The Hunter
7:00 am, Fields of Photoribuck
The stalks of grass stirred gently in the breeze as the sunrise crept over the horizon. Flocks of birds broke into song one by one as they greeted the day and stretched their wings to take flight. In every direction, nature's night watch was retiring to their places of rest while the diurnal stewards of the world rose to take their place. Here and there the creatures of the earth went about accruing their morning nourishment. Herbivores nibbled on grass and dug for buried vegetables and roots. Insectivores snatched their tiny breakfast from the skies, the ground, and the undersides of the horticulture. But the carnivores... the carnivores of the world stalked silently along, looking for a ripe target to strike at. The clumsy and the young stepped on stray twigs or alerted the resting flocks, sending their intended prey scrambling for cover. They would have to scavenge for their food. But the experiences hunters were still about, and they did not make such mistakes. No, if one of THEM was after something, only blind luck or an extraordinary amount of skill could save them. There was, however, one exception to this. One beast that not even the stealthiest or most vicious predator dared to challenge so early in the day; the Viper Boar. Quicker to react than it's namesake and sporting a pair of tusks that could fell a tree in one swipe, this giant beast truly was the ruler of the Photoribuck Fields.
But kings rarely expect a foreign visitor who does not bow.
While it was true that no native predator would attack a fully grown Viper Boar, the one that stalked it was an outsider, in more ways than one. Dan Halen, his black suit standing out like a sore thumb against the landscape of greens, walked along the area, casually approaching the area where a Viper Boar grazed. The beast stood roughly the size of an SUV, but for all its apparent physical ferocity the hunter didn't seem to care. He whistled as he approached it in a callous manner, clearly looking for a fight.
"My my, aren't you a big boy. I bet Cookie can make all kinds of things out of you..."
The boar sensed the hostile intent and turn to face the man who approached it. The ground broke under the strikes of the monster's hoof as he beat the dirt before him, preparing to charge. Most animals would have backed away, or flat out ran. Dan Halen reached into his coat and drew his pistol. As he raised it to eye level and took his shooter's stance, he eyed his target down the sights.
"Well come on sunshine, I haven't got all morning."
With a great roar the beast obliged him, rushing forward with all the speed and momentum of a freight train. As it drew closer, Dan squeezed the trigger. Once, twice, three times he fired at the charging pig. The first shot ricocheted off the tusks, the second took only tufts of hair as it zipped by, but the third shot... the third shot took the boar right in its right eye. But this did not halt the boar's charge; if anything, its injured rage bade it go faster. Dan hadn't expected the sudden surge, and in a moment of panic he had to hurl himself to the side. He avoided the brunt of the blow, but part of the tusk still clipped his side and drew a slash of blood from him. As he came out of his roll he clutched his side with one hand while firing with the other, but though most of his shots struck true none of them seemed able to penetrate the boar's muscles to strike the vitals. As the boar charged through the hail of bullets, Dan had to take the beast at a leap to avoid being impaled. When he landed, his back showing to his opponent, he examined his pistol with dismay.
Guess this one's not fully functional yet. Damnation. I could use Chishio, but then there'd be nothing left of the thing...
"I guess we're doing this the hard way."
As he slipped the gun back into his coat, his hand slipped down to the hilt of his machete at his side. It always made him wax nostalgic when he used a bladed weapon again, reminded him of a simpler time... a time that was long past.
A noise behind him told the hunter that the boar was charging a third time. He took the machete in hand and turned to face the rushing wall of flesh and bone. But he did not dodge this time. No, this time, as the boar drew near, he took a stance similar to a swordsman's Iai stance, and he waited. Time slowed to a crawl as the boar gained ground, and then the machete was in motion. In a flash, it was all over as the boar's body skidded through the dirt on its side, its neck a bloody stump while the head sailed through the air.
9:15 am, BoF HQ
As Dan walked through the loading doors of the kitchen with the body of the Viper Boar slung over his back, he deposited the quarry on the butcher's table and gave a nod to the butcher, Cookie. He was portly man who loved beer far too much, but he had hunted with Dan on a few occasions and had gained the gunman's respect.
"Do me a favor and make something tasty out of this thing Cookie. I'll assume you know what to do with the head?"
"Clean it, stuff it, send it to your room. Something this big, you'd better put it high up, you hear?"
"Maybe, we'll see."
"Rastia called down earlier, said he was leaving a message for you."
"What about?"
"Something about sortieing today I think."
That was just the luck. Strictly speaking, Dan wasn't a Blade of Fealty per say, just a consultant that they had a standing contract with. Not that that stopped L Rastia from conscripting him to missions every now and then, usually along with a threat to remove the free room and board or something like that if he said no. It was a right pain in the rear, but there wasn't much he could do about it. He really liked the benefits.
Once he got back to his room, which was adorned all along the walls with either weapons racks or various trophies he had taken over the years, he set the pistol he had used on his gunsmithing workbench in the corner as a reminder to work on it later, then set about dressing his wound and cleaning himself up. He was just emerging from his own shower and reaching for a fresh suit when he felt a chill in the air; no doubt the subconscious work of HER. Remy Charlevoix, the local frost magus. Dan had no qualms with her personally, but there was something about her that was off-putting to him. Something that uncannily reminded him of someone he had once known, many years ago. Someone who was without any doubts long dead.
She used to drop the temperature a few degrees too...
He inhaled through his nostrils, as if trying to recall a favored scent, then resumed dressing himself. Once he had a new suit on, he grabbed his revolver and a pistol that he knew worked as intended and stowed them in his jacket, sheathed the newly-cleaned machete at his waist, then hefted the Grave Digger in which rode the rest of his arsenal and made his way down the hall toward the hangar.
10:30 am, Warlock's Hanger
By the time he had emerged from the door onto the loading dock, several others had already arrived. Most faces were familiar, but only a few were ones he could claim to personally know. Of these, Kaal Ratri was one. He waved to her and started to walk over and begin some idle chatter... until he saw who she was with. Remy's back was to Dan, but it was pretty hard to mistake her for someone else. He stopped briefly, then took a breath and continued toward the two. It wasn't as if he couldn't stand being around the frost magus, just that he needed to steel his nerves so he remained calm around her.
"Good morning Kaal, Signorina Charlevoix. You both seem in good health today."
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