The Hunter: Prologue

Another Hunt... another kill. She was getting tired... her master sent her out more and more often these days, with nary a day to rest between. She didn't deny that she needed the practice, but wouldn't all this effort be for naught if she couldn't recover? Taking a vial of the slain creature's blood she wiped her blade clean and returned to the town that had hired her. It wasn't far, this particular beast's strategy involved pretending to be a shrub in the center of town. It wasn't hard to work out, she merely had to walk into town while she was alone, then walk out. It followed her out "stealthily".
Beyond her physical fatigue, she was also tired of these lesser Hunts. There were Acolytes about who could have taken care of the creature, but here she was, doing more "practice." When she returned to the Lodge she would give her master a piece of her mind. When she had slept the rest of the night, and given her blade a good sharpening and polishing, she once more made for home. She gripped her coin tightly in hand as she began the long trek back. It would be a few days, and usually her anger cooled long before she made it back, but maybe this time she could remind herself... hold onto the anger a bit longer.
She didn't pass many on the road, the cold of winter kept most traders in towns for longer than they wanted, and no one else would be willing to venture out. There was simply no profit in it. She did pass by an odd group, one of those rat-catcher parties, surely. She had no time for such... they were in it for merely the profit of the kill. They would do the same jobs she took on, but they were messy, had too much collateral damage, and often endangered more people than they saved. She had been trained, ever since she took up the coin, to do as little harm as possible. The good of the Hunt was the Hunt itself, never the reward. The payment was merely a means for the Lodge to be able to train and send out more Hunters.
Before the end of the third day, the Hunter reached her found home. Most of the Hunters were out, so the population now was little more than some of the support staff and the Acolytes, and of course, her master. He rarely left the Lodge these days, but his age was catching up to him, so no one blamed him for his sedentary lifestyle. The Hunter only blamed him for being demanding and unwilling to give her greater challenges. She returned to her room, a modest, spartan affair with little more than space to hang her sword and armor and sleep. It wasn't her favorite room in the Lodge, but it was one that she could always come to when she was feeling repelled by company.
She felt it stronger and stronger these days. The other masters said that it's something that happens to every Hunter as they become more in tune with the power of the Hunt. They simply become more and more unable to stomach the presence of others. This led to most Hunters spending their time away from the Lodge more often than not. Even the masters couldn't help but leave every other day to be alone in the wilderness. That is... every master *except* for hers. How lucky, she mused. The only master in the whole building who wouldn't disappear every once in a while and give her a chance to rest.
She sighed and got up from her bed, leaving the simple straw mattress for later. It was time to report back in, and once again receive another mission. Her master's quarters were on the other side of the Lodge, so there was plenty of time for her to try to build up that anger she felt a few days ago. With her coin in hand, the metal heated up, pouring out all the feelings she had stored in it a few days ago. She marched a bit quicker, her ire up and ready to be unleashed against the old man.
When she reached his door she started before even throwing it open. Her tirade was so fierce in fact that she didn't realize immediately how quickly she had pushed the door open; how easy it had been. The dark interior of his study greeted her, not a lamp or torch lit in the place. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw things strewn about the floor, books and papers, candlesticks, bed clothes. It was ransacked. She called out for her master, moving quickly into his bedroom. It wasn't much better in here. In fact, as she was looking about, trying to find sign of the tragedy that had happened here, she happened upon a dripping spot of black ooze. It was a splatter, like the contents of someone's stomach had been upturned. The drips came from above, and she followed it up to the source.
Dangling above on the ceiling of the bed room, was the horrid, twisted form of her master. His body broken and bent at odd angles, his eyes a blank white and his mouth dripping with that black ichor. He watches her for a moment before they both spring into action. In the flash of a moment she rolls out of the way of it's clawing dive, reaching for her missing sword. Her hand comes back as she utters a sharp oath and slams the doors of the bedroom in the face of the once-again charging creature. The door is nearly taken off it's hinges with the first few slams of it's body but she holds it back until it settles.
Taking a quick breath, she takes stock of the room she's in, her former master's armory. It has numerous weapons, presumably gifts from kings and queens he had served in the past, and a small collection of decorative armor. The armor was useless, it's make would be more durable if it were made out of paper. The weapons though, mostly too unwieldy or heavy, save for one, her master's sword. It wasn't much different in make from her own, and was the most reliable piece in the place. She made a dash for it, fully expecting the doors behind to buckle as she did. No such noise came, but instead she found herself bowled over by a shower of glass and wood just as she reached the sword's stand.
The creature landed heavily on top of her, it's face moving close to hers. For a moment, there was a flash of his old grey irises, but it was gone just as quickly. A clawed hand pulled back to slash at her, and she took that opportunity to kick up into it's stomach with all the force the floor provided, tossing it's body over her head and only earning a few scratches across the cheek for her trouble. Using the momentum to flip entirely over her head, she landed on her feet and scooped up the weathered blade from where it had fallen on the floor. Brandishing it expertly, she spun it a few times experimentally, checking to see if the old charms still held. A dim blue field began to surround her, but flickered out just as it regained it's feet and charged again.
She was ready this time, and set her self low to catch it's underbelly as it dove at her, sword pointed outward and upward. It was too crafty, however, and instead landed earlier than expected and leaped up at her from below, tossing her up and against the splintered window ledge. Her back bloomed in pain as a thousand shards of wood lanced through her. It wasn't enough to kill her, but the pain would slow her down. It was on top of her now slobbering that black, burning ooze all over her face and torso. One of it's claws pinned her sword arm to the wall. She realized she still held her coin, and turning it flat in her palm, she reared back and punched it's face with all her might. The structure the coin provided, along with her unnatural strength was enough to send it staggering back.
She shook out her still clamped, but broken hand and glared at the thing. She didn't know if it was her master, or if it was merely something that had taken his form, but she knew she had to end it. Brandishing the sword in her remaining hand, she swung it again, this time enforcing her own will and energies upon the charms. The Hunter couldn't take another blow like that and took the time to make sure the shield was in place before it came in again. The field formed just in time and it's next dive slid harmlessly off to one side, giving her a chance to slash at it's side between spins. It howled and clutched at the wound, blank eyes wild with fury.
Another dive, another deflection another slash. She was feeling her energy weaken with each attempt, and knew she only had one more shot at finishing it. With a roar she backed it up into a glass armor case, it's unprotected skin catching the brunt of the glass shower. It reeled from the pain and nearly fell over, so she decided to help it. With another roar she shoved it back onto the pile of glass and splintered wood, forcing it down with her knee. She brought her sword up, and with broken hand on the pommel for more force, slammed it down into the creatures chest where her master's heart would have been.
Tremendous pain shot up through her wrist, fracturing her hand further and nearly blinding her with the force of it. The Hunter, overlooking her unlicensed kill for a long moment, fell to one side in a heap. Her mind no longer able to cope with the pain; instead choosing to shut off.

---

The next few days were a blur. The Hunter was taken before various other masters, told to repeat her story again and again, but each time the memory of it weakened for her. Eventually, they satisfied themselves with their inquiries, coming to the conclusion that he had driven himself to this by never leaving. The wilderness, they believed, had a calming effect on Hunters, and he had become so afraid of it that he never found that calm. Instead, he had bottled it up until it overwhelmed him.
When they were done questioning her, they turned to her punishment. This kill, while justified, was unsanctioned. The Lodge had a strict policy of only killing beasts which they had been contracted to kill. When she was healed enough to walk and carry provisions, she was turned out of the Lodge with nothing but her sword, coin and a heavy sack of food. She set off down the road, her anger long forgotten and replaced with cool resolve. She may have been removed from the Lodge, but she would always be a Hunter.