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eponymoussquared · 1 year

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Wildhunters: Hide and seek

Johan Forester’s fate was sealed the moment he walked out the door of his little stone hut and into the forest to get some firewood. It was a stormy night, the wind howling incessantly as he walked through the trees. It wasn’t wise to chop wood this late-you never knew what beasts you were giving your position. Instead, Johan simply gathered fallen branches, which was admittedly difficult in the dark. Because of this, he did not notice the wind growing louder and louder until it was screaming into his ears, and suddenly he heard a piercing cry that sounded eerily like someone saying “MOVE!” Johan froze, looking right to left, unsure where to run. Then, suddenly, the wind went silent. The crickets ceased to chirp. The leaves stopped rustling. All was still.

Then, like a bolt of lightning, a cloaked figure on a white horse crashed down from the sky, sending a shockwave through the ground and knocking Johan to his feet. He stood up slowly, only for his eyes to go wide in horror. Now that he was looking directly at them, he saw now the horse's eight legs, and the glow of the rider's single blue eye lighting up the underside of his wide-brimmed hat. The rest of his face and body was hidden by cloth, but John knew exactly who he was looking at. The figure spoke in a soft, almost friendly tone. “Greetings, woodsman. You stand before Hans Von Hackleberg, the current Huntsmaster of the Wild Hunt. Do you know why I am here?”

It took Johan a moment to remember how to speak. “B-because I didn’t get out of the way in time, right?”

The figure-Hans-nodded. “That's right. Do you know what happens next?”

Johan opened his mouth, then closed it. “...You take my soul and I join the Wild Hunt forever? This part is usually a bit vague, since..you know. There's no one around to confirm.”

Hans laughed, a sound that was far too jovial for the situation. “Not quite. You see, my dear woodsman, Hans is not my real name, and the names used by my comrade hunters are not their real names either. Our true names are all but forgotten, and we are close to fading into nothing. So sometimes we simply need a mortal such as yourself to..reaffirm our existence, so to speak. This generally involves interacting with us in a way that makes an impression on you.”

Johan blinked. “..So..I’m not in danger?”

Hans laughed, a far crueler laugh then before, and a woman's voice came from behind them. “Oh no, you most certainly are.”

Johan turned around to face a tall woman with snow-white hair dressed in dark furs and leather. At her sides were dark gray bloodhounds, their eyes fixed on him. She smirked coldly. “I am Frau Gauden, and you will be playing a game with us. You will have five minutes to run or hide, as you prefer. As we have the advantage of hunting dogs-” As she spoke, Gauden knelt down and petted one of the hounds at her feet affectionately. “-We will have only two minutes to find you. If we don’t, you will be rewarded and set free, but if we catch you..”

Her eyes flashed and she bared a grin full of sharp, canine teeth. “You join our ranks for eternity. Now, run.”

Johan didn’t need any further encouragement. He turned and sprinted deeper into the forest as fast as his legs could carry him, jagged branches scraping his skin as he dashed past. If he got far enough, surely he would be safe. He just needed a good tree to climb, or a cave, or anywhere that would let him hide. Yet as he ran deeper into the woods, Johan’s panic only worsened. Every flicker of movement in the dark became a ravenous beast, every noise the sound of a careless predator. There were no caves to hide inside, no houses to board up in, no cliffs or crags to curl up behind.. Had he passed that tree before? Had he been running in circles this whole time? It was too dark to make out any landmarks, and he had no idea how much time had passed. Then, at last, he saw a lake.

It was a very small lake, not much wider than his one-room cabin, to the point it was more like a large pond. It was, however, deep enough that he could barely see the bottom through the water. It was far from the ideal hiding spot, but Johan had few other options, and the lake would at least mask his scent. He cursed himself for not hiding it earlier, but he would have to make do. Quickly, he pinched his nose, and dived under.

It didn’t take Johan a long time to realize this might not have been the greatest plan. While the lake was deep enough to fully submerge in, and the sky was too dark to reveal anything in it, he had underestimated how hard it would be to hold his breath for so long. Furthermore, his thoughts were beginning to flood with panic as well as water. The stories he’d heard of the Wild Hunt flashed through his brain, of the merciless army of wolves, vikings and demons led by its three masters…

Johan paused. Three? There was definitely a third one, but he’d only seen two. Was that part of the legend wrong? He racked his brain, partially to distract himself from the lightheadedness that was beginning to take him. There was the Hans the rider, Gauden the houndmaster, and—

Suddenly, a massive column of wood as thick as a tree trunk and almost as tall plunged into the water, shocking Johan into opening his mouth. Desperately, he swam up to the surface, narrowly evading the pillar as it slammed to the sides of the pond. He broke the surface, gasping for air, and then noticed the shadow that loomed over him so darkly that it was visible even in the night. He turned around to see a behemoth who nearly towered over the treetops, wielding a great wooden club that looked more like an uprooted oak. They were dressed somewhat like a harlequin, with a mask creating the image of an eternal smile, but there was no joy in their empty eyes. Their clothing, covered in quilted diamonds, might have been colorful once, but time and grime had faded it into brown and gray. Staring at the giant before him, Johan remembered the name of the third leader: Hellekin, the pursuer.

Without so much as a word, Hellekin raised the club above their head, and Johan barely managed to roll to the side before it crashed down onto the forest floor, leaving a ditch where it struck. Johan tried to run, doing his best to ignore the now-wet clothes weighing him down, as the club was raised once more.

He slipped.

As Johans face slammed into the dirt, he started to get up, only to hear a sudden crack accompanied by a massive, searing pain in his left leg. He looked back to see Hellekins club pinning him to the ground. They looked down at him with a distinct impression of pity, and a deep anger sparked inside Johans heart. How dare they pity him, when this was their fault? How dare they take his life for their own sake? Fueled by rage and spite, Johan pulled, clawing through the grass. There was more cracking, but he didn’t care. Finally, with a jerk and a surge of searing agony going through his leg, he pulled himself free. Hellekin stood still for a second, almost looking impressed, before raising their club again. Johan tried to crawl away, but he knew it was over.

Then a piercing whistle cut through the sounds of the forest, and Hellekin froze, their club still in midair. The soft clopping of hooves entered Johans ears, and Hans came into view, flanked by Gauden and her dogs. “Good work, Hellekin. You put up a good fight, woodsman, but I believe this is our match.” She said, smirking.

Johans vision was beginning to fade. He couldn’t believe this. He’d lost. They did not have him in a cage, and yet he’d lost…his train of thoughts abruptly inverted as he realized something. Thats it. They don’t have me in a cage. “No, it isn’t.” He gasped out, breathing heavily. Gauden raised an eyebrow, and he thought Hans was smirking, but it was hard through his scarves. “Oh? You seem quite captured to me.” Johan shook his head. “I can still move, I’m not unconscious, and your dogs haven’t pinned me down. Neither have you.”

Hans laughed mirthlessly. “Do you take us for fools, woodsman? You’d be our prisoner in less than a minute in the state you're in.” It was Johans turn to smile mockingly. “But that wasn’t the deal, was it? The whistle signified the time being up. You might have caught me in a few minutes if you kept going, but you haven’t caught me in the allotted time. You just wounded me.”

All three Huntsmasters stared down on Johan as sweat poured down his face. He waited for them to laugh, or run him through, for Hellekins club to crush him or Gaudens wolves to tear him into pieces. And then Hans began to laugh. Not the cruel laugh from earlier, but a jovial, merry chuckle that was almost infectious despite the pain Johan was in. Gauden was unable to resist for long, chuckling turning to giggling turning to howling. When they atleast calmed down, Hans’s single eye stared down at Johan. “Well played, woodsman. I do respect those who can best us in a game of wits as much as in a game of strength. However, I do not think it is accurate to say you have won when you cannot even walk. As such, here is our compromise. You are safe for now, but we shall return.”

Gauden bared her fangs menacingly, her face becoming more beastly with every word. “And when we do, the only warning you receive shall be the cackling of demons, the howling of wolves, and the battlecries of fallen warriors. And with that leg? Well, I doubt you’ll be so lucky next time. You have one the day for now, but the Wild Hunt never loses its prey.”

With that, the three of them turned their backs on him, disappearing into the darkness of the woods. Johan slowly struggled up.The pain in his leg was still excruciating, but he didn’t seem to be in danger of passing out. As he turned, he was shocked to see he had somehow gotten right back to his cabin. He crawled inside, closing the door behind him.

Fear and panic overtook him as tears ran down his face. He had won the battle, but the Hunt would return, and he could not possibly outrun them now. The nearest bonesetter was miles away, and he had no horses, no way of getting there. The closest place was a village a mile or so away. What was he to do?

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. Tentatively, without getting up, he opened it, only to have his eyes go wide with shock. In front of his doorstep was a horse, black with white spots like stars speckling its body, carrying a saddle loaded with two bags. From his limited vantage point, he could see the glint of gold from the tops of them. In front of the horse was a note, written in an impeccably eloquent hand:”Your reward, as promised. Good luck, Johan the woodsman. -Hans.”

Johan looked back up at the horse mistrustfully, but its eyes were friendly, and it made no aggressive movements. Slowly, he crawled over to it, and was surprised again when it bent its legs down to allow him to climb on. With time and effort, he finally managed to sit himself, not comfortably, but at least solidly, on the horse’s back. With a flick of the reins, they took off towards the town, the note dropping behind them onto the floor. Only as the houses began to come into view as the sun finally rose did something occur to Johan: How did Hans know his name?

#Wildhunters #writing #took me awhile to do this one #but I'm getting quite fond of these three #they're in a bit more of an antagonistic role then last time #but I think it turned out well #hopefully illustrations of the hunter trio are coming soonish

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