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+--- Thread: The Hunters 1 (/showthread.php?tid=23108)
The Hunters 1 - Jimmy3280 - 07-10-2009
The Hunters draft 1
Walking through the forest, a man looked up at the sky and sighed. Turning his head to the ground, he went on trudging on his way, heading for the light that flickered between the trees. The two moons glowed overhead in the starry sky. Finding himself in a clearing, the man shook himself and looked up. In the middle was a large, neatly designed, hut. Clearly made out of trees, it sat in the clearing with a lantern glowing in the window. A shape moved behind the lantern, bending over towards something unseen. Brushing off the dirt from his coat, The Teller moved and knocked loudly on the door. Inside, the shape stiffened, hand moving towards its shoulder. A second later, it seemed to relax, and the hand fell back down. Seconds later, the thick wood door opened. A young man stood there, rubbing his hand through his hair.
Man, you scared the living hell out of me he said good humouredly, flicking his eyes up and down The Teller. So what do you want?
My name is..
Oh, youre a Teller?
The Teller, at your service.
Laughing, the young man beckoned him inside. So, what does a man such as you want with a loner like me?
Word has it that you were not always a loner.
Does it now? I wonder why. As you can see, I use many tricks to keep that identity.
Indeed, never have I had to search so long to find one individual.
Glancing over at the lamp, the young man shrugged, then spoke something in a language that was not usual. Overhead, several hidden lights flickered on. Snuffing the lamp with his fingers, he turned back to The Teller. So why have you come all the way here?
To hear your story
The young man stared at him for a second, then burst out in laughter. Sitting on a couch, he grinned up and said what on earth makes you think that I have a story worth telling?
Not everyone has forgotten you existed, you know. You are a legend no matter where you go. My purpose here is to determine how you became so, and how you came to be here. I did not come this far for games, Jekt
The mans face darkened, as Tellers face paled. Thats a dangerous name, Ive heard.
The lights flickered and went out. Forcing a smile onto his face, The Teller asked Who from? Theres certainly no one around here to tell you th
His words were halted by the gaze of the mans eyes. These were not any normal eyes. Two bright yellow eyes shone at him, with slit, catlike, pupils. These were animal eyes, the kind you would expect to be your last sight.
Quietly, ominously, a voice rang out from those eyes. I told you that was a dangerous name, and that should be reason enough. I told you I have no story, and that should be enough. Now, I am telling you to go. Good day, Teller.
As the lights flicked back on, the Teller swallowed nervously, then stood up straighter. You and I both know I can not do that. As written in the Code. Aurin Secotr miares vehrum tehj. Seek the deeper truth without stopping.
I know. But right now, I have no patience. There is no truth to be found here, Teller, not for the asking.
I am here for your truth, and I am required to stay until I hold it. This is the Code.
Damn your code. Damn it. I am telling you to leave, before I truly get angry.
And I am telling you that I cannot.
Sinking back onto the couch, the man sighed. What would you like? That I tell you my lifes story?
That would be the normal procedure, yes.
Why?
Hmm?
Why? Why do you want to know about me. What is so special about me? What have I done to get you so interested in me?
I believe a more apt question would be what you havent done. Everyone knows the stories about you. I personally would like to get to the Truth of the matter. Vehrum pouhoun dest. Truth is power.
Stop spouting the Teller code to me, I know it already. You would be surprised at the truth, you know. Only one other person knows it.
Who is that?
Tuhturae aurdiet, srudens. Those who listen, learn. You know that, Teller.
Sputtering, The Teller, turned to the man. How do you know so much?
Yellow eyes glowing, it was not the same man that turned to him.
This the eyes said Is my story
It was misty, and light traveled no further than a few yards. Occasionally, there would be the low hum of a flit-car passing by overhead, but otherwise, the city suburbs were quiet. A few pedestrians passed by on the streets, and several stray cats padded past, looking for mice and scraps. It was cold, and the mist only added to the chill. On a rooftop, a woman smoked a cigarette, avoiding her noisy children yelling and fighting. The smoke floated up slowly, mingling with the mists all around. Thunder roared above the clouds and a light rain began to fall. Flicking her cigarette away, the woman descended back into the building. The glowing tip of the cigarette made a path through the air until it was extinguished upon hitting the wet pavement below. In the distance, several dogs barked, the sounds muffled by the thick fog.
Suddenly, a shape burst through the mist. A middle aged man, panting, stumbling in his exhaustion. A small handgun was clasped desperately in his hand, pointing back the way he had come from. Tripping over a spitting stray cat, he thrust out his opposite hand to protect himself. On the ground, he crawled quickly into the narrow alley between two buildings, curling into a ball and pointing his gun at the entrance.
Now a new shape came through the mist, not as much pushing through it as materializing from it. Clad in a long black open trench coat with a hood, the figure sported thin sunglasses and a black shirt and dark grey pants. Hands held nonchalantly in his pockets, he stood over six feet tall. Striding over to the alley entrance, he peered in. The man in the alley began frantically waving his gun and firing wildly. Or he would have, if the gun were loaded. As it was, all that happened was a multitude of clicks. Grinning, the hooded man closed in.
Silence closed back in upon the street. There was a quick metallic sound, of metal on metal, then silence fell again. Once again the sound was heard, then all sound was lost. The kids in the apartment building started yelling, and nobody was any wiser as to the events occurring within the alley.
Stowing a small metal device in his pocket, the hooded figure stepped out of the alley, then was swallowed up by the mist. An engine started, and the hum of the vehicle was quickly lost in the fog. It would be days before the body was found, a thin hole through the throat. This was the first time I ran into the hunters.
I guess, first I should tell how I got there. I was about four years old when I ran away from the orphanage. Thats the first thing I remember. Running. The Sensation of the ground slapping my bare feet. They were bleeding, staining the pavement as I ran. I had never run before. I just know that somehow, for some reason, I had to get away from that place. They had done something, something I cant remember, but I recall the running, through the streets of the city. My Talent kept me alive, though I did not know it was called that until much later. The night after I ran away was mostly me trying to find a place to sleep. It was late, and a light rain was falling. I found a place in an alley dumpster, where I managed to find a ratty, half-burnt rug, which was enough to keep my small body warm. During the night, as I watched through a crack in the lid, a man tripped, an empty gun clicked, and the man died. As I mentioned, this was my first encounter with the hunters. A cigarette butt drifted down from above, landing next to the dead man lying in the alley. I climbed out of the dumpster, walking unsteadily over to the body. I was unable to grasp with my youthful mind the enormity of what I had just seen. As I looked down at the dead man, a gleam of light caught my eye. Reaching into the mans coat, I pulled out the shiny object. It was a long, thin, razor sharp knife. As I turned it over in my hands, the play of light on the blade was somehow pleasing to me. Taking the knife sheath from the body, I was somehow able to fit it onto my upper left arm. In doing so, I learned a new use for my new item. Its razor sharp blade was able to easily shear through the leather straps of the sheath. For the next week, I practiced daily, trying the blade on the rats who also inhabited my alley. I learned how to easily draw and sheath it without looking. I managed to stay warm through the nights by using the lit cigarette butts from above to light small pieces of paper, which I stored in my dumpster after clearing it out. In the mornings, I would search the nearby streets and alleys for more scraps of paper. In doing so, I found random scraps of other useful material. The inner lining of a jacket made a nice blanket, and a large sponge with a t-shirt served as a pillow. When it rained, as it often did there, several soda cans and bottles served as water collectors, once I had used my knife to cut the top off. You may ask how I learned to do all these things, but the truth is I have no idea. I just knew them instinctually. I stayed away from all human contact, for the casual way they seemed to strut around scared me. Flit-cars were constantly flying over, and I stared at them wide eyed, ever curious. I think that I remained like this for a year. Eventually my curiosity won me over, and I began to take my forays further and further into the city. It was therefore inevitable, I suppose, that I would meet more urchins of the streets. I just happened to have bad luck.
It was raining again, a warm, thick rain. It was near springtime, for I no longer needed to light a fire at nights, but still stockpiled paper in my dumpster home. I was walking through a maze of alleys, mapping them out in my head. My calloused feet no longer bled as I moved along, and my body had grown thinner and stronger. As I walked along, my mind was on the alley, so I didnt notice the group of kids until I literally ran into one of them. As they surrounded me, their leader stood in front of me, his arms crossed over his chest.
Whatchu doin here little pecka? he asked, twisting his brutish features into a sneer.
I had not spoken in a long time, so I took a while to regain my voice NggIm sorry. Is this place yours?
He laughed You stupid or something? You a pecka head?
The other boys laughed loudly. I was starting to get scared.
You know what we do to pecka heads? he said We get rid of dem.
This was all I could take. I turned and tried to run, but one of them caught my ankle, bringing me crashing down. Kicking out, I heard a grunt, and the grip of the hand lessened. Leaping to my feet, I sprinted through the alleys, trying to escape my pursuers.
Get the little pecka head! the leader shouted as I pounded between the buildings. I ran until I no longer heard my pursuers, then collapsed to the ground, exhausted. When I finally awoke, I rose and made my way slowly back to my alley. Over the next week, life went back to normal, but that encounter would come back to haunt me. One day, I was walking back with an armload of scrap paper, when I noticed a thick stream of smoke rising from my alley. Dropping the paper, I sprinted to the alley entrance and halted, appalled at the scene. The group of kids from before, gathered around my dumpster, cheering as my entire stockpile of paper burned. All my belongings, my blanket, my pillow, my paper. All of them were gone.
So I screamed. The sound tore through the alley like a sharp knife, making the street kids turn around. Something changed then, inside of me, and instead of fear, all that I felt was rage. A white hot, searing rage, that tore through my body. So I ran. I ran at the kids who had done this, at one in particular. The leader stood before the fire, his arms folded across his chest. As I ran, my hand moved, somehow, to my left arm, where I kept my knife. I drew it. Seeing it in my hand, the other kids fell back, forming a circle around me and the boss, who drew a rusty shiv, fashioned out of some scrap metal. I did not stop, but leaped, screaming my hatred. My hand moved on its own, seeking out a target. Hot, wet blood covered my hands. A boy died.
These, Teller, are my first memories. Do you not like them? Are they not worthy of a great story?
The grin under the eyes was almost feral in nature, with the canines decidedly pronounced.
Never said Teller softly Never would I have expected something like this. This is practically
What? Barbaric? The eyes laughed I guess. But this is not meant to me a heroic epic, though you may make it one. This is real life, and as such, deserves the details that make it up. I will not lie, nor embellish the truth. This is my story, no more, no less.
I ran for hours after this. My bare, calloused feet pounding the ground. After I drew my knife from the leaders neck, the others had run into the streets. There was no way now that I could find my way back to my alley, but I did not care. My mind was thinking about other things. About the feel, the smell of blood on my hands, which I had wiped off on the dead boys pants. I was lost so deeply in thought that I didnt notice the man in front of me until I ran into him. Now, there are two types of encounters. Those that are fortuitous, and those that are not. This one, was different from my last human experience. This would be my first taste of family.
Ooh said the tall man, straightening. He turned to me. Whats this then?
I stared up at him, amazed. His clothes were many of many, varied colors, all bright and pleasing to the eyes. They clung to him like almost a second skin, but the coat shoes he wore were normal.
Whats wrong? he asked, a note of pity creeping into his voice. Have you never seen a Trouper before?
As I had not, I shook my head. In response, I received a grin, and a display of acrobatics so amazing, I had never seen the like before. Springing through a back flip, the man landed in a handstand, and began to walk around on his hands, grinning at me the entire time from between his arms. I laughed, and tried to copy him. My arms, however, were not strong enough to hold me, and I fell to the ground.
Laughing softly, the man came over and helped me up. You are enthusiastic, for a street boy. Would you like to come with me?
Now this, I could never understand. Why a man, obviously with a good life, should have wanted to pick up a little, ratty, underfed kid like me, escapes my mind. But this was real, and so all I could do was nod, which I promptly did.
Well then, lets go he said, taking a few steps before he turned around. By the way, Im Moreo. Moreo Ireon, at your service. Whats your name.?
Not having any name, I shook my head.
Well then, little one, well have to get you one, wont we?
I smiled and started walking alongside him......