The End of the Season

  The Hunter had become the prey, not only to false legends and things of fake grandeur. But one drunken stroll into the Prancing Pony had convinced him to do something that would cost him great pain.

“It was the biggest black bear I’d ever saw! I ain’t bullshitting either, I tell ya lads, it would be an easy haul!” It was Old Tomburthy’s voice, an experienced hunter that he grown to become good friends with. Boastful yet whenever it came down to it, he had been truthful with his arrow’s mark. Due to his old age though, it wasn’t the best decision to go hunting, crippling back pain and so on. He was the Lodge’s mascot, that would be for sure…

“Oh, you’re lying! Nothing of that size, more-so when it’s winter, it would be bloody hibernating you dumb old daft man! Go get some salve to cure your delusion and your back!” Thomas Wittlerose. He was an annoying man, about the age of thirty-five or so. He was always trying to one up Cutwil, be it of showing his ‘superior’ skills, or his charm with the ladies. He never really annoyed the Half breed gondorian, but neither made a significant reason for Cutwil to approve of the aspirant hunter.

He walked into the room as if frozen by headlights, he shook his head before going to clap Tomburthy on the back and smirk at Thomas. “How are you all?” He sipped his own mug of beer before going to sit down by the fire, listening to their endless banter. He lit his own pipe for a moment, letting out a sigh of content. It was a small moment of relaxation, one he would enjoy forever.

“I guarantee that it would be the best haul for winter, grab us some good coin, maybe take a quarter of the fur and split it, and sell the meat. It was give us some more respect in the lodge, and in Bree in general. I /promise/ you!” Tomburthy flashed a toothy grin at the both of them before going to take a large swig of brandy.

“..Even if we do manage to track this supposed ‘Biggest Black Bear”, we’ll need to kill it. I’d much rather use a good ol lure and bait tactic then you shoot em with crossbows. But like I said, we need to track it, so unless you found it’s den, let’s go.” Thomas shook his head in annoyed frustration. He was an old man, his sight wasn’t that good whatsoever, and his movement was slower than a Snap Turtle. They all laughed in the awkward silence, it was only Cutwil that actually got up and broke it.  

“Well, I’m already able to get a move on, so, let’s move! Should prove for something decent, good coin is all.” The trio nodded at each other before grabbing their belongings and walking out of the city hold. The low river was frozen, and teenagers were already tripping and making entertainment out of it. Cutwil slowly smiled, warm thoughts reaching into his paranoid mind as he had remembered his home.  Thomas slugged him in the shoulder in a jesting manner, they sniggered and laughed, but the distaste between them grew.

It wasn’t long before they arrived outside the Cave that the Black Bear Tomburthy saw. It was jetblack inside of it, and the rank stench of rotting flesh, flies swirling around the bones, almost overwhelmed Thomas. Cutwil smirked at him and made a joke out of it before his humorous banter was put to an hand by a large roar.

“That’s..well, seems you were right.” Thomas paused, going to walk into the den hesitantly, he smirked though as he was beginning to lay down a bear trap. It was almost finished before a blood curdling cry was sent barreling towards them. It was too late. Thomas had been slashed by a Black Bear. The thick, crimson, blood, shot upon the ground and splattered at the stone walls of the natural formation. Cutwill quickly pulled a bolt from his hip and got ready to shot it into the eye of bear. It was the false move that caused him more pain. Instead of the bolt going into the eye, it inserted itself into the Bear’s left hind leg, causing from what was visible no hindrance whatsoever. Tomburthy tripped on a nearby pile of bones, causing him to panic and slide off the hill, after that a yell of pain was heard. Cutwil frowned to himself, going to slide down the hill. He yelled in an outrage as the bear followed them, going to practically leap unto them. Cutwil managed to push Tom away before the bear crushed him. His face was soon being clawed, his eye torn out, hanging from it’s socket. He managed to roll away, somehow. He got up only to fall back down again. He frowned, going to muster as much as he could before running away so that Tom might’ve had a chance of surviving. He was about to run away at least thirteen feet before being clawed to death by the bear. It was only a matter of time before he was absolutely reduced to a inanimate feeding bowl for the beast. The Hunter became the prey.