Chapter 1 - The First Moon (or the Last?)
It's large, deep, and beautiful. The silver edge of the blade glistens from the moonlight of the clear night. A brown gloved hand grasps its leather bound handle, while another runs itself along the fine edge. Fingers fall and rise as they trace the many engravings cast on its surface many years ago. Twisting the blade slightly in his hand, a man looks deep into the blade's surface, seeing himself clearly in the reflected lunar light. A man far older than he remembered looked back, a rugged face with many small scars and nicks spotted across it. Defining his face was a large horizontal scar. Reaching from his left cheek, crossing his nose, and ending at his right cheek, the old wound was just too short to be symmetrical. The wind picked up, pushing his greying hair in front of his eyes. Pulling his grey wolf fur cloak tighter around himself the figure looked out upon the city, gothic architecture blazoned onto large imposing cathedrals. Shadows danced across the streets, inviting the unsuspecting and defenceless. For a hunter such as himself, this city was nothing new, but that didn't mean he could take the dangers lurking there lightly. A cloud cast overhead, blocking the ample light that the moon was providing. Standing and readying himself, Swift prepared himself for the coming beast.
A unimaginable howl echoed through the streets. Reverberating off the window's iron bars, and wooden barricades. Traps set, weapons drawn, mind sharp, there was no turning back until the beast was slain. Swift felt the weight of the beasts steps long before he saw it. Vibrations pulsed through the cobblestone street, and the small copper wind chimes above the doors begun to ring at an alarming rate. Louder, faster, closer, the beast was drawing on him with every second. The hunter receded into himself for a moment, reclaiming his calm. He could not let the beast within take control of his actions. He needed a clear mind to take on a foe of this calibre.
Almost before Swift could react a black beast-like creature, as tall as a house, charges around the corner at frightening speed. The beast was humanoid, yet it galloped on four legs like an animal, it's long tangled and torn fur swaying with every bound. The hunter was already prepared, and simply stood, ready. The black furred creature drew ever closer, it was close enough that the man could count the long jagged fangs, if he chose. He elected instead to lower his stance, bracing for what was about to happen next.
*FWOOSH*
The Creature cries in agony, an impossibly loud and high pitched scream, as fire spreads over it's body. The Hunter, Swift, charges forward, shards of glass from the molotov raining down around him. The trap was only going to give him a few seconds, he had to strike it down before it could recover. At inhuman speeds the grey cloaked man dived forward, silver sword held close and tight. Black claws swing out, mindlessly and recklessly, each large enough to swat away a carriage. Like a blur the hunter deftly avoids the failing limbs, making his way towards the beast's heart. In his peripheral, he notices the light of the fire growing dim. He was out of time, he had to strike now! Straining, Swift crouched low, and with a tremendous effort, left upwards towards the creature's chest. The silver blade the man carried glittered beautifully in the dim light, the wolf head engravings caught the blood as it flowed from the wound in the great chest. A sure and deep strike.
It wasn't deep enough however. Swift's vision blurred and his body burned as he felt himself get flung across the street. With the fiery distraction gone the colossal wolf like creature was enacting it's bestial vengeance. A clang of metal on cobblestone, rings out. The hunter sees his sword, it has fallen a great distance away. There was no hope in him recovering it before the beast reaches him and ends his miserable life. Pulling his fur cloak tight, the man stands himself up, deciding to face his death on his feet. Large clawed paws land on either side of him, preventing any escape. A grotesque, torn face, resembling that of a man spliced with a wolf, leaned in close. It was so close the moisture of its breath begun to coat the man's face. It was leaning in slowly, as if it sensing the hunter's defencelessness. Its arm sized teeth were within Swift's reach now, and the man simply brought his arms into his chest, awaiting the inevitable.
"I have another fucking sword you fucking bitch!"
Swift's hand reaches from inside his cape, retrieving an identical silver sword. laughing, he jumps into the air, the sweet hooded fur cape blowing behind him, easily getting above the beasts head. he then starts to spin and with sword outstretched, decapitates the beast in a single 's head falling clumsily onto the road
"Haha, fell for the old defenceless hunter trick! Shows how good of an actor I am."
The, not actually so old hunter, puffs up his chest and raises his chin, as if awaiting some applause that never came.
"Now where did I put my other sword?"
Swift walks over to his sword, which was lying on the ground. He kicked it up into the air and then twists so it fell right into his sheath. He then looks around at the sky. Not seeing what he was looking for Swift begins to walk down the deserted streets.
The cloud cover was slowly thickening as the night went on, soon the only sources of light were the dim gas lamps and flaming pyres. The hunter's own shadow danced and played ahead of him, ducking and diving into pitch black alleys and underneath wagons. While any sane man would be looking over his shoulder in fear constantly, the hunter simply strode confidently forward. The lesser beasts could smell his latest victory, they were sure to leave him alone. For now at least.
"Man this place sucks, way too dark for my tastes. I wish I could go somewhere with some colour."
Swift looks up towards the sky as a large dropship apears from the clouds. Its lights shine in his eyes, showing of there stunning redness. The sounds of wind and engines get loud as the ship got closer. When it lands it makes a loud *thump*, dust flying everywhere. It was mostly white, with a bit of grey and blue. It had large wings and engines on them too. The big door opens, reveling a small figure, with a cute tomboyish thing goin on. It was Tracer, the leader of Overeatch!
"Cheers love, the cavalry's here!" Says the perky Brit. Spouting off her catchphrase mindlessly, to no one in particular.
Nonchalantly walking forward, the hunte-... the mercenary makes his way toward the, clearly military, dropship. The athletic woman was standing on top of a fold-down door which was predominantly made of a clear, and incredibly thick, glass like material. The design of both the exterior and interior were beyond anything the former hunter had imagined, even among the dreamlike architecture of the city he was NOW LEAVING… When the man reaches the door/walkway, the young British lass gestures him inside. Looking around the man can see the half a dozen nameless crew that staffed the mysterious vessel, each appearing to look very busy with incomprehensible tasks. The door's airlock seals behind them as the two of them enter, preventing any return to his former home, family, and any sense of a meaningful life he had left. The immense ship's engines roared into life, whipping up the fog that had just began to settle back into place. The mercenary throws himself onto one of the pristine seats as if he had done so many times before. He sat and watched as the desolate town disappears into the distance, its mystery to be forever lost to the world.
As the ship takes off, the now mercenary, still draped in his grim appeal, ponders on what comes next. With his skill he could probably be an asset to whatever war the owners of this ship were fighting. However he lacked any formal training, and was clearly out of his depth technologically. He didn't let these things bother him, and simply enjoyed the new experience of flying. I'll work it all out later, he though. And so the ship carried on into unknown regions, surely adventure and excitement would find this man, wherever he went.
"Swift always gets the last word!" says Swift, the crew looking on at him in amazming aw.
"What?" Responds the collective crew.
Swift looked smugly arond the room. Always.