The Hunter: Part 1

The ice shards protruding from the dirt of the cavern floor dug into the boy's palms and knees as he trembled before the ancient horror. Although its form was hidden in the darkness of the seemingly endless tunnel, the child could feel the malicious gaze of this entity, incising his flesh like glacial water laden with debris. What its intent was, he did not know... Although he knew the stories his village told. Stories of the annual sacrifice that must be made to the 'Urg-Vask', the Under Terror, so that it would not swallow the village whole. Thoughts could barely take form in the boy's mind as fearful tears streamed down his face. He bit his lip to prevent himself from sobbing, or worse: begging for mercy. Only one phrase kept repeating in his mind: "Gods, if I am to be devoured... Please... Please make it quick." The plaintive sounds of the boy's whimpers were drowned out suddenly by a low thrum from deeper within the cavern. Movement? The boy could not tell, but terror sunk its claws into him deeper. He dared to look back up towards the distant Sky. He did not know how long he had been down in this hole, but the Sun that shined brightly when his village cast him hear was not to be seen. One last fleeting hope of escape crossed his mind. "The walls are slippery with ice, and the climb is long, but there is a chance..." The rumbling from within the tunnel grew loud, cutting off the child's thought process and drawing his gaze deeper into the Earth. His eyes grew wide as he felt warm breath exhume from the mouth of the tunnel. It reeked of rot and blood, a horrendous mixture of old and fresh death. While he felt the Urg-Vask's presence close, he still saw nothing but darkness before him. The boy stood instinctually, a morbid curiosity overtaking his better judgement. As he did so, a voice, sourced from within his own mind, rattled against the insides of his skull. "You... Yes... You... Will do.." Eight orbs emerged from the darkness, clustered in opposing pairs of four, glowing with a pale yellow aura. 'Eyes... ' the boy thought. His curiosity grew as he found himself unable to turn away. The boy's throat, dry with terror and dehydration, managed to eek out a single phrase. "DoOo.. What?" The boy's mind was suddenly wracked with images of corpses, maimed and mangled beyond recognition. Their identities mattered not, only the sheer quantity of death. The stench from within the cavern roared forward with a howling wind, and the child's senses were completely lost in a whirl of blood, death, rot, and decay. Amidst the assault of visions, the skull-rattling voice re-emerged. "You... Insects... Hunt... And kill... And maim... Without precision... Without pleasure. You... Will."

The Hunter: Part 2

There was little to recognize between the boy of twelve cast into a pit of despair, and the man who emerged from that same pit years later. What he experienced in that cave, he has never spoken of outloud. Even his name, prior to entering that gods-forsaken place, had been forgotten. Instead, his name was that which was gifted to him: Malsk Torrahn, a title from a forgotten tongue spoken by a race older than the Gods themselves. There is only one aspect of his time in that pit that Malsk is certain of. Whatever training or ritual occurred that sealed his communion with the darkness has taken a heavy toll on him. The Urg-Vask had spoken true, but only partially. He learned to maim and kill with precision... But it was the Hunt that brought Malsk pleasure. Not the quarry. However, with every kill he would claim, he felt whatever humanity still remained slip further from his grasp. That little spark called to him at times, often in his dreams, when he mused of what things could be. That spark, though speaking through many images, conveyed truly only one thing: "Hope.. For freedom."