Hunter's Moon

By Ronka87

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Chapter 1: New Moon

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There was no moon tonight. It had been decided it would be better that way; one line of defence would be gone, but the valuable element of surprise would make it redundant. In the darkness, no one would see them; they would attack before any defence was necessary. It meant, however, that there was no room for error.

With this in mind they kept their distance, analyzing before advancing. Hidden by the black and bush, they surveyed the enemy. Two guards stood watch outside a small, fortified keep, boredom evident in their eyes and stance. They were not expecting any excitement, and indeed had no reason to: the prison they guarded was minimum security, home to a few war criminals and profiteers. In was deep in the woods, far away from any city and its rowdy drunkards and other riffraff. Although a few of the prisoners were more dangerous than others, proactive precautions had been taken: special bonds had been crafted to detain them, and the guards knew they were inescapable. The prison was poorly staffed but well constructed, built to keep its captives in. It was not so adept, however, at keeping others out.

In the blackness of the moonless night, three figures slid through the woods; having examined the situation, they prepared to attack. They moved quickly, swift and silent as leopard-hounds, careful to stay out of the light emanating from the prison's few lanterns. The three men minded their footfalls, determined not to step on a twig or dead branch; they were born hunters, and though they had not hunted in years, they had not forgotten anything.

The first of these men was sleight and ragged; his clothes, like his skin, hung loosely over his body, and his head was roughly shaved. The second was of average height, with long dark hair and dark, deep-set eyes, and carried a bow and quiver full of barbed arrows.

The third was a bear of a man, with arms thick as trees and shoulders wide enough to carry the world. His skin was bronzed but wane and stuck to his body like a taut drum. Half his head was shaved down to the skull, while the other half was draped in coal black hair. By far, his most notable—and most fearsome—feature was the black scar etched over his right eye; it was a scar he shared with his two companions. Three thick, wavy lines had been branded into their faces: one long, solid line, flanked by two shorter ones. From behind this scorched and blackened symbol of the Water Tribe, ice blue eyes watched sharply for an opening.

"I gotta take a leak," said one of the guards. The large man smiled; with timing like that, he knew the Spirits were guiding the mission. His confidence renewed, he rose slightly from his position, made a gesture to his thin companion, and moved toward the retreating guard.

The guard strode up to a tree, fumbling with his pants and humming a nonsense tune. As he set about relieving himself, the large man crept behind him. "My mother toooOoold me not to go," he sang crudely, "But I cooOoould not tell them no,/ I went to waaAaar and I got hurt,/ And now I'm deeAad inside the dirt." He finished up and turned around; the large man smiled wolfishly down. "Hey, what the hell—"

With a wet THUNK, the guard collapsed. A club dangled from the tall man's huge hand, blood dripping off like honey. The guard was not quite dead, and stared, quivering, at the creature above him. The bear man took a moment to savour the horrified confusion in the guard's face before crashing the club down again and again and again. His face was covered in splatter.

It was done, more than done, but he lifted his club over his head once more, panting heavily. His head raced, dizzy from adrenaline; every sense seemed to manifest tenfold. The night air smelled bitter; the crickets and the birds roared in the silence. Blood trickled down his arm, and he allowed it to climb over his skin; the sensation was thrilling. After a moment, perched above the ruined mass of flesh, he lowered his arms. He gazed for a moment, then walked back toward the entrance. His head still pounded, as he heart did, but he shrugged it off; he had a job to do. There would be time for this later.

By the time he arrived at the prison gate, his companions had dealt with the second guard and were fumbling over his corpse for the keys. They found them, and in moments, the entrance to the prison was open. The three men marched confidently inside, leaving bloody tracks behind.

***

It didn't take long to find someone willing to talk. After the thin, bald man had sliced through the red armour (and throat) of his partner, one of the guards collapsed to the floor, pleading to be spared. Tears and mucus streamed down his face as he cowered before the attackers.

"I-I-I d-d-don't know w-what you want, b-b-b-but p-p-please spare me, I have a wife, a ch-child…"

"Shut up!" the long-haired man growled, kicking the guard. He turned to the bald. "I don't like this one's voice; chop him up like you did the last one, Dinahi!"

The thin man swung his sword and moved forward, but the large man shook his head. He smiled down at the guard, his gravely voice attempting friendliness. "Dinahi won't hurt you, don't worry; it's just that Kunuk, well, he needs to relax! He's been eating cavehoppers for too long; the lack of protein is making him… restless."

The long-haired man looked put out, but the tall man kept talking. "Now, there, there, no more tears," he whispered, kneeling closer to the crying guard. "I know how you must fell; things are looking pretty grim. But there is a ray of hope for you, my friend. We need information, and if you provide it—you will be spared. Sounds simple, doesn't it?" He beamed down at the cowering man, who simply stared back. The friendly tone contrasted slightly with his blood-splattered face; the guard couldn't speak.

"What we need," the large man continued, as if he'd gotten a response, "is the whereabouts of one of your prisoners. We could find the cell ourselves, but it's just so much easier for everyone if we do this quickly." He paused again, making sure the guard was following him. "It's a very special prisoner, with very special needs… surely you know the whereabouts of…" He leaned into the guard, his lips grazing the other man's ear, and whispered a single name. The guard looked horrified.

The large man waited expectantly, his two companions flanking him, their weapons drawn. The guard's teeth chattered; his eyes were blurry from tears.

"We k-keep the most d-dangerous ones below g-ground," he gargled. "D-d-d-down the hall, down the stairs and d-down the hall again. Y-you can' miss it," he ended helpfully.

The large man smiled-- a small, happy smile that crinkled his scar, and placed his hand on the guard's shoulder. "Thank you," he said, pulling the man up as if to hug him. The guard shook his head, eyes wide.

"N-n-n-no, please, please don't!—"

"You've been most helpful," he crooned, and casually snapped his neck. Before the body fell to the ground, the men were already marching down the hall.

The prison was dimply lit, with lanterns hung every few meters. The metal walls were interrupted by metal doors, behind which moans and shuffling could be heard. Sometimes eyes would peer out the small rectangular window. The three men ignored this as they trudged downward, deeper and deeper into the holding cell.

At length, they arrived at the end of the lower hall, which was blocked by an enormous metal door covered in cogs and bolts. It was locked. With no delay, the long-haired man took out a canteen and poured it over the handle. As if by magic, ice grew over the lock, and with a single, sturdy kick, the metal bolt shattered to the floor. The door crawled open, and for the first time, the men looked upon their prize.

It was a thin thing, so small it looked barely human. It hung up like a puppet from the chains in the ceiling, its face covered by waxy white hair. For a moment it did not look up; it hadn't seemed to notice the cell had been forced open, or perhaps it didn't care. As light pooled in, though, the body shifted; the chains rattled as the figure readjusted itself. From behind the sheet of hair, a wrinkled face appeared.

The tall man smiled. He stepped in the threshold, his body a shadow against the light from the hall. "I am Mao," he proclaimed, opening his arms wide. He smiled to the woman before him. "Hama of the Water Tribe—Rejoice! Your brothers have come to rescue you."

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Continued...