Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with a wonderful story from Lord Tachys al`Fahn, entitled

Ripped from the Web

Although this is not an Ultima or Shroud related story, I thought was so well written and compelling it deserved to be brought to the community.

Background music by Smartsound.

 

Runner had always been the best hunter in the clan. He always caught his prey, and they were invariably the largest beasts brought back to the meeting-place by any one hunter. This did nothing for him in regards to standing, however… he was ever the outcast, and if he were completely honest with himself, that was the way he preferred it. Even tonight as he gathered with the others to bring in the meat needed by the clan, Runner knew he would soon be silently coursing through the forest alone. Whether it was from envy at his prowess, or some unseen signal they responded to, he knew not, but the result was always the same. They would head off together to find and bring down their prey, and Runner would drag home his singular, and very nearly equivalent, kill on his own. Sure, he still earned the grudging respect of the others, but it was one tinged with uneasiness and fear. There were whispers of something darker, that he was touched by gods, and not for the better.

“Let them whisper”, he thought. “The results will be the same.”

And so it went that under the bloody moon, the hunters surged silently forth into the night, catching prey-spoor on the night breezes. Runner caught the mix mid-stride, holding it in while he sorted through the traces mentally. He knew which one the others would follow, the strength of the musk indicating it was large and virile, yet not the strongest specimen present. Strong, but not enough to present the challenge Runner craved. Another loping stride, another lungful of air rich with scents, and he found the challenge he sought. This scent was from the male that would vie for control soon, young and strong enough to pose a challenge to run down, and a threat if cornered. It was then the hunters sprang upon the herd, scattering the hapless animals to the winds to separate them from the intended prey. Runner helped spring the trap, of course, but that was the end of his involvement with the group: his prey had bolted with the rest of the herd. While his clan mates herded the older and weaker animal off to the eventual slaughter, Runner took off in pursuit of his own quarry.

Through brush and brambles, down established trails and off, the animal led him a merry chase. It tried every trick in its repertoire, but to no avail, as Runner was every bit as experienced as the creature was wily. Then it tried one last trick that few contemplated, and fewer still dared.

It crossed the Black River.

He saw it from his hilltop vantage point, peering out from the edge of the woods a mere stone’s fall away from the cursed concourse of emptiness. It had marked the southern-most border of his clan’s holding for time out of memory with a thick black line of evil and emptiness. Some darker rumors held that it was a haunted thing, as nothing living was ever seen within a hundred long strides of its undulating banks. Desperate indeed must his prey be, then, to have braved its crossing. Well, Runner had never come back unladen, and would not start now. Nor would he return with lesser prey, even could he find it now that the herd had been scattered. His chosen prey was close, and weak unto death, he knew. His decision made long before he ever stepped out of the woods, Runner dashed down the hillside, certain of both safety and success.

Certain he was, until a wailing cry split the night, and the eyes of a river beast suddenly appeared from nowhere, their unnerving corona ripping the certainty, and the courage, from his breast. Before Runner could react, the thing was on him, screaming and rending and tearing at him,