The wind biting in the flurry of the storm was more inviting than the sharpness of the razor droplets that continued to batter against the hunting party. There were four of them each addressing the weather with a hooded cloak along with leather tunics, sturdy gloves, and a different set of equipment unique to themselves.
Vlad, the leader of this party, was well equipped with two silver rapiers both blessed with holy water and finely sharpened; a dozen of apothecary potions, remedies, and poisons in the satchel slung around his shoulder; and within its slenderly crafted holster specifically made to blend in, a flintlock pistol and several silver blessed bullets all hidden behind his left leg.
His son, Veron, was also equally equipped, somewhat liken his father, except he beheld two blades of differing lengths, both in the same manner blessed and sharpened. He also carried a dagger which was hidden in the same manner as his father. These two would often bicker over Veron’s choice of not having ranged weapon as a part of his kit, as several monsters are dealt with easier and more effectively with a well-placed shot. Veron’s argument would always be that his skill and speed has outmatched every monster he’s met thus far, and would prefer to never touch anything of that nature for as long as he possibly can. Vlad would at this point sigh, shake his head, and remove himself from the conversation in some form, knowing there wouldn’t be anything more to say to sway his son’s opinion any differently.
A bright light interrupted the reminiscence, and thereafter the shockwave rippled the soil. In the distance, there seemed to be a dim glow that faded swiftly behind the trees. Vlad was the first to spot it, ordering the other two in the party to split up. Veron stayed where he was, staring intently at the area for signs of movement. As the rest of the party disappeared beyond the veil of darkness provided by the forestry, the rain seemed to slightly taper off providing less of a distraction.
A snap of a twig caught Veron’s attention, it came from behind him a fair distance. Slowly he turned without making a sound to identify the being, and upon seeing nothing, he swiftly turned back around. Suddenly a sound of screaming and howling came from the forest ahead of him, making him leap into action and sprint toward the sound. Dodging branches and bushes alike, he arrived at the scene where one of the four hunters had been mutilated horribly. Veron was the first to arrive, he quickly went to the hunter’s side, noticing he was still alive. There were gash marks covering his arms and legs, and without the leather tunic there would have been more along his chest. He held his flintlock pistol, however it looked like the firing mechanism had failed, or it was not loaded properly and was held limply by his damaged hand. Veron applied some healing balm from his satchel upon the scars along his face and arms, until he heard another sound, a howling that reverberated throughout the forest. At this noise Veron drew his longest rapier, panting and heavy breathing was drawing closer unto him. The creature was revealed in the flash of lightning, an instant look made Veron instantly recognize a werewolf; the matted fur throughout the body, a grey color; huge claws sharpened and battle ready; dimly glowing eyes and a hungry maw along with the boom of thunder completed the look of terror for those not prepared. As Veron’s eyes reattuned to the darkness, the rain became intense, making the ground around him hiss horribly. All he could see were the dimly lit eyes of the beast, as they slowly made their way toward him. It snarled, and lunged forward, Veron easily deflected the attack, slicing easily into the beast’s arm, though not deep enough to dismember it. It growled in pain and anger, looking back toward Veron. It then seemed to notice for the first time the mutilated hunter curled and hurting making the beast snarl. Veron took this opportunity to strike, however the beast had already vaulted toward the hunter. The air abruptly exploded to life as a flintlock pistol fired from within the forest, the bright flash of the black powder igniting revealed the location of the shooter. The werewolf convulsed as it was hit, it seemed to scream and whimper horribly as it slowly died, blood seeping out from beneath it.
Veron watched it carefully, ensuring the creature was dead before approaching it. In the distance, the pistol wielder tended to the wounded hunter, cleaning the blood from the surfaces before wrapping and patching the gashes along his arms and legs.
“You missed your chance,” a voice very familiar to Veron echoed out to him. Vlad was tending to the hunter, helping him rise from the ground and was watching Veron. Veron swiftly went to the side of the hunter walking with him, allowing Vlad to examine and identify the corpse of the werewolf.
Suddenly Vlad tensed up and attempted to reload his flintlock pistol quickly, out of nowhere a snarling roar with another lunging werewolf appeared and pounced upon Vlad, beginning the tyrant of rage-induced clawing and gorging. The wounded hunter attempted to aim his flintlock pistol, the firing mechanism still stuck in the same position it was before when it had failed. Veron quickly snatched it from his hand, readjusted the mechanism, aimed and pulled the trigger. The pistol exploded to life, causing the beast to go limp on top of Vlad who also seemed lifeless as well.
Veron quickly went to the side of his father, pushing aside the beast’s body, the hunter he was helping before was holding onto a nearby tree for support while Veron tended to his father. Veron could barely make out the facial features of his father, and the leather tunic was completely ruined, yet kept his body free from any scarring. He had scratches and bite marks all along his arms, but the worst was around and on his face. He was barely breathing, and a rattling noise could be heard whenever he tried to breathe in. Veron applied the healing balm upon his father’s face, trying to stop the bleeding. Vlad grabbed his son’s hand to stop him.
“We need to leave, they’ve called the pack in on us,” Vlad barely could speak above a whisper barely audible. Veron could hear more snarling and howling in the distance to affirm his father’s fears. He helped his father up, and allowed him to rest against Veron’s back, the other hunter waved off the help Veron tried to offer, indicating he could at least walk. The fourth hunter was still missing, Veron absently noted this and led the way out of the forest. The howling continued to hound them, constantly following as the group continued through the forest at a brisk walk, Veron keeping tabs on the injured hunter to ensure he was keeping up. He could still hear panting in the distance, and suddenly before him a horse whinnied and reared backward in response to finding Veron. It quickly calmed upon recognizing him. The fourth hunter was upon it’s back, leading three others behind him who also were suddenly stopped. Veron placed Vlad upon his saddle, and helped the injured hunter up on his mount, the three, being led by the fourth hunter, went away out of the forest while Veron and his horse were left behind. Listening carefully, the snarling and howling seemed to stop. He climbed up onto his horse, leading it onward out the way it had approached, and it suddenly began sprinting in response to three werewolves appearing from the veil of darkness that concealed them, their howling and growling fading in the distance as the horse sprinted out of the forest out of fear.