The Hunt

The wildman sighted his rifle in on the bait he'd lain. It was a long shot, both in distance and probability. Already he'd tracked the beast from the outskirts of Tim-Buck-Two all the way north to the Blue River forks near the Nolands. 

The sporadic carnage the creature had left in its migration had made for simple, if tragic tracking. He'd be glad when this hunt was done. Killing dark striders was a far cry from his normal trapping, fishing, and hunting. By and large he, as many others were normally content to give the striders a wide berth and let them be, but their corruption was known to hop to migratory animals from time to time. Oft as not the Mirkmen who lived in the perimeter around Greyheart would dispatch the dangerous hybrids before the Ink had a chance to spread its sickness elsewhere in The Territories. 

This poor monstrosity, though once a humble red wolf now twisted beyond recognition, had proved particularly cunning and vicious. The wildman didn't know the full story; he'd merely come upon one of the villages unfortunate enough to have been in the path of the creature's devastation. He'd debated on whether to track the thing or not, he might be able to collect a decent bounty from it, and it was true that if the Ink was allowed to spread it would negatively affect him in the long run. Still the risk was considerable and people rarely hunted Dark Striders on their own, the monsters were too deadly and too unpredictable. 

What had convinced him to track the beast alone, even he could not say, but here he was waiting. Top of the ridge near a small waterfall, his New Model Revolving Rifle resting against his shoulder, it wasn't quite as impressive as the latest repeating rifles that had recently become standard issue in the more industrial and military sectors, but it was a far sight better than the muzzle loaders most of his peers used and it was a good thing considering. Below and a little further on from the shallow basin of the waterfall sat his bait: Several blankets, a child's toy and an amulet imbued with sentimental value. He'd bought them all from a family on his trek north, they hadn't been cheap, sentimental tokens being afterall by their very nature things people did not like to part lightly with. Luckily the medicine man from the roaming T'kula tribe he'd encountered had been willing to use his magics for free to bless his bullets and bind his bait, though the man had cautioned him against the endeavor. 

He'd set several bear traps around the area though those would do little to hamper the monster. He'd uttered several prayers to his totem beads and had used his own amateurish shaman craft to alert several Kodama to his task in the hopes that they might aid in however a way they saw fit. It had been weeks tracking and planning and at some point the beast had become aware of the hunter's presence. In the last few days the wolf-strider had begun to move more erratically and had begun setting traps of its own, some deadly, some merely alarms for its benefit. That had amped the risk and it was time to set one final trap; if the beast did not come within the next few days he would cut his losses head east to Breezeway City and report the monster to the necessary institutions and return southwest to his home mountains where he could engage once more in lighter fares.  

He changed positions several times and checked traps while consulting with those kodamas who had agreed to aid but nothing came except a beaver and a raccoon in two traps, overkill really, still he could clean them up and make use of their carcasses. A family of deer passed under his sights near the bait and he hoped the extra unexpected game might draw out the strider, but nothing. 

The day dwindled and the wildman reluctantly packed away his things and headed back towards camp, a well fortified stony out cropping that would be hard for the creature to reach without tipping him off. 

He hardly slept that night, paranoid that the creature might use dark magics to take out his camp but his fears proved unfounded. The next morning after a cup of coffee and some salted pork he packed away camp and set off towards his traps once more. 

The bait remained unmolested. 

By the time the sun began to set again day two had proved as fruitless as the last. 

On day three he moved the bait a few miles north, still nothing, though he encountered several gruesome scenes of pointless slaughter. He was in the right area. 

Day four nothing. 

If day five yielded nothing it was time to pack it in. The day was nearly out when he caught sight of the thing skulking near his bait. This was it. 

His alertness shot up and he focused with blazing intensity; he'd get one shot, so he had to make it count. The beast was in range but only barely, if he could wait perhaps the beast would expose himself more. 

The monster was cautious but interested; it had been the child's toy and the medicine man's binding that had drawn the creature he was sure of it. Dark striders were renowned for their lust of innocent blood. 

The creature crept tentatively forward then stopped. 

This was it. He steadied his breathing and took the shot. It rang out and the beast yelped before scampering back, realizing its mistake it turned with incredible speed and limped quickly behind the safe cover of trees and snow. 

The wildman hoped it would prove a fatal shot; he'd have to track it in the morning though. The light of day was dimming too fast and he wouldn't face a desperate dark strider in the twilighting hours, even an injured one. 

Up early the next morning he tracked the tarry blood to its festering carcass. Mattes of fur and leathery greenish purple skin, shining yellow eyes and his lulled tongue. He lopped its head off, tossed it in a bag then set to making a fire right away, he heaved the remaining carcass onto the flames then threw some dried sage onto the heap to purify the remains. Not such a clever bastard after all he thought as he set out. But as he thought it he realized too late that it was he who'd taken the bait. There she was a hulking feline mass possessed of unnatural and unholy forces. Twinkling malevolent eyes, and breath so putrid he was sure it could peel paint. Her demonic visage overshadowed any animalistic features she might have had and he saw with terror the glee present in her stare. She had been the mastermind, a hybrid pair, the two of them, strider-cougar and strider wolf, and she'd offered up her minion to get to him. 

She dashed before he could think. He reached for his knife, but almost too late. She was upon him just as the knife parted from its sheath. With frantic energy he sank it deep into her ribs she shrieked a liquid sound of evil and then bit at his hand as she clawed at his chest. He felt the snapping of bones and tried to wrestle free but it was no use the more he fought the harder she thrashed him 'til finally his struggles grew limp. Sinking her fangs into his throat she began to drag him away and as she did he thought dully of his home mountains and the things he'd miss.

He had failed.