The Owls Talons
Prologue:
The Hunter
The hunter calmly tossed his cloak about his shoulders. The forest green woolen garment shielded him well from the early frosts of the coming winter. On the Sword Coast, winter would doubtless slow his movements, but there was no time for such things now. The hunt was on.
The local priests of Lathander had commissioned him to track down a rouge cleric that had recently murdered his entire family and resurrected them as zombies. He was rumored to be extremely dangerous, and quite mad. It promised to be an interesting hunt.
Following his sources, he turned northwest off the road twenty miles out of town and set off into the woods. Confident that he could escape most foes that he could not openly battle, the hunter walked openly in the woods pausing occasionally to search for any clues of the elusive cleric's whereabouts. He was a Wild Elf, feeling a natural affinity for the woods. Naturally barbaric and tribal, he was one of the only wild elves in the realms that radiated the sense of calm, cold assurance that marked him as a professional killer among the other warriors of the realms. Not that the hunter enjoyed killing, he simply had no reservations about taking life.
Standing almost six feet tall, the hunter was extremely tall for an elf. The cold Autumn winds blew his long black ponytail about and forced him to pull the lone silver braid from his right temple back over one slender, pointed ear. He walked with an easy grace, his gray travel robe visible whenever the wind blew his cloak out of the way. Wary of all foes but afraid of none, the hunter sought his prey.
Finally, several hours later, he came into an open glade and sensed life. His keen ears caught the sound of some clumsy life form crunching through the fallen leaves towards the glade from the opposite side. The hunter quickly got into a convenient hiding spot blending in easily with the many hues of the autumn forest, and watched.
A short minute later a Bugbear came calmly strolling into the glade. The hunter watched the creature's motions closely, attempting to discern its intent. The bugbear paused for a few seconds, as if trying to get it's bearings and then hoisted it's morningstar and a heavy sack and began wandering away to the west. The hunter, having decided the bugbear was of no real interest and not wanting to walk into a useless fight, was about to proceed on his own path, skirting the glade to turn more northwards, stopped suddenly when the bugbear tripped on a root and fell to the ground. The creature's leather bag fell open, revealing a strange combination of herbs and random, seemingly useless objects.
Spell components, perhaps?
Bugbears cast no spells of their own, but were often enslaved or employed by magic users as servants or bodyguards.
Perhaps a magic user, perhaps a cleric.
The hunter stopped as the beast picked up its fallen commodities. If his hunch were wrong he would have to double back, perhaps losing days the process. But the cleric wasn't going anywhere, and even if this stupid creature wasn't serving the cleric, magic users always made sure to know as much as possible about their surroundings.
The hunter turned and followed the unnoticing pedestrian, flitting through the forest with the speed and stealth of a hunting owl swooping down on its unsuspecting prey.
* * * *
By dusk that evening the hunter was growing tired of following the stupid thing. He decided that he would learn more by just confronting it openly. Knowing, that intimidation would go far with the brutish goblinoid he leapt out of concealment onto the path and began to walk purposefully straight towards the creature.
The Bugbear whirled, totally unnerved by the sudden appearance of this strange and formidable elf, but it was a ferocious creature and its morningstar was off it's shoulder and swinging before the hunter even got off his first question. The bugbear was ferocious, but it was totally outclassed.
The hunter, without even breaking stride dashed in under the bigger creature's reach, slamming his shoulder into its solar plexus and throwing it off its feet. He had a boot-dagger out off its sheath and stabbing downward before the stupid thing even realized what had happened.
A closer inspection of the sack's contents revealed them to indeed be spell components. The Hunter was no expert but he guessed they were for some kind of potion. Once again confident that he was on a track that would lead him to information at least, the hunter set up camp several hundred yards down the trail and awaited the next day's hunt.
The next morning the terrain shifted gradually from the forest to a series of rolling hills. The hunter's natural instincts told him he was getting closer, and he was elated, though not surprised when he came across the revealing tracks of skeletal feet.
* * * *
A few hours of following the tracks brought him to a cave in the sloping side of a hill. The hunter drew near, hiding behind an old ruined brick wall when he heard a voice from within.
"Well Uncle Melvin," the voice queried, "how do you like immortal life? Oh don't be mad Uncle Melvin. C'mon now, stop sulking and tell me about it, It must be fascinating!"
The hunter chuckled, not doubting in any way that he had found his intended prey. He would have rather been able to survey the scene before he entered combat, but there was nothing he could do about it, he could not look into the cave without being spotted by it's inhabitants. He decided he would just have to settle for surprise. The hunter slowly removed a pair of worn, but very well crafted battleaxes from within his cloak, and leapt out of hiding, sprinting silently across the last yards of open ground and into the waiting cave mouth.
The cave was well enough lit by the sun out side, but there were torches hanging from the walls anyway. In their eerie light the hunter found himself facing not only the cleric, but also no less then seven skeletons and zombies.
The hunter's blades were swinging even before his mind could sort out the situation and two of the undead monsters were down before they could recover from the sudden attack. The remaining beasts closed relentlessly and the hunter was forced on defensive.
The twin battleaxes spun vicious arcs of doom, forcing the undead to approach with caution. Though the axe blades had little effect on the undead corpses, the sheer weight of the weapons allowed them to smash the creatures with their momentum alone, and as soon as one of the creatures got too close the hunter chopped it down with one axe as the other kept it's defensive sweeps in motion.
The cleric was forced to duck an explosion of bone shards as the skeleton that had been his aunt was blasted aside with a skilled axe stroke. He was furious at this strange elf that had broken in and started wreaking havoc on his happy family, and with three of his relatives down and more joining them soon he had to do something.
The hunter heard the altogether to familiar chant of spell casting and knew he was in a desperate situation. Throwing all caution to the wind he attempted a desperate maneuver. Backhand tossing his left-hand axe in the general direction of the chant in hopes of disrupting the spell, he clenched his remaining weapon in both hands and dove into a sort of spinning roll, bowling into the legs of the remaining undead creatures. He took a rip in one shoulder for the effort, but the movement threw his opponents, quite literally off their feet, and more importantly, it bought him time.
The hunter knew that he could not possibly hope to defeat the cleric fast enough to avoid a quartet of angry zombies bearing down on his back. On an impulse, he sprang from the writhing mass of corpses, tearing a torch from the wall he began jabbing at the now rising creatures franticly. The dried flesh was excellent kindling, and the hunter soon had to leap back from the inferno as the creatures burned away. Confident that no more attacks would be forthcoming from the zombies, The hunter calmly turned and faced his chief target.
The cleric, however, had seen the skill of this foreign elf and new he could never win in a direct fight. He was already in the act of spell casting, and before the hunter could close into melee, he dropped a single iron nail to the ground and a cloud of unpenetrable darkness descended upon the cave.
The hunter sprang to the side automatically when the darkness fell, expecting an attack, but as his keen ears caught the sound of running boots racing toward the exit over the screams of burning zombies he recognized the diversion for what it was. He dashed to the cave entrance, reflexively diving into as a roll as he came out of the cloud of darkness and into the harsh daylight. His opponents waiting mace stroke whistled harmlessly overhead.
The cleric, knowing that he had wasted his only chance of escape on the foiled ambush attempt, but confident that he had a chance if he could get in the first strike before his foe stood up, bore in, mace swinging a powerful stroke down wards. The hunter was more than up to the challenge. He met the attack kneeling, following up with a low swipe to his standing foe's knees. The cleric stepped back from the attack, pivoting to come in with a long, lateral stroke, which the skilled elf ducked.
The hunter, with a short hop, put his feet beneath him and sprang up, his battleaxe leading the way in a vicious uppercut. When the cleric skipped back, he followed with a deceptively quick sideswipe. The cleric went to strike the axe away, but hunter pulled his cut, jabbing the top of the axe-head straight out into his chest. Winded and stumbling back the cleric barely got his mace up to deflect the next attack, and the iron club flew away, leaving him defenseless.
The hunter came in fast and hard.
* * * *
Three days later, the hunter was back on the road north. The clerics had been more than happy to mend his cloak and wounded shoulder, and the additional money would keep him well fed for some time. All in all the excessive money, gained in under a week, did him well.
He turned northwards, raising the cowl of his cloak against the winter winds, and set off again on his eternal journey.
Prologue:
The Hunter
The hunter calmly tossed his cloak about his shoulders. The forest green woolen garment shielded him well from the early frosts of the coming winter. On the Sword Coast, winter would doubtless slow his movements, but there was no time for such things now. The hunt was on.
The local priests of Lathander had commissioned him to track down a rouge cleric that had recently murdered his entire family and resurrected them as zombies. He was rumored to be extremely dangerous, and quite mad. It promised to be an interesting hunt.
Following his sources, he turned northwest off the road twenty miles out of town and set off into the woods. Confident that he could escape most foes that he could not openly battle, the hunter walked openly in the woods pausing occasionally to search for any clues of the elusive cleric's whereabouts. He was a Wild Elf, feeling a natural affinity for the woods. Naturally barbaric and tribal, he was one of the only wild elves in the realms that radiated the sense of calm, cold assurance that marked him as a professional killer among the other warriors of the realms. Not that the hunter enjoyed killing, he simply had no reservations about taking life.
Standing almost six feet tall, the hunter was extremely tall for an elf. The cold Autumn winds blew his long black ponytail about and forced him to pull the lone silver braid from his right temple back over one slender, pointed ear. He walked with an easy grace, his gray travel robe visible whenever the wind blew his cloak out of the way. Wary of all foes but afraid of none, the hunter sought his prey.
Finally, several hours later, he came into an open glade and sensed life. His keen ears caught the sound of some clumsy life form crunching through the fallen leaves towards the glade from the opposite side. The hunter quickly got into a convenient hiding spot blending in easily with the many hues of the autumn forest, and watched.
A short minute later a Bugbear came calmly strolling into the glade. The hunter watched the creature's motions closely, attempting to discern its intent. The bugbear paused for a few seconds, as if trying to get it's bearings and then hoisted it's morningstar and a heavy sack and began wandering away to the west. The hunter, having decided the bugbear was of no real interest and not wanting to walk into a useless fight, was about to proceed on his own path, skirting the glade to turn more northwards, stopped suddenly when the bugbear tripped on a root and fell to the ground. The creature's leather bag fell open, revealing a strange combination of herbs and random, seemingly useless objects.
Spell components, perhaps?
Bugbears cast no spells of their own, but were often enslaved or employed by magic users as servants or bodyguards.
Perhaps a magic user, perhaps a cleric.
The hunter stopped as the beast picked up its fallen commodities. If his hunch were wrong he would have to double back, perhaps losing days the process. But the cleric wasn't going anywhere, and even if this stupid creature wasn't serving the cleric, magic users always made sure to know as much as possible about their surroundings.
The hunter turned and followed the unnoticing pedestrian, flitting through the forest with the speed and stealth of a hunting owl swooping down on its unsuspecting prey.
* * * *
By dusk that evening the hunter was growing tired of following the stupid thing. He decided that he would learn more by just confronting it openly. Knowing, that intimidation would go far with the brutish goblinoid he leapt out of concealment onto the path and began to walk purposefully straight towards the creature.
The Bugbear whirled, totally unnerved by the sudden appearance of this strange and formidable elf, but it was a ferocious creature and its morningstar was off it's shoulder and swinging before the hunter even got off his first question. The bugbear was ferocious, but it was totally outclassed.
The hunter, without even breaking stride dashed in under the bigger creature's reach, slamming his shoulder into its solar plexus and throwing it off its feet. He had a boot-dagger out off its sheath and stabbing downward before the stupid thing even realized what had happened.
A closer inspection of the sack's contents revealed them to indeed be spell components. The Hunter was no expert but he guessed they were for some kind of potion. Once again confident that he was on a track that would lead him to information at least, the hunter set up camp several hundred yards down the trail and awaited the next day's hunt.
The next morning the terrain shifted gradually from the forest to a series of rolling hills. The hunter's natural instincts told him he was getting closer, and he was elated, though not surprised when he came across the revealing tracks of skeletal feet.
* * * *
A few hours of following the tracks brought him to a cave in the sloping side of a hill. The hunter drew near, hiding behind an old ruined brick wall when he heard a voice from within.
"Well Uncle Melvin," the voice queried, "how do you like immortal life? Oh don't be mad Uncle Melvin. C'mon now, stop sulking and tell me about it, It must be fascinating!"
The hunter chuckled, not doubting in any way that he had found his intended prey. He would have rather been able to survey the scene before he entered combat, but there was nothing he could do about it, he could not look into the cave without being spotted by it's inhabitants. He decided he would just have to settle for surprise. The hunter slowly removed a pair of worn, but very well crafted battleaxes from within his cloak, and leapt out of hiding, sprinting silently across the last yards of open ground and into the waiting cave mouth.
The cave was well enough lit by the sun out side, but there were torches hanging from the walls anyway. In their eerie light the hunter found himself facing not only the cleric, but also no less then seven skeletons and zombies.
The hunter's blades were swinging even before his mind could sort out the situation and two of the undead monsters were down before they could recover from the sudden attack. The remaining beasts closed relentlessly and the hunter was forced on defensive.
The twin battleaxes spun vicious arcs of doom, forcing the undead to approach with caution. Though the axe blades had little effect on the undead corpses, the sheer weight of the weapons allowed them to smash the creatures with their momentum alone, and as soon as one of the creatures got too close the hunter chopped it down with one axe as the other kept it's defensive sweeps in motion.
The cleric was forced to duck an explosion of bone shards as the skeleton that had been his aunt was blasted aside with a skilled axe stroke. He was furious at this strange elf that had broken in and started wreaking havoc on his happy family, and with three of his relatives down and more joining them soon he had to do something.
The hunter heard the altogether to familiar chant of spell casting and knew he was in a desperate situation. Throwing all caution to the wind he attempted a desperate maneuver. Backhand tossing his left-hand axe in the general direction of the chant in hopes of disrupting the spell, he clenched his remaining weapon in both hands and dove into a sort of spinning roll, bowling into the legs of the remaining undead creatures. He took a rip in one shoulder for the effort, but the movement threw his opponents, quite literally off their feet, and more importantly, it bought him time.
The hunter knew that he could not possibly hope to defeat the cleric fast enough to avoid a quartet of angry zombies bearing down on his back. On an impulse, he sprang from the writhing mass of corpses, tearing a torch from the wall he began jabbing at the now rising creatures franticly. The dried flesh was excellent kindling, and the hunter soon had to leap back from the inferno as the creatures burned away. Confident that no more attacks would be forthcoming from the zombies, The hunter calmly turned and faced his chief target.
The cleric, however, had seen the skill of this foreign elf and new he could never win in a direct fight. He was already in the act of spell casting, and before the hunter could close into melee, he dropped a single iron nail to the ground and a cloud of unpenetrable darkness descended upon the cave.
The hunter sprang to the side automatically when the darkness fell, expecting an attack, but as his keen ears caught the sound of running boots racing toward the exit over the screams of burning zombies he recognized the diversion for what it was. He dashed to the cave entrance, reflexively diving into as a roll as he came out of the cloud of darkness and into the harsh daylight. His opponents waiting mace stroke whistled harmlessly overhead.
The cleric, knowing that he had wasted his only chance of escape on the foiled ambush attempt, but confident that he had a chance if he could get in the first strike before his foe stood up, bore in, mace swinging a powerful stroke down wards. The hunter was more than up to the challenge. He met the attack kneeling, following up with a low swipe to his standing foe's knees. The cleric stepped back from the attack, pivoting to come in with a long, lateral stroke, which the skilled elf ducked.
The hunter, with a short hop, put his feet beneath him and sprang up, his battleaxe leading the way in a vicious uppercut. When the cleric skipped back, he followed with a deceptively quick sideswipe. The cleric went to strike the axe away, but hunter pulled his cut, jabbing the top of the axe-head straight out into his chest. Winded and stumbling back the cleric barely got his mace up to deflect the next attack, and the iron club flew away, leaving him defenseless.
The hunter came in fast and hard.
* * * *
Three days later, the hunter was back on the road north. The clerics had been more than happy to mend his cloak and wounded shoulder, and the additional money would keep him well fed for some time. All in all the excessive money, gained in under a week, did him well.
He turned northwards, raising the cowl of his cloak against the winter winds, and set off again on his eternal journey.