Once upon a time there lived a famed monster hunter by the name of William Creed. He was a capable fellow and built up no small name for himself. Within years of launching his career he had reached the pinnacle of his field, quickly gaining the title "Old Hand" for his experience, rather than age, along with his characteristic silver hair (which started growing several years into his career). For years he was the premier monster hunting expert before vanishing at the age of 27, only to return 6 years later a changed man who had all but given up on hunting. Now our story doesn't cover the 6 year gap, instead taking place 5 years later on William Creed's 38th birthday.
By the time our story starts Creed is broad backed man at the tail end of 30 with unkempt hair and a long thin gash stretching down the left side of his face. His crimson red eyes displaying a demonic air with more problems than he could drink away. His calloused hands showcasing familiarity with the long sword at his side and the daggers tucked in his belt. The battered wooden buckler strapped to his back showing years of wear tear with an odd dark leaf sprouting from the front. His broad shoulders showcasing a former strength wasting away from years of drink. So there he was; a grizzled man with the scars to tell, sitting in an unknown bar in an all but forgotten town. The air hung thick with smoke and fog curled around the windows outdoors. The acrid smell of beer and ale was only intermittently interrupted by the cheap perfume of the barmaid brushing against patrons as she passed out mugs to those still sober enough to request them. Now back to Creed the Old Hand. Sitting alone, drunk at a table. The noise and commotion swirling around him, though he couldn't be bothered to pay attention to anything other than the mug clasped in his calloused hand. Some off-tune music played in the background at the hands of a fresh faced bard who was proving to be as inexperienced at music as he was at holding his liquor. The occasional patron either cheering or jeering in his general direction, all while barely registering the song as more than background music. The day progressed like any other for Creed; dreary and full of drink. Little did he know change was on the horizon, and unfortunately for Creed, that change took the form of some very angry townsfolk.
The tavern's doors burst open, silencing the young bard and startling the patrons into subdued whispers. Five men entered, the entire place went mute save for the footsteps of the new entries. One of them, a greasy haired hooked nose fellow, walked over to a patron. His hand shot out, gripping the man's arm before he could fully register what was occurring. Leaning in, the greasy haired man's lips parted to reveal tobacco stained teeth, before hissing a question in the trembling man's ear, "Where's that old drunken hunter?" Quickly, the patron used his free arm to shakily gesture in Creed's direction before averting his gaze. The men sauntered over to Creed's table, their steps thudding heavily against the scarred wooden floor of the bar as the subdued whispers returned to their prior conversations and volume, with the occasional eavesdropper listening in with feigned ambivalence.
The apparent leader took a seat across from our hunter, with two men standing behind him and the remaining two behind Creed, one at each shoulder. A quick signal from the seated arrival and the two flanking Creed quickly roused him from his drunken stupor.
"Who tha fuckin' 'ell dares ta wake me from mah na- ..." Creed woke with a start; his mouth shouting before his eyes fully registered the sight of the five gruff men, each adorned in a slick black cloak. Creed quieted, retook his seat, and nervously sloshed down the remaining contents of his mug, while unconsciously signalling the barmaid for another. She quickly obliged and scurried away, leaving the men to proceed.
"Friends, uh heh," Creed chuckled nervously. "Oh if I'da known it was you I'da never woulda shouted like that... an' uh, I perfectly intended on repayin' everything I owed yuh."
"Cut the crap Creed," sliced the seated leader's voice through the musty tavern air. "We know you can't pay. That's why we're here. Our boss has a little... proposition for you. Along the lines of forgiving your debt." The leader angled his tented fingers towards Creed as he spoke, a gold signet ring gleaming in the dim light.
"I see, uh...so whatchyer sayin' is all's forgiven an' I'll be seein' ya." (a statement made briefly before a rather embarrassing escape attempt involving suddenly standing, tripping, and being stepped on).
"You're too drunk to run today Creed," sneered the greasy haired man as one of his men lifted the hunter back to his previously occupied seat.
"I'll have ya know I've done some of my best running when I'm drunk," scoffed Creed. "I blame the floor. What bonehead had the bright idea ta spill their drink on a perfectly good 'scape floor?"
"Ha. I believe that was you, Creed."
"Oh, yes. Well I see. So yah said something about a proposition?"
"Yes, though I question the Lord's judgement on this one."
"Questioning the Lord, eh Neil? I should report ya to the proper 'thorities, Guards arrest this traitor!!" Creed called, to no one in particular and received the same response from everyone;.
"... heh. Heh heh. Heheheh! Oh...Creed," Neil chuckled condescendingly. "You never cease to amaze. It's hard to imagine you were ever a great monster hunter."
"I was never a great anything, Neil." Creed countered. His eyes darkened as thoughts of his past brought unwanted sobriety. "No monster hunter has ever been something great."
"Well your thoughts aside the Lord has a job for you." Neil twisted the signet ring absentmindedly; either unaware or uncaring of the shift in energy at the table.
"I reckon it's not washing dishes is it?"
"Nah, something a bit more deadly for a man of your...renown."
"I'm a renowned drunk now," Creed quipped, shaking away the memories and signalling the barmaid once again. "Why? He want to bet on drinking contest?" Once again the barmaid scrambled over, sloshing a mug down in front of Creed. He flipped a silver coin in her direction which she caught one handedly before depositing down her bosom and continued to make her rounds to the other tables. Thankful to have a distraction, Creed took a long swig before allowing Neil to continue.
"I'm afraid it'll hurt a lot worse than drinks."
"Then you've been drinking swill, my friend."
"Hah. All jokes aside, it's a werewolf." This declaration halted all conversation in the tavern, leaving a suppressive air lingering. This time the voices didn't pick back up and the quiet seemed to stretch into even the darkest corners of the bar. Creed took a drink.
"Ha, let it be they eat sheep anyways." Another deliberate drink.
Neil's face crinkled in disgust as ale dribbled from the corners of Creed's mouth, further yellowing the tangled beard.. "How could you say that? You better than any of us should know first hand how demonic a werewolf is."
"I know to leave it alone." Dark. Cutting. No light in his voice as Creed countered across the table.
"Well you should know you don't have a choice." Neil crossed his arms and raised his chin in an air of authority. "Either you kill it and go free or we kill you and find someone else to take care of it."
"Pssht. Can't have that now can we? Take me to see the Lord." Creed chugged the last of his drink, let out a reverberating belch, and pushed back his seat.
"As you wish Creed." Neil rose as well.
"Guards escort Mr. Creed here to the castle I'll follow shortly."
"Yessir, come with us old man."
"It's Old Hand, dumbass," Creed mumbled under his breath "I'm not even that old, damn nickname guys they never consider the hunters feelings".
"What did you say to me!?" shot the greasy haired guard, hand instinctively reaching for a hidden weapon concealed in the folds of his cloak.
"Why you have jus tha loveliest smile I ever did see ." Creed then hurriedly shuffled out between the guards and wove between the other patrons. As the guards followed suit no one dared make direct eye contact with any in this odd procession. A few stole sideways glances once Creed, the four guards, and Neil had passed. As the bar door swung closed behind the last cloak, the tavern returned to normal, although an intangible dour feeling seemed to linger in the air.
* * * * *
Our hunter was "gently" escorted at spear point towards a large stone castle. A constant pressure was kept squarely between his shoulder blades to ensure the sense of urgency which the guards had been imbued with. The crest of a bludgeoned wolf embroidered on a crimson banner snapped in the breeze. The sign of the Karth Family; the greatest patrons of monster hunters in the Duchy. As the entourage approached the gate, Neil called a command to the guard towers and the group was quickly allowed to pass, admitting them entrance to the castle. Creed was then hastily led towards Lord Karth's study by way of finely decorated hallways. Occasionally, a passing servant was sent scurrying upon sight of the guards. After some time, the cloaked men and Creed arrived in the lord's study where two men conversed expectantly. The conversation suddenly hushed as the door creaked open at Neil's hand. An older man with short salt and pepper hair and a once dashing appearance sat in an ornately carved high back chair. Scrolls littered the desk in front of him. A younger man of similar build with cropped black hair stood at his shoulder.
"Ah William Creed! It really is you!" The older man stood and flashed a grin. "When they told me there was some drunkard in the next town who both owed the crown money AND matched your description I could hardly believe my luck. Oh your father and I used to be great friends! I watched you grow up into such a hunter, the likes we haven't seen in years since. Your father would've been so proud and...and well now look at you. Oh how the mighty have fallen."
"Father should we really entrust such an important mission to this...this ruffian?" The younger man's eyes narrowed in on Creed as he spoke, his words laden with contempt.
"Ah, show some respect, son! The man is a living legend! If he's even a quarter as skilled now as he was… Well he could easily take out a mere wolf!" Lord Karth flashed another smile as if he was discussing an upcoming feast. The lightness in his tone leant nothing to gravity of the situation he was proposing to Creed.
"I'm afraid you've overestimated him," scoffed the lord's son. "And this is no mere wolf, it's a werewolf they can tear through armored men in seconds an-" Lord Karth cut him off with a wave of his hand. Creed couldn't help but notice a gold signet ring, similar to but more ornate than Neil's, gleaming in the light of a hearty fire. The son broodingly stoked the embers, sending a cloud of spark and ash swirling up the chimney.
"I see you lack faith in my decisions," Lord Karth continued unawares. "Well let me tell you something about Creed here, and please stop me if I say anything wrong," another gesture of the adorned hand in Creed's direction. "William Creed started his hunting career at the age of 16 but was hunting unlicensed since the age of 12. Before actually becoming a recognized hunter, Creed assisted his father in the hunting of thousands of monsters and no less than ten werewolves. By the age of 21 Creed had slain thirteen single handedly. By 23, he had killed a regional werewolf king and by 25 none of those mere wolves dared to step foot, nor paw, into this kingdom for fear of him. During that time he not only killed wolves but every manner of beast in the neighboring kingdoms. He spent the next two years all but banishing monsters from this land and the next. Eventually, at the age of 27 he led an expedition to slay the vampire king Asmodeus, returning six years later; the only survivor." At this the air seemed to grow colder. The Lord's son stoked the embers and the guards shifted their weight in their boots. Consistently unawares of this shift, Lord Karth continued, "While it's not clear what happened during the expedition, seeing as Creed never told a soul. Asmodeus hasn't been seen since. It's only in the past five years he's degenerated into the drunkard you see before you." Another sweeping gesture towards Creed. "But it's because of him that this is the first werewolf we've had in 13 years. Now," turning to the group of guards still gathered, "Do any still doubt he's the right choice? Speak now or forever hold your peace."
"I doubt."
The doubt of course came from the stocky, silver haired man with crimson red eyes surrounded by four armed guards.
"Oh, I thought you were in agreement? That's why you're here right?" Lord Karth wasn't about to let this revelation dampen his optimism, and flashed a pearly white grin of encouragement.
"Eh. Not entirely, it was more of a 'do this or we'll stab you in your gut' kind of deal sooo I thought I'd try my luck with you."
"Oh. Well. And what then do you have to say about it?"
"Has the werewolf killed anyone?"
"No'"
"Has it been spotted near any towns or villages?"
"No."
"Has any livestock gone missing?"
"Well, not on account of the wolf. No."
"How long has it been here for?"
"Roughly a week?"
"So why do I need to kill it?"
"It's a danger to the people, you've seen what werewolves do to people!" the lord's son blurted.
Creed snorted. "Not in some time. Look, it doesn't appear to be a threat. Just leave it."
Lord Karth's face hardened. "I'm afraid I can't do that. You see, it's my duty to protect the people from threats and yours as a monster hunter is to kill monsters. If you refuse I'll be forced to charge you for betraying the Monster Hunter Order, the punishment for which is death."
"Tsk tsk tsk," Creed shook his head, "And to think I thought I could reason with you. Oh well. Best be leavin' anyways. Here's your coin back."
As Creed finished speaking he cast off his drunken demeanor, threw a velvet coin pouch at the lord, and made a dash for the window; all within the span of a second. Before the guards could react, Creed had already barreled through the two directly in his path and was nearly at the window before they finally realized what was happening. In the next second, and to everyone's surprise, he was gone.
"That bastard escaped! That fucking bastard really escaped!" Lord Karth's son throws the poker he was still holding. Fire burns behind his eyes. "Guards! Lock down the castle no one leaves!!"
Lord Karth sighs and rests a hand on his seething son's shoulder. "Easy there. We can't catch him now. I erroneously believed he had already lost most of his touch, but I suppose I was mistaken." Turning to the guards still standing near the door the lord continued, "Inform the Monster Hunter Order of Creed's betrayal. And get someone to take care of that damn wolf before it's too late."
"Yessir," the guards answered in unison, yet remained huddled.
"Alright everyone out!" bellowed Lord Karth.
"But...what if he comes back?" this coming from the greasy haired guard.
"And what'll you lot do?" the lord spat, and then scoffed, "Don't worry. He won't. Besides, if he wanted to kill me I'd be dead already." Again, the lord motioned to dismiss the room. His son hung back, until a stern look from the lord left him retreating as well. The poker remained where it had fallen.
As the young man left with the guards, Lord Karth slumped into his chair and retrieved a faded picture from his desk of a young man and woman. The man had jet black hair and steel gray eyes but otherwise resembled Creed. The woman had black hair streaked with silver and crimson red eyes contrasting sharply with pale, delicate features.
"I'm sorry old friends." Lord Karth sighed while massaging his temple. "But your son pushed it too far this time. I hope you'll be happily reunited in the next life."
Meanwhile, Creed had long since escaped the castle grounds, retreating into the surrounding woods before pausing against a large oak to plan his next step.
"Damn," he puffed. "That was my last bit of gold, bloody loan sharks. And here I thought usury was no noble deed. uch." Creed shook his head, realizing he was speaking aloud and getting only the whisper of the wind in reply.
'I should probably head to Ludum the apples should be ripe around this time along with the cider.'
As Creed was lost in his thoughts his laser like hunter reflexes kicked in as he gracefully tripped before falling elegantly on his ass.
'Oof, I think this is the universe's way of saying you're a drunkard in need of sleep. And who am I not to listen to the oh so wise universe.'
Thus Creed spent the Night under the tripping tree; the first day of our tale drawing to a close.