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[DNR] The First Bite; Short Story, Do Not reply
Topic Started: Sun Aug 7, 2016 12:41 am (103 Views)
Roche
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Roche brought his sleeve to his nose and frowned as the stench hit him, the sickly sweet smell of decay left in the sun. Pulling out the rag he used to clean his sword, he tied it around his head as a mask against the smell. It was freshly cleaned, but even so it smelled lightly of the oil he used to polish the steel. The stench was reduced to a light odor he could work with.

Kneeling down, he began to inspect the pair of corpses. The first was that of a doe with a pair of arrows still sticking from its flank. Grabbing one just above the wound, he pulled it free with some force. The arrow was an expensive one with a steel head instead of cast iron or stone. Turning it, he ran the black fletching between his thumb and forefinger and lined up the shaft to look at the notch.

The blade ran perpendicular to the notch. These arrows were meant to punch between the ribs of a creature standing on hind legs instead of walking on all fours. The sides of the arrowhead would run parallel to the ground in flight, making it easier to hunt a man. He'd have to hold his bow sideways to effectively wound the deer, which could explain the poor shooting if he wasn't used to the firing position. But he certainly hadn't taken the bites out of the deer, or the missing leg.

So the man lying next to the deer wasn't used to hunting beasts. He'd seen an opportunity for fresh meat pass by and couldn't help but to take the shot. He hadn't been in a hurry, then. Just out on a patrol when he'd been hit. He was wearing light leathers and a steel breastplate, his bow lying next to him still strung and arrows spilling from his quiver.

He'd been killed quickly. And violently. Claws had shorn his leathers and bent the edges of his breastplate, digging deep into his sides. The beast hadn't gotten to any vital organs, but it looked like a femoral artery had been struck and he'd been pinned while he bled out.

The hunter had lamed the deer and had caught up to it after something else had already found it and taken it down. He'd probably panicked and fired a shot off at whatever had been eating his catch, causing it to target the new threat. But it hadn't gone for his throat, which was covered by a leather collar to prevent garrottes. It wasn't even scratched. Instead it attacked and went for the inner thigh. Whatever had killed him hadn't been some normal predator.

Roche hesitated over the man's body. He hadn't noticed that at some point, the smell of rot had lessened and the scent of meat had become prominent. He could smell the man's flesh past the sticky mass of dried blood and leathers. He traced a bare finger along one wound before he stopped dead, wiping it off and making a disgusted sound at his own actions. He took one of the man's arrows and cut off the bandit's mark he wore around his neck before leaving the scene behind with a gnawing ache in his gut, walking toward the bandit's camp he knew to be roughly a mile ahead.




The camp was on alert as he approached the gate. The wall was a recent construction created from wagon beds and hand-sawn planks. It seemed they were intent on staying, then. Lifting a fist, he pounded on the gate. “Who's tha', then?” One of the guards leaned out of the wagon bed he sat on, staring down at him. He grabbed up a bow, laying an arrow on the string but not drawing it.

Roche pulled down his cloth mask and lifted his left hand, showing the man the arrow. “Found this on one of your scouts. Like to come in to talk to your captain.”

This group liked to present themselves as a company of mercenaries, but he had his suspicions and recognized a few faces from his earlier time in another camp. They wouldn't recognize his face, having left before he'd won his freedom. Nobody remembered a slave. Rather than challenging him, the man cursed and whistled into the camp for a runner. “'Nother one, eh? Don't envy patrol duties these days. That's two this week. Lost a couple more a month back. Doubt they're running off to find a farm and a good wife.” Roche shrugged, tossing the arrow up. The man barely caught it, fumbling a little before he had his hand on it. “Yeah, this is ours. Captain's pretty keen on keeping hold of the ones we got. Didn't get the cheap ones. Don't happen to have the rest on you, do ya?” Roche shook his head, pointing back the way he came. “Rest are on the body about a mile back. Might have put one into whatever got him, but there's nearly a full quiver of them. Been down at least a couple days.” The man whistled. “Appreciate it. I'll send a man out to fetch them when he gets back.” He noticed the man didn't say they'd be fetching the body too.

The runner returned a few minutes later and the scout hopped down, lifting the bar and kicking the gate open. “Captain wants a word.” Roche nodded and passed a very nervous-looking runner on the way through.

The Captain was a stout and swarthy man with copious amounts of curly black beard and a shining bald spot. If he didn't know better, he'd swear he had dwarf blood in him. “Boy says you found one of mine?” Roche fished the mark he'd taken from the body out and tossed it onto the man's table, the coin skittering by the knife buried in a mostly blank map, obviously skewered in place for pure effect.

The captain took the coin and flipped it over before grunting and pocketing it. “How'd you find him?” “Been following stories about something taken to this region as hunting grounds. Was on my way here to ask if your men had seen anything odd, but that much seems evident. Man on the gate said you'd lost a few now.” The captain growled at that. “Man on the gate needs to keep his mouth shut. Yeh, we've lost five or six recently. Found a couple of them, all of them scratched to ribbons. What is it?”

Roche shrugged. “Stories are saying it's a werewolf. I've seen weres often enough, work with a couple myself. Not all bad, but some of them have it pretty bad. Beast gets the reins more often than not, and the man inside is angry at the lots he was cast.. Pretty heavy feedback there. Some go feral.” The captain's caterpillar eyebrows did their best impression of a professional knitter.

“And you're following after it? You some kind of ranger?” Roche shrugged again. “Some kind. Try to make sure big game doesn't get too involved around people. Don't worry, I'm not about to arrest anyone.” He reached to his throat and pulled out his own bandit's mark. The man leaned in and looked at the pattern on it. “Haven't seen many of your lot around in a while. Didn't know you were still around.”

Roche grinned. “You'd be surprised. There's a few of us still hanging about.” The captain didn't seem to catch the double meaning, nodding and visibly easing. “Couple of my boys said they saw something big out there. Wolverine or summat. Furry, clawed, and nasty with it. Usually around the north end of the camp, that's where we found most of the bodies.” That much followed. It must have followed this scout further than usual for the animal.

“Good to know. Any caves or shelters around?” The captain mulled it over for a second before nodding. “There was a cave out there, but it had a bear in it so we let it be. Four miles up the road to a fork. Turn right off the path and follow the game trail about a mile, you'll come right by it.” Roche extended a hand over the table. “Appreciate it.” The captain shook it and returned to his map, sketching out a new area off a few sheets patrols had dropped off earlier.




As it turned out, the captain's explanation had been entirely unhelpful. It had taken him a good three hours or so to reach the fork, and he'd missed the game trail twice before stumbling across the mostly-overgrown path. After batting his way through the brush encroaching on the trail, he found the cave he'd spoken of.

The bear was long gone.

He found the bones right inside the mouth of the cave after sitting out in front of the cave in wait for some time. There was no sign of the beast and he lost patience, stretching cramping muscles and entering the cave. The leg bones had teeth marks on them, some of them cracked open and hollowed. Whatever meat had been present was gone now, skeleton dry and mostly intact save for cracks in a patch of ribs and the jaw where something much bigger had struck it. Turning the skull over, he tossed it back down and rose as a chill ran up his spine.

Turning on the spot, he drew his longsword and jabbed out with his fist, using the hilt as a brace for a heavy punch on reflex. He connected with his attacker's nose solidly as it dove for him. With a crunch and a yelp, he forced the man to cringe away and protect his face. Blood dripping from his broken nose, the man's eyes were wild and primal, face warped into a grotesque mask of pure fury.

The beast had gone mad. It looked like he'd been trapped somewhere between changes. His skin was pulled taut across slabs of muscle, veins standing out clearly like cords laid over his arms and neck. His skin had an odd shine to it, the fur of his second form not having come in. From the changes in bone structure and muscle concentration, he was some sort of wolverine changer.

The man moved fast, slashing at him with sharpened nails. Roche took a blow to the ribs, knocked to the side but still moving. The man was preternaturally fast and strong, but he didn't have the resilience to damage a fully changed beast would have.

Lips peeling back, Roche dipped in and took a swing. He struck bone as the creature swatted the blow aside, biting deep into its forearm. The taut skin split under the sword's edge, but was knocked aside and skittered across the cave floor to rest in a pool of stagnant water. Ducking a blow, Roche plucked a knife out of his boot and leaped into a tackle in one smooth motion. The two crashed together and hit a dead stop. Roche bent away from snapping jaws and reached behind the beast to slice hamstrings.

He hit one and the creature howled with ear-splitting intensity. Shoving, Roche followed up with a flurry of slashes and stabs, opening wounds and drawing blood. The creature staggered, giving Roche time to roll to the side and scoop up his sword, turning and thrusting in time to slide the blade between ribs, tilting it up to skewer the creature and bring it on tiptoe.

They froze like that for a moment before the beast sagged forward, falling atop Roche in a heap. Roche fell back and groaned, laying still under the bleeding corpse. It was still warm, the arrhythmic beat of its heart stopped by the length of steel. Were or no, it would have one hell of an uphill climb to recover from that.

The smell of blood was overwhelming and he was so tired, the struggle having taken the wind out of him. He tried to resist, but he just couldn't bring himself to ignore it. It had once been a man, but it wasn't anyore, right? As it died, whatever was holding it in that between-state had dissipated. With its final breaths, the muscle mass began to dissipate, leaving it gaunt as the bones remained half-changed. Roche craned his neck forward, lips peeling back from sharpened teeth as the hunger inside him held its breath, crooning encouragement to him.




Roche staggered back into his room at the camp, laying in his bunk with a feeling of fullness, an unsettling sort of peace in his soul for the first time since his journey home. But at the same time, he had done something reprehensible. He'd burned what remained of the creature after he'd had his fill. Nobody would know what he had done out there. He had his purse, showing the creature's head for the bounty Norwood had placed on it. It sat in his chest at the foot of his bed now, stripped clean on his journey back to camp and the bone washed in the stream when he washed the blood off himself. A trophy, something to remember his first bounty and... other firsts. A reminder of what things could turn a man to a beast.
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