasn’t the first time he had run up against the wall. The predominant faith in this land was full of dark secrets that they show no mercy to keep under wraps no matter there kind face they try to put on.

Diving into one might now even be worth the coin even with the size of the bag. With the greater town not knowing anything about it would mean that there wasn’t going to be extra money. Plus if it was to hard Fardan would make sure to ask for more of a share. Damn Hunters always making sure that the catalogers get cut out no matter how much they helped them.

“What are these stories priest?” Ehrengard asked “what tails about the lost and the damned?”

“Just they would be taken out there. Wagon loads of them. That sometimes..sometimes the screams could be heard in the town. “