He did his best to hold back the tears. He looked upon this terrible sight, and it just started to overwhelm him. It never got easier. Killing got easier, seeing the corpses of the enemy got easier. But you never got used to seeing dead civilians, especially kids. But he needed to see them for himself, see the dead, see the reason he's here, so he doesn't forget. The emotion he felt provided some comfort to the middle-aged man, as it let him know there was still some humanity left in him. Seeing the dead kept him honest, human, reminded him why he hunts, why he does what he does.
The parents stood next to him, looking upon their dead son. He had to be strong, give the parents confidence that their son would find justice. He gave glances to the body, but seeing the small boy, ripped to shreds by teeth and claw…that was something he couldn't keep looking at. The body, or what was left of it, was in its coffin, ready to be shut at a moment's notice. The man, knowing the parents were edging on a breakdown seeing their son, their pride and joy, like this, decided that he had seen enough of this horrid sight.
"Close it, please."
The guard shut the coffin tight, and four men carried it off for burial. This was just one tragedy of many, he knew. But seeing one for himself allowed him to keep his heart in it, know that he's doing the right thing. The Lady W-Ancola of Winterhold, correcting himself in his own head, did this. He couldn't mythologize this murderer with such titles. Then people would remember the killer, and not the victims. And he saw no greater sadness than people being forgotten. They wouldn't be, he told himself. They would get justice one way, or another.
They offered him a fortune, enough money to buy a good house, a chance to settle down, have a family… he scattered it among the beggars of the town. Had to struggle to get his meals, he knew, lest he get soft. And he certainly wasn't going to be settling down anytime soon. He felt stomping behind him, and he knew his hireling had arrived.
"Mercenary." He stated, acknowledging his presence. The mercenary carried himself with the martial confidence typical of such a profession- arrogance, he saw it as. "My name is Albeci of Solitude. I will be heading this hunt, Mercenary."
At last, Albeci turned to see his hireling. A large Nord, he noticed. Great sword on his back, heavy armor covered his body. A bad choice for a hunter… needed to be light on your feet, versatile. He already had a distaste for the man. He was here for the money, not to stop more people from dying. He wondered what he did to the Legate to get such a terrible hunter added to his group. He realized he must of offended the Legate much worse when the mercenary finally spoke.
"Legate Skulnar wishes to inform you I will be the only person to join you on today's hunt."
Albeci winced at those words. This was a hunt for one of the most powerful werewolves in Skyrim, and the Legate wanted it done with two people. He would hold Skulnar responsible for any further deaths that occurred, he told himself.
Albeci took the time to consider his chances. He was a master hunter, an excellent marksman, and a good solider… but that hadn't given him Ancola before. He hunted the murderer everywhere, keeping careful track of every victim. They deserved justice… and by the Grace of the Divines, they would get it.
Albeci looked toward the horizon, where the Wolf was seen running off. A local guard, his main contact, approached Albeci as he got lost in his thoughts. Without looking towards him, Albeci asked a question.
"You said you sent a hunter out before me. Who was he?"
"Gulie of Winterhold, sir."
Albeci tensed at his last word; Sir. It had been so long since someone referred to him as that, treated him as something other than a common hireling. Still, he responded to the guard's words.
"He hasn't returned yet. We assume Ancola has killed him, like the rest."
The guard gave a harsh nod, affirming Albeci's opinion.
"Will you hunt her tonight, sir?"
Albeci gave a nod, not turning from the road she fled on.
"Yes. She is somewhere here, in Falkreath, hiding and waiting for the sun to set, so she can begin her second hunt. By now, she's coming of the adrenalin of her latest kills…"
"Kills?"
"This woman craves combat, blood, and has an urge to kill even in her human form. She killed more than just Gulie. A bandit cave cleared out? Turned the tables on a group of hunters? Whatever happened, she has killed. She would be just coming off the rush of the last kill, and she would be resting, sleeping as she waited for the sun to get lower, so she can prepare herself for her hunt. It's a rather sad thing that we will have to wait for the night, for her to transform, to truly begin to hunt her. I want you lot to keep everyone in their homes. Any heroes will just be lunch for her, and the werewolves gets more wild, aggressive, and dangerous for every kill they get."
The guard nodded, and went to relay his instructions. At last, Albeci drew his bow, taking an arrow and aiming down the path. The area was forested, so she would have the advantage, her enhanced instinct guiding her through the forests. He would not have the element of surprise; she would catch his scent the moment she transformed. He would have to rely on his Nord mercenary to combat Ancola at close range while he engaged her from long range. This was the first time he hunted with a partner. The past hunts had told him that hunting alone was a bad idea. He carried the gash across his nose with pride. The fact he faced the Lady Wo- Ancola, and lived, made him a cut above all other hunters. Albeci finally released his bow, testing it. His arrow fired true at his intended target, the trunk of a tree. If he could just do that to Ancola's head, he would of finally killed her. But he knew it wouldn't be that easy, it never was. Albeci retired to his rented house, where he slept, resting for the coming battle.
When the sun began to set, the townsfolk awoke him, and Albeci saw his Mercenary standing over him. Sliding out of bed, Albeci began to walk down the path, towards the sunset. He turned back to the village.
"We'll bring her down, and I swear by the Divines you lot will get her pelt to use as a rug."
With that, he turned back down the path, his Mercenary standing by him. The hunt had begun. And he would be damned if Ancola escaped this time.
