Hunter and Hunted (Closed to Philomel)

[The Huntsman]

The atmosphere of the place was smoky, dark and quiet. The patrons of the bar all ignored me as I sat in my corner, slowly ‘sipping’ at my ale. I had of course chosen a dark corner, shadows wrapped around me as I tucked myself away. It was nice and quiet - and I had an easy time of listening to the conversation around me. In truth - the night was frustrating. For myself, at least.

It was calm, it was peaceful, the air was sedate, and most of the citizens around me were calmly drinking. Most individuals who somehow peeked into my thoughts at this moment would wonder, if things were so calm, why then, was I irritated? For you foul little mind readers, I have only one answer.

I am the Huntsman, and as of this moment, I had nothing to hunt. It was a uniquely frustrating situation to me, because I was well aware that most of the citizens around me would never care that there were no beasts to slay, but for myself it was absolutely the worst. I craved it, sought to slay the monsters that dared threaten civilization. But there were none, they all stayed hidden away in their holes, safe from my blade. I took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Something would happen.

There were always beasts to hunt. I just had to be patient. I ran my finger along the rim of my mug, silver eyes peering out from behind my glasses. I had let the circular glasses slide down my nose so that I could see around this place - the smoke hung thick in the air and made it at least slightly difficult to see. I pulled my hat down low over my face and sat back.

There was something in the air. A tension. But where had it come from? I closed my eyes, focusing on my ears instead.

“Did you hear? ‘Nother ship's been sighted in Port.” Hm, what was this? It had been a while since a ship came into Port here. In fact, the last one had been the one I came in on.

“Aye. It's one of them pirate ships. Marshal wanted to keep it out but they weren't havin’ none of it.” The speaking man snorted. “Right. Marshall is whipped by them women though. Just rolled right over when the Cap'n batted her eyelashes at him.”

Of course he did. Men were ever tied to their natural urges. I was lucky in that my urges, my proclivities, were oriented to the Hunt. A family trait, I supposed - in the course of time I would have stronger urges for intrapersonal relationships, but as of now, they were a distraction. One I indulged, but not sought after. No, this new ship with its apparently female captain, this would not be any interest to me.

“But didja heer why?” Sweet Hunt, you two are worse than gossiping women. Truly, who cares? You only caught my ear because you're the first to talk about something other than let in half an hour.

“Nuh, why?” Because they need supplies, you simpleton. It's why ships docked. The man who seemed to be in the know laughed.
“Cuz the Cap'n with the big tits? She’s lookin’ fer summin’.” Great. Now the simpletons are identifying them by their secondary sexual characteristics. When would their absolutely stunning display of intelligence and foresight cease? I sighed and shook my head, sitting back. Unless this captain decided to hire me to hunt this person they were searching for, this was not something I would care about.

[Philomel]

Rarely did she come to this country. It was a mysterious, deeply technological one that was at the cutting edge of new engineering advancements and philosophical ideas. Cogs and whirring machines made the backbone of the monster that was their society, mixed with rich, dark magic that thrummed through his veins. A beast that Philomel van der Aart had no love at all for.

But here she was nevertheless, a being willing to bring this industrial culture and world down upon itself. More than that she wanted to condemn it, destroy it, let the country that was the greatest danger to the mighty efforts of nature be brought to ruin. For it ate up her fine resources, it abused and refined and consumed her, all in the announcement of progress. Thick black smoke coiled into the sky, even from where Philomel stood at the edge of this neat little harbour town, poisoning the air as far as she was concerned.

But she was here to do what little she could. For a brief time now she had been in Raiaera, organising her world there and relaying the news personally to a noble with white hair on the final destiny of Hugin, also known as the Bearded Man. That adventure had opened her up into a realisation that there was truth to the saying, ‘You get what you deserve.’ Hugin had been cruel to so many people and now he lay somewhere in Concordia forest, his blood mingling with the earth and giving it back life.

In exchange for the news the white haired noble had offered her a truth. For some small way to do a harm to Alerar, by hunting a being.

“They have started experimenting on beings,” he had said in his fluid, handsome voice. “And a particular one resides in a small harbour town, accessible by river.”

“You really think that a beast lies here, my lady?” her erstwhile secretary, Gosling, asked. She had braved the whole journey here this time, escaping her usual confines of the fortress where she served as both administration for the Gilded Lily, and as governess for Philomel's daughter and heir Celandine.

Philomel slowly nodded her head, observing the street where they were. From one side of the street came boisterous noise and light of a pub. She had asked about strange creatures and had been pointed to this side of town. Now she had quite run out of leads and knew that her most of basic fact finding skills would need to be used now.

But who? And what? What sort of thing did the dark elves of Alerar truly find enchanting.

“What would you say,” Philomel looked back to her human companion, “To you working instead of me Gosling?”

The woman paled significantly behind her spectacles and hugged her book of papers to her chest.

“My lady!” she gasped, looking over to the pub. “Me? But I have not done that in - well, years now, since you hired me.”

“Hmm, but you have the skills, still, right?”

Great blinking happened, and Gosling straightened. “My lady … please!”

Philomel raised a brow. “Who do you think they'd prefer Gosling? You or me?”

And the fair haired secretary was left, lips parted in shock. Then they closed, as she frowned.

“Wait, you think I still can do it?”

[The Huntsman]

That strange tension still hung in the air, but I had decided now it was just these villagers being excited about something coming to their town to stir their mundane lives up. I sighed and shook my head - I'd be finding no signs of a beast to hunt tonight, it seemed. A shame, most of the villagers by now knew I would hunt even the strangest things down for them if they observed it - it is what I did, after all.

I was just about to get up to leave, and call this night of information gathering a rather extraordinary loss, when there was a commotion by the door. Beneath my face mask I frowned, tilting my head to the side. Now what, pray tell, was occurring here? The men nearest the door had clustered around it and were blocking it from sight at first, so I could barely make out snippets of conversation - and they all centered around - well. Whoever had come in was at least attractive enough for a bar of half-drunken men to want to get closer to.

A slim figure in spectacles pushed through. Her hair was drawn up, pinned back, and she wore a neat, button down dress. A human woman - drawing a bit of attention in this land of Drow and Dwarves. Alright, this had at the very least piqued my interest. Perhaps I should stay a moment or two longer, find out what this outsider needed. I'd thought it just another ship from one or the main cities, but humans were few and far between.

She sauntered up to the barman and leaned. She spoke, and while I couldn't make out her words, I could make out her tone. She was shifting, swaying back and forth, and the poor bar man didn't even realize he was being played as she rolled her shoulders while talking with him. She was questioning him, an interrogative time reaching my ears, and he was eating up the pretty foreign girl’s attention hook, line, and sinker. I snorted.

And then he pointed to me, and my attention was quite suddenly brought back to the situation at hand. Now just why might a human girl be directed to me? The woman bowed low, and she had to know that the barman tried to peer down the front of her dress, which had been partially unbuttoned. But she didn't seem to care, instead flipping her head as she turned and walked over to me. I tilted my head to one side, and she sat down, coyly toying with the hem of her dress. I kept my eyes trained on hers, and folded my hands together on top of the table, the gloves rubbing against each other softly.

“Good eve, madam. I am the Huntsman. What pray tell, brings one such as yourself to my table tonight?” My voice soft, pitched low, as the patrons around us tried to shuffle closer, eager to get a closer look at the human girl. I turned my head and glared at them over my dark glasses, silver eyes piercing them, and all but the hardiest - or was that the most drunk? - quailed away from my stern gaze.

[Philomel]

“The Huntsman? Hmm.”

Gosling spoke with a mild, interest, her eyes running up and down the person before her briefly. Her chest heaved steadily but her heart was racing. She had not done this in almost five years, and she had been very happy to move into Philomel's world.

”Of course you can still do it,” the faun had said, eyes picking out the words of ‘Chaos and Order’ on the pub.

Gosling had blushed. “But, my lady, how do you know?”

Philomel had rolled her shoulders back, eye narrowing at the pub. “The truth of the matter is none of us will ever forget the skills we learnt or were forced to learn. Everything will come back to you.”

Looking back to Gosling she had held out a hand, a golden earring gleaming in her lobe.

“Ready?”

Gosling had groaned, but passed over the folder of papers. “You better use that trinket of jewelry to stay in contact with me, my lady. I might need it.”

“What brings you to a pub like this?” she raised her brow and bit her lip lightly.

My lady? she asked tentatively in her mind.

Almost immediately Gosling was subjected to the strong contact of an immense female mind, made more so because of some divine power behind it. Connected to that were two other intelligences, one of a fox prancing his way through the streets nearby, and the other was a deep wyrm-like dragon chewing through the earth.

Keep going, Philomel murmured.

Gosling breathed in and gazed at the man with the mask of simple black fabric connected loosely to the tricorn pulled low over his brow. Upon his nose were dark, round glasses that peered at Gosling like she did him, with them part the way down his nose.

“Good lady I am here - in this area in general - as a Hunter, to eliminate beasts that threaten the citizenry. I am here in this bar, in particular, because I use it as a base of operations of sorts, from which people can find me when I am not out on a Hunt. As you yourself seem to have done.” Silver eyes glinted at her half covered by his glasses. “Now why might that be?”

Gosling smiled marvellously. “On the contrary, I did not come to ask for your help. Not yet. Only your … company. Mr …? What might be your name?”

Her blue eyes danced, with a hopeful light that spoke, 'I can do this.’ The hunter watched her for a moment, then slowly shook his head.

“You may call me the Huntsman, or the Good Hunter. My name is unimportant.” His tone was even, calm, like he seemed unperturbed by her asking for his name or his rejection.

“Good Hunter? Then you can call me the good lady,” she raised a hand, calling for wine. “You will join me in a drink, yes? Then we can see if you are the right man for me tonight.”

[The Huntsman]

A drink was harmless, one glass of whatever she chose was unlikely to impair me to any significant degree. So I simply nodded, and watched as the bartender brought over two glasses, and a bottle of wine. The man was besotted by the beauty, clearly, because he brought over a wine that was much higher quality than was normally served. I could, logically, understand his actions. This town had a dearth of women, and a pretty human woman was like an oasis of sweet water in a desert. It was why so many of the men here were staring at her even now - her pale, delicate skin was so strange compared to our dark-hues that she was eye catching.

The strange wording rolled off of me like water from a duck’s back. There was a suggestive turn to the words, but I was perhaps one of the worse people to try that on. I popped open the bottle and poured a glass for the woman, then for myself. A hand slid up, and a gloved finger pushed my glasses back up off of my mask before I pulled the fabric down. I raised my glass to her.

“I assure you, if you need something tracked or slain, I am the best in this town.” Calm. I was not arrogant, I was confident. I slowly smelled the wine, then sipped. Oh yes, this was definitely of a higher quality than the barman normally served anyone.

“I am looking for something very specific,” Gosling said, gently taking the glass and running her lips and tongue along the rim. “But first I would like to get to know you a little more. Tell me about a hunt you did recently.”

I tilted my head to the side, and nodded. After all, she couldn't just take me at my word. And was she trying to take a drink of that wine, or make love to it? I cleared my throat.

“My most recent hunts, in order from the absolute most recent back. A small tribe nucleus of gnolls, trying to move into the woods nearby that the town uses for wood for construction. Then there was tracking down the escaped robber for the constabulary.” As I spoke I tapped fingers on the table, one for each hunt. The gnolls had been - one of the more challenging fights I'd been involved with, simply because they were actually intelligent enough to work together to fight back against me. The robber had been annoying, because he fled to another city and tracking him down had taken more time than I would have liked.

“And then there was the boar, for a celebration.” That thing had been difficult, because the stupid thing was larger than some horses. But it was no dire variant, no bone to protect itself from my blade, and it had fallen. I raised a white eyebrow to the woman who was staring at me intently.

“Would you need specifics on one of those, then, good lady?” I slowly took another drink of the wine, the cherry red fluid sliding between coal-black lips. It was sweet, sweeter than I usually preferred.

[Philomel]

Gosling blinked a few times, her brow furrowing only slightly as she tried to think if her wiles were working on this man. Others were staring at her in the room - certainly she was doing all the right actions. Sticking out her leg to the side, she smoothly ran a hand up her thigh, finger fingering the leg, slowly drawing up the skirt of her dress.

Keep going, Philomel repeated. Keep getting him to talk about himself.

A male voice merged with hers into Gosling's opened mind. It hummed and sounded like a growl of a beast. They do like that, Veridian mused.

“Sir. Return to your seat.” The Huntsman suddenly said, his head tilted to one side as he stared - glared really - at someone behind Gosling. She heard a shuffle of feet.

Looking around she saw a man who had his eyes wide slowly taking his chair again. She paused. So the 'leg reveal’ did work, just not on this Huntsman. Perhaps it was not clear enough. She moved a little, swinging herself so her legs were both out from under the table. She crossed them, hand on the edge of her dress at her knees, fingering the hem of it and 'accidentally’ pulling it up very slowly.

“Tell me more about this 'boar,'” her lips formed and her tongue pronounced the word like it was a foreign delicacy. The Hunter sat back, his head tilting upwards enough that she could see his eyes closing as he thought.

“The boar. Stood approximately six feet at the shoulder, and was roughly four feet long. Tusks were a foot in length each, average reflexes for a beast of its size. Made its home deep in the woods, beyond the logging area, but had recently begun encroaching into new territory, cause currently unknown. There was a harvest festival coming up, the Headman of the village asked me to hunt the beast down, and bring it back as the centerpiece of the meal. Tracking it through the woods to its lair took roughly an hour, sped up by its stropping marks against trees. The fight took roughly ten minutes, mostly due to its size. It bled, quite a lot.” As he spoke, his voice was dry and methodical, like he was reading nothing more interesting than a shipping manifest. Until he reached the end. For a brief, brief moment there was a smile, sharp and hard, on the lips of the Hunter, but then it was gone almost as fast as she blinked at him. The dark skinned elf sat forward, and looked to her over his glasses.

“Satisfactory? And you will catch cold here if you don't right your garments.”

Frowning, Gosling stared for a moment at the man, trying to remember when he had even looked down? Her eyes blinked a fair few times as she sipped back the drops of wine she had in her mouth. Then, slowly, she tilted that glass back to the table. It landed with a light clunk.

“You may not be of interest to me after all,” Gosling said, pushing her skirt back down. Was this man … was he homosexual? Perhaps that was why he did not find her flirtation seducing. Her frown increased.

Wait, he might prefer the more feisty type, Philomel suggested.

“Perhaps you are actually rather useless. Just a boar? No more than a pig.”

[The Huntsman]

I snorted and shook my head. “I informed you that was for the festival. If you wanted tales of a dangerous fight against a cunning opponent, the gnolls are what you should have requested, good lady. Those, they are weapon users, and fight in a pack.” I leaned forward and laced my fingers together, studying her over my glasses. I decided to throw her a bone, since she seemed rather upset that she didn't seem to be effecting me.

“Are you needing a killer, or someone to warm your bed? If so, simply say so. You are attractive, but I don't seek out sex.” I shrugged and sat back before continuing to explain about the gnolls.

“Gnolls, if you are not familiar with them, are semi-sentient dogmen. They live, and operate in tribes and packs. A tribe nucleus, as what I fought, is the core of a new tribe, moving in to a region. There were ten of the creatures, a pack leader, her mate, and eight adherents. To deal with them I was forced to slowly pick off their sentries before assaulting the main encampment, else they would have shot me from behind with crude sling and bows. The pack leader was a powerful fighter, and was closer to fully intelligent than most of her kind. She had a hammer - a black smith’s sledge - and seemed to have a crude understanding of how to properly use it in a fight. With her mate using the spear, it took nearly an hour to whittle them down, after eliminating their helpers.” If she thought me useless, because she asked after what I considered the most boring kind of hunt - a simple animal - well. That was her fault for choosing the most basic.

Gosling's eyes remained narrowed whilst I told the story, although she refilled her glass and sipped more wine. Her legs also were turned back under the table as she learnt, quite obviously, that he wanted no company.

It took time for her to answer. “I do not need sex,” she said, leaning forwards, her voice low so only I could hear. “I came to see if you would be useful to me. Apparently you are not.”

I leaned back, and shrugged. “Well then, I believe that concludes our business together.” I slipped my mask back onto my face and stood up, giving her a slight bow. “I wish you luck in your endeavor then.” If she felt I'd be useless for her hunt, then there was no reason for me to linger longer. I could go see if I could find something skulking in the shadows. I didn't want this night to be a waste after all.

After bowing to her I began walking towards the front of the pub, pushing past the onlookers. Let them fawn over the foreign girl, if she did not wish to share her hunt I had no interest in it.

[Philomel]

“Fuck,” Gosling said as the man strode away from her. “Fuck …”

For heaven's sake, Philomel said quickly, He's got the entire wrong end of the stick. So useless. He thought he wanted us to hire him to hunt.

What do you want me to do my lady? Gosling said, her hand growing tight on the stem of her wine glass. Around her men were beginning to near, one even reaching into his pocket to pull out some glinting gold.

Philomel sucked in her breath, rolling back her shoulders and moving. You try to find what information you can from the cleverest of those men, Gosling. I will deal with this one. He may be useful for helping us eventually hunt the beast that we want.

Gosling nodded, remembering what the bartender had said about the Huntsman simply being the one 'to talk to’ about finding monsters. But that meant many things. They had not got any further in gaining information, nowhere closer in discovering what sort of genetic experiments were going on here. But that sort of information needed to be requested in private. Hence trying to persuade him upstairs, where he would be more open …

The woman scanned her eyes over the men around her and picked out the one with the cleanest clothes and the brightest looking face.

Meanwhile Philomel strode, her hooves clacking on the cobblestones as she made her way over to the door. The same door that the Huntsman was currently opening. The man pushed the door open and paused upon seeing her. There was a moment of silence, then he stepped aside, holding the door open with one hand.

“Your companion is inside.” His tone was even and pleasant, but also cool, reserved. With his mask up, she couldn't make out his expression.

Philomel twisted up her lips in a smile and shook her head. “No … my friend in there is fine by herself. I would like to talk to you on the other hand.” She tilted her head to the side and gazed at him. “Will you? I am actually her superior so perhaps you should talk to me anyway.”

He let out a soft sound - amusement, exasperation perhaps. “If you must, but I believe she thinks I am quite useless.” One shoulder shrugged. “You need not a hunter, so I do not know what help I can be to you. But, if you'd speak, we can.”

“Perhaps I must,” Philomel shrugged, coming closer to the man, her eyes trying to find some sort of human beneath the mask. “But really all we need is information. You dismissed her before she could ask further. Really, she only wanted you alone.” And now her body was a foot from his, her brows arched and her voice low. “Tell me, can you keep secrets? If you can then close the door, please.”

The Huntsman lifted one white eyebrow, and closed the door behind him, cutting off the sounds of the pub. “If that is the case, she went about it entirely wrong. It is rare but I do at times obtain information - but she asked after my hunts, then informed me I was useless. Not exactly encouraging to further conversation. So, you wish to know something?” He tilted his head to the side, indicating a nearby alley. “I doubt anyone would interrupt us, but there may be more privacy if we get off the street.”

“She went after your hunts because most men like to be made to feel they are important,” Philomel kept her eyes steadily on his. She decided flat honesty was the right way here, as he obviously was not a normal individual to be subverted by flirtation. “Thus you would be brought into her wiles, and go upstairs with her to be alone with her. That is one of the only ways we women have power over you men.” She started down the alleyway, her hand coming to rest on the hilt of her white blade, which she had chosen to hand rest on her hip today.

[The Huntsman]

I tilted my head to one side, blinking. I suppose she was right, but at the same time - I shook my head as we walked. “I've no care for being made to feel important. It matters not. I hunt, let others decide if what I do is grand or small.” I shrugged. “I am an eminently straight forward person.” I looked around as we got to a secluded part of the small town, and I leaned back against the wall, folding my arms over my chest.

Now that we were far enough away from the pub the faun turned to me. “We are looking for information to do with genetic testing. Research. That which changes a person. Perhaps you have heard about such things in your journeys?”

Genetic research? Testing? I blinked, slowly. “I do indeed have some information regarding that topic.” I said slowly. As I spoke, my hands dropped down to my sides and I pushed off of the wall. I was subtly bracing myself to react. “There is indeed a program here in Alerar focused on what you are seeking. But that is all I can tell you about the research, other than that there are no centers here. It is not my secret to give, other than its intended purpose is to create defenders. Subjects are… A different matter. Why do you ask?” Well now. This was going to be interesting in about half a moment, I think. I hadn't known anyone outside of the project had any clue of what was happening - and as far as I knew, no one should. This was supposed to be a rather clandestine activity by Aleraran scientists.

The faun’s tactics abruptly changed. One second she was casually watching the huntsman the next she was in his face.

“Where are these places?” she suddenly demanded. “What do they do? What people are they changing?” She pressed against his personal space, threatening to enter it.

[Philomel]

So it was true, there were experiments going on in the nation that were aimed to enhance a person beyond how nature created them. Her heart thumped in her chest as she felt anger rising within her. How dare anyone go against what the gods had made them as, how dare they change and experiment with their physical form in a way that went beyond anything of nature. Yes, some beasts morphed themselves with magic, but that was a blessing of the gods. Science, these drugs, however, were beyond their power, it was as if the experimenters were trying to play the role of god and take such matters into their own hands.

The Huntsman leapt away from her, his body twisting as he removed himself from her immediate vicinity. He landed, his coat billowing - and as it came down there was a blade in his hand. He held it low, non-threatening - but his stance was tense. “Do not rush at me like that, good lady. I am trained to react to sudden movements.” His voice was strained, a bit tight. He slowly stood back up, his head locked in her direction.

“I told you already that I can tell you nothing more of the research. It is a national secret, and you, are quite clearly not of my nation. As for who they are changing - volunteers. People who want to help others.” He was wary, watching Philomel for another movement.

Philomel watched the blade hover in the air. Immediately, in her mind, two creatures awoke to awareness. A few streets away Veridian skidded along the slippery, damp cobbles to do a complete turn, and from deep in the ground a hiss began to form, of a creature beginning to bellow, roar a shout as he twisted to gnaw his way to the surface …

Her lips parted, and her eyebrow twitched. “That was a very bad move. Don’t draw that again, or there will be consequences.” Her own hand had flown to the hilt of her main sword - Nameless - and still hovered around the area.

Hold! she told the other two sharply. She felt Veridian slow to a simple trot and Delath come to a gentle meander upwards. Her jaw worked.

“Then tell me as much as you can.” He watched her carefully. Then he slowly tilted his head to one side.

“Then I shall tell you this. There are things out there that most of my brethren cannot handle. And because most do not use magic, it becomes harder to fight back against the beasts that prowl the night, threatening everything we know and love. So, Huntsmen, men and women who train hard to fight back against that. Even then, we falter, in the face of titans, monsters that lay devastation across even highly trained forces. With the normal disdain for magic, we turned to volunteers, brave souls who were willingly to lay everything on the line in order to continue the Hunt, to continue to protect.” He swept his blade back into its holster, the weapon disappearing under his coat. “ Volunteers, and science. To protect and to hunt.”

Most do not use magic. There are many who still can. This, Philomel knew as a fact as she had faced drow wizards before. Anomalies perhaps, but nevertheless they existed. Her lips became a thin, morbid line and her eyes narrowed slits of prejudice and ire. So, there were things that they said were dark - it was the same with the entire world. And warriors of all types came to the aid, to defend the helpless. They sounded like excuses to her and she found her hands gripping into fists, her heart racing as she tried to control her utter rage.

Of all things, do not turn into a giant goat, she swore to herself. Just don't.

Sucking in a long breath she lowered her eyes at the man before her, and then the words clicked. Huntsmen. He had used the very specific word ‘Huntsmen’ to describe both himself … and them. Those 'brave souls’. Her lips parted, her eyes blinked as they slightly winded. He was … he was one. And he was before her, standing like a prize side of roast pig served on a silver platter. Glorious.

A twitch at the side of her mouth and she felt then so horribly tempted to challenge him there and then. But that being what it was, he would be of no further use. Better to use the information she had … then destroy.

Both of you, remain with us. Within metres, prepare for anything, but remain in wait. Veridian huffed a reply, showing her an image of him taking up the end of the alley that they were in, bordering in the Huntsman therefore. Delath poised beneath the cobbles they were at, ready to strike. Meanwhile, Gosling, dimly aware of this conversation eyed up the situation carefully and chose her odds with the man she was now leading upstairs.

“So you consider yourself brave and ideal, then? Noble volunteer?” she asked, her hand now completely removing from her sword hilt in absolute fake supplication.