Hunters Notes
Coven: Hornhead the coven of the mountains
Name: Bromie
Magic: Ice
Victims: Five
Status of hunt: active
Notes: Ice witches can bind snow together to create creatures that will do their biding. Their snow will not melt in any heat. There are only two ways to stop them. One, is pierce their magic heart. Ice witches will cast their spell using their victims frozen hearts as the base for their curse. But the heart could be anywhere in the creatures icy body. This method is only effective against a single creature. The other way is to kill the witch itself. The more victims the witch claims the more creatures there will be. The more creatures there are, the more vulnerable the witch will have made themself.
"You excited boy" my master Philip called to me. I snapped back to attention and looked at the kind old man sitting before me.
" yes, very" I told him trying to keep myself calm and the excitement that bubbled within my chest off my face.
We were set at the base of the peak. And none to soon for the cloud cover had just began to lighten. A sign that somewhere, behind thick clouds of gray and brown, the sun had begun to rise into an azure sky. A wise call on my masters part. It took almost two hours of searching to find enough charred twigs to put together the sad campfire my master stooped over. My hands were still numb from digging through the Grey snow soot that powdered the landscape around us.
A small orange flame had began to lick the woods but it sputtered weakly. The charred wood was already beginning to turn white. My master fed it more kindling, hoping to see it grow. It did not. It popped as it munched on the thin strips of wood and damp mulch. The flames stayed small. It would not last long, but perhaps it would be enough to provide a warm meal.
My master set an old small iron pot, no wider then a babies head and just tall enough to peak over the rocks around the fire, into the coals. He pulled out a white pouch, old, lightly yellowed and grayed from years of use. A bota bag. I had a similar one of my own. My father made me cut it from a goat and clean it myself. The goats skin after being treated was perfect for holding liquids. Especially on long trips to places such as this were any water at all was scare. The snow soot around would just melt into a mucky ashy clay not at all suitable for drinking. He poured just enough of the clear valuable water to cover the bottom of the pot in a small layer.
I sat on a Boulder just a couple feet away so as not to get in the way. I wanted to be up and doing something but there really wasn't much to be done for now. I just have to wait. When master is ready to begin the hunt he would tell me.
I looked up at Peakers peak. We should be able to climb it before noon. But that wasn't soon enough.
I started my apprenticeship with Master Philip two years ago. For two long grueling years he had me keeping his books, running his errands, caring for his equipment. My brother Axel had killed his first witch months after starting his apprenticeship. But it had taken me these two painfully long years to get to this point and even then my Master still seemed hesitant, reluctant even, to take me along. Of course I was excited. I needed this.
"Remember your lessons" he said stroking his greyed bristly bread, removing the small tangles that had began to clump in it just below his chin. The old man was showing his age, not just in the hairs of his head, which was fading from its former brown to a rugged bristly grey. But in the lines on his face as well. Much like the world around us.
"Of course" I answered almost offended. I held my hunters notes on my lap. I stroked is grey white binding. The rag paper it was made of was fairly fresh. It was a grueling process to make it. Took just over three months to find all the materials. Each page inside I had to cut and wash, then carefully bound it into the book. At the moment it only held a measly twenty pages. The binding itself was weakly done. Better this way, so in future years I'd be able to re-bind it and add more pages as needed. But for now my master said this was all I would need. I opened the roughly made fabric cover wrapping the thin clay board that would protect the book for at least two years, if handled with care. The first page already filled my scribbles. I read it aloud to him, reciting all the facts slowly. My eyes not actually looking at the paper itself, but at the fire. Watching the embers colors dance as it devoured its meal hungrily. I had it all committed to memory already.
I looked up at my master and he nodded his head slowly, not taking his eyes off the radiant embers in the fire. We sat there in silence for a moment. The soft popping of cinders seemed to echo around us. No wind howled. It was eerily quiet.
My master moved to add more kindling to a spot where the embers were beginning to wane, using tip of a long stick to push them under the pot and stir the flames. The licked upwards for a moment, as if agitated, then mellowed down as if bending over to devour the poor meal, like a wolf hunched over its kill.
" some extra information for you" my master said after a moment. He reached into his bag and brought out a brown sac " not something you have to write down, but good to know in case things go sour." He poured the contents of the bag into the water. The wild grains hissed as they fell from the bag, before making a soft splosh into the simmering water. He stirred it, taking a long deep breathe, releasing it as a sigh before continuing. He looked up at the peak wearily.
" this particular witch has been cursed by another. He is bound to his mountain cave. He cannot set foot out of it. The same cannot be said for his snow men however." He paused again, his deep voice echoing for a moment. He looked around wearily then lowered his voice, as if to conceal what he was saying from the mountain itself. " there is a range to how far they can travel from their creator. Should anything go wrong, leave the cave. Run down the mountain as fast as possible, and don't look back, no matter what."
"And what of you" I asked hesitantly. I knew his concern. My brother had told me of an apprentice Master Philip had before he had taken Axel under his wing. A boy who had fallen into the clutches of a Bog Witch. Axel had described in horrific detail when I was nine of a boy who had been been cursed by the witch. His body began to mold and rot from the inside out. His body became a watery sack as his bones turned to mush and larva began to tear at his flesh. The story had kept me awake for weeks. Every time I felt something tickle my skin, the brush of a fabric, or a piece of dust fallen from a rafter, I would panic and check to make sure there were no bugs on my skin or clothes.
Master Philip merely smiled, a very small thin sad smile, barely visible under the grey-brown bush of his mustache. He used the fabric from his cloak to wipe away the soot on the stick and used it to stir the grains in the water. " that is only if plans go astray. And they shouldn't. But heed my warning none the less. Don't worry about me. I'm old and have lived a very long life"
A very long life indeed. A life filled with the thrill of the hunt. Master Philip had been hunting witches since he was a young lad himself. He was a legend. Easily revered as one of the greatest hunters of his time. He had saved many villages from witches and had even been in battles during the time of the coven wars. From time to time you would even hear his tales being told in taverns around Zestra. And the story's come from as far north as the Bevalian coast and as far south as the Dead Witch Forest before you entered the lands belonging to the covens, Mai' Hav. Master Philip Woure, the Great Warrior of the Hunt.
"Even still" I said holding my head high "how could I possibly run away and abandon you. My father would have my head."
The old man chortled, stirring the grains again. "Yes I suppose he would" he said shaking his head. As if recalling some distant memory of my father, he stared into the steaming pot tenderly. "Even still, mind what I tell you and do as your told. Its dangerous business, dealing with witches." He reached into his bag and pulled out two thin metal bowls. Using the cloth of his cloak he carefully picked up the pot handle and dumped the boiled clumping grains into the bowls with much difficulty. He held one of the bowls out for me. I rose up and took it and the spoon he held out as well. The grains tasted bland and some of them were still firm from not getting enough heat and moisture. But it was warm and I held the bowl close to my chest. The heat did wonders for my chilled fingers.
" we will rest here for a little longer." My master said in between bites. His voice only hinting at how weary he really felt. He looked sourly at the meal in his hands. " wish I could have talked that pretty tavern maid into coming up here with us. The porridge she made was mighty fine compared to this muck." I smiled remembering the pretty red haired maiden my master had taken a fancy to. Maybe afterwards we could return to the village down the hills and be welcomed back as hero's. The thought of it thrilled me.
I looked up again at the peak ahead. Thinking of what tales would be told of me in the village. Not tales of a cowardly boy who ran away at his masters order, that was for sure. A boy afraid to faces witches. No that would not be what they said of me. They would tell tales of my heroic deeds. I would free that village of this accused witch. And tales of it would surely reach my brother and even my fathers ears. I could just picture my father standing before, a look of pride written so clearly on his cold and often aloof face. My name would be sang in taverns all over Zestra. And witches would utter it in fear or with their dying breaths. I'd make sure of that.
We would want to make sure to be there well before nightfall. It would have been nice to rest closer but then we would be in the witches territory. This meal wouldn't have been nearly as luxurious. I finished the rest of my grains and set the dishes in the dying embers. I turned my head up to the peak once more, longing to be there now. My body ached to move, ached to hunt.