View Single Post
Old 10-11-2006, 02:02 PM   #128
Fordim Hedgethistle
Gibbering Gibbet
 
Fordim Hedgethistle's Avatar
 
Join Date: Feb 2004
Location: Beyond cloud nine
Posts: 1,842
Fordim Hedgethistle is a guest of Tom Bombadil.
Linked ~*~ Pio

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

NAME: Hunta

AGE: 25

RACE: Human

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: A long curved dagger, good for skinning wild game but acceptable in combat. A short bow of black wood, and a stout spear.

APPEARANCE: Average height but somewhat thick through the chest and shoulders, making him appear to be somewhat shorter than he is. Short black hair crudely cropped above the eyes and at the base of the neck. Dark brown eyes and a swarthy complexion with an unsmiling, serious face. He walks slowly and deliberately, like a bear patrolling its territory.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Hunta is a serious, determined and extraordinarily humourless young man. His dedication to the art of hunting has already made him something of a legend amongst his people, but he is far from popular. He is quick to learn and a careful study of anything that catches his interest, but to the dismay of many a teacher he will walk away from anything that does not appeal to him without hesitation or regret. He is quick to make up his mind on any issue, and can rarely explain why or how he has so decided. Despite the rather grim aspect this gives him to other people, Hunta craves adventure -- not for the hope of glory or reknown, but for the challenge presented by the unknown.

HISTORY: Hunta was born to humble parents in a remote corner of his homeland. His early life was difficult and sparse, but not unhappy, as his father tutored him in the ways of the hunting folk. He was a quick study and by the time he was an adolescent he was already leading hunting parties of his own, many of which included older hunters. His successes in the chase were matched by a gentle and careful relation with his mother from whom he learned the mysteries of herblore and healing which she had mastered.

When his parents died, Hunta left his village and undertook a wandering existence, seeking out new teachers and new game throughout the lands of the East. When he heard of a party of hunters who were proposing a long journey to the south to spend time with their Ulfing cousins he leapt at the chance to accompany them, for he felt it would give him the chance to join them.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Fordim Hedgethistle's post:


Laylah ran ahead pulsing with the excitement of the hunt, silent in anticipation of the kill. They had tracked the buck for leagues and now it was close. Hunta could smell its spoor himself and hardly needed his companion’s more sensitive nose now, but after her many hours faithful labour he could not deny her. He swept through the low brush with no more sound than the wind, his rapid footfalls little more than the scurrying of small animals through the brush. They came to the edge of a clearing and pulled themselves close to the ground. The buck was standing now, his great brown head with its tall antlers erect and alert.

Their quarry was cunning. He had come to the field to flush out his hunters, to force them into the open where he could see them better and know what he should do. Hunta smiled and stroked Laylah’s thick neck. She acknowledged his hand with a low whimper and turned her head to lick his hand. Her lips were pulled back revealing long teeth, and her short golden coat stood up in a long ridge down her back. “Good girl,” he told her. “That was a good run and a fine pursuit.” Laylah merely returned her gaze to the buck; she knew there was still work to do. They began slowly to track their way around the edge of the clearing, looking for a place where Hunta could loose his bow.

The buck stirred and stamped his hoof, looking at the woods for the predators that he knew lurked within, but he could neither smell nor hear anything. He knew they were still there with the instinct of the hunted, but he was an old and wise in the ways of the forest and kept his head where a younger animal would have panicked and fled. A noise came to his ears which twitched and swivelled the better to hear. Lifting his head he heard the sound of fast approach, and the calls of musical voices in the air. He turned and fled toward the forest, and there came a sudden shaft from the side. Too late he tried to flinch and it buried itself in his flank, bringing agonising pain with every stride. He crashed into the forest wall and ran on into the trees, but the pain mounted with each step and he could feel something wet and hot running down his legs.

Hunta cursed foully the ill fortune of the hunt – and the riders who had so stupidly thundered past the clearing. His wonderment at their appearance and bearing was overcome by his anger. His shot had merely wounded the buck, meaning many more hours of tracking through the woods looking for his prey. The arrow had struck deep and hard and though the buck did not know it yet, it was already dead. But Hunta felt sick at the thought of the great beast wandering in pain and bewilderment, only to be dispatched at the end of struggle with a knife through the throat. It had deserved a cleaner death.

Calling Laylah to him he followed the blood trail back into the forest.


----------

Last edited by Fordim Hedgethistle; 10-29-2006 at 05:11 AM.
Fordim Hedgethistle is offline