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Spring, 1325
The smoldering fires cooled and the dead were buried, and a young Logan Durham was left alone with his Uncle Matthew on the snow-covered roads South, joining the long sad trails of refugees as they went seeking shelter from the cruel winters of Betakinin Sound. Everywhere they only encountered rejection.
"Sorry, no space here."
"We don't need your kind."
"Fuck off beggars!"
Logan became sullen and more bitter with every rebuff, all but disappearing into his cloak.
It was weeks later the Townsfolk of Lynchburg finally reached their nadir.
“Bandits!”
The procession was moving South along the Royal Road as it steeply descended from a hill when suddenly a pair of large, thickset men stepped out from behind a boulder.
"Stop scrum! You are now in the lands of the White Rock gang!" The thug who called pulled out a sword, the other a club. "Hand over all your food and treasures, and we might be merciful on you lot."
The crowd panicked, people trying to flee back up the road, only to be stopped by another pair of bandits stepping out from atop the hill, trapping the hapless refugees.
The refugees were herded like sheep; they were lined up and robbed of everything they had left, trashing what they had no interest in. Then the bandits started harassing individuals, attacking those who looked at them the wrong way, bullying and taunting those who shied away, but focusing especially on the women.
“Look at this pretty one!” One of the thugs called out as they grabbed Cora the weaver’s apprentice by the shoulder. As the young woman froze in fear, one of the assailants leered down at her.
“Perhaps we can get her to sing for us. Are you a good singer, little girl? I’m sure we can-”
“Stop this!” Logan yelled suddenly, stepping forward. He had gotten sick of bullies in the world, of the strong taking from the weak, of the general unfairness of everything.
He was just angry.
“Logan, no-!”
Crook in hand, the shepherd brushed his uncle aside and confronted the quartet of robbers, who had stopped their activities to stare at the upstart.
"Let her go. Let us all go." Logan yelled as he raised his polearm.
The thugs stopped to laugh.
“You plan on defending this useless rabble?”
“A kid? The audacity!”
The bandits pushed Cora aside and drew their weapons.
“A brave fool like you deserves a quick death.”
Immediately the highwaymen fanned out to surround the defiant refugee.
Logan however stood his ground, staring right at what appeared to be the individual directing the bandits. “At least I’m not a coward. Who do you all have as a leader but a craven that sends underlings to gang up on me?” Without breaking eye contact at the thug he was taunting, Logan spat on the ground. “Show us all why everyone should listen to you.”
The White Rock underlings indeed stopped and turned to look at their surprised commander, who after a pause, laughed as he obliged by stepping forward.
“Ha! A brave one!” The thug exclaimed as he stepped forward as he drew his sword. “I am Reynard of Oxenham! And you kid, you just made your worst and last decision of your life.”
With that the bandit charged the shepherd, swinging his sword blindly. Logan dodged, striking back with his shepherd’s crook to smack the bandit leader.
Reynard grimaced as he fell back, rubbing his head. “You’ll pay for that!” He yelled, attacking again. Sword and crook clashed. Logan had little idea what he was doing, but he had fought wolves before, and wolves were faster and more dangerous than a marauder used to bullying the defenseless. The bandit leader was stronger and more experienced than the shepherd, but even so Logan was faster and had the bravery of someone with nothing to lose.
“Roll over shrimp!” Reynald finally snarled, giving his young opponent a heavy kick that sent the duelist flying to the ground, his staff landing with a clank nearby.
Immediately, desperately, Logan reached for his shepherd’s crook, but as he attempted to grab it the bandit leader put his foot down upon the staff with a snort, pinning the weapon to the ground.
Looming massively over the defiant shepherd, Reynald raised his sword over his head to deal a killing blow.
“Okay fool, now you perish.” The bandit gloated.
But the thug was a bit too triumphant, for Logan noticed his opponent’s weight was not well distributed, and just as Reynald swung his weapon, Logan quickly dropped onto his back-the blade singing overhead- and gave his staff a swift kick. Already off balance from the swing, the bandit leader stumbled as the pole rolled and gave way.
The leader of the White Rock gang fell like a pile of rocks.
“Wha-?” was all the highwayman managed to utter before he hit the ground hard, his weapon falling with a crash beside him. In an instant, the shepherd leapt up and snatched Reynald’s sword before falling upon his foe. All of Logan’s anger and fury, his frustrations, sadness and fears since the dragon attack boiled over, and the shepherd could only get himself to utter a single word: “Die.”
With all his might, Logan plunged the blade into Reynald’s neck. A spray of blood showered the shepherd’s body like some obscene consecration of his actions. The bandit lord gave a quick gurgle and went limp.
A hushed gasp traveled through the entire encampment, then quiet. Even the other bandits had frozen in shock. Logan picked up his weapon and stormed off towards what appeared to be Reynald's second in command.
“ If any of you want to try it, come on and whet your horns!” The shepherd yelled.
As Logan took a step forward, the sun peeked through the clouds, casting a glow down on the young herder and illuminating him like some heavenly being.
The bandit underlings did not like that one bit.
“Good heaven’s, he’s one of those saints! Forget this group! Run!”
“Flee!”
“Look, we’re sorry, have mercy on us!”
Within minutes, the surviving trio of highwaymen had turned tail and disappeared down the road. Logan made sure they left. Then he turned back to the Lynchburg refugees. Everyone was staring at him, then back at the dead bandit leader, and then at Reynard’s-and now Logan’s-bloody sword.
And then they backed away from him.
The shepherd stopped.
Logan thought he was a hero. But things had changed after the killing. He was now a killer, and things would never be the same between him and his former neighbors, his former community again.
They could no longer accept what he had become.
After a long quiet, the former shepherd simply nodded, went back and picked up his pack, and finally wandered off alone, away from the other former inhabitants of Lynchburg.
“Logan!”
After a few steps, the Logan stopped and took a single look back, saw his uncle take a few halting steps forward and try to say something, before giving up and hanging his head down in shame. The former shepherd silently waved goodbye, before turning back forward again, throwing the hood of his overcoat over his head and silently continued up the new path chosen for him.
He had been greatly wronged by random acts from the Heavens, and he had rightened some of that wrong on his own, being gifted a sword with which to enact his vengeance in the process.
Thus the former shepherd would continue to do what he had started.
Logan had lost his home and family to monsters, and as he trudged along he gave an oath to make sure that no monster would ever be able to slaughter families in their homes like this again. He would hunt them instead.
He would make them fear him instead.
He would be a hunter of monsters.
***
“So that was how I took up my current occupation. It’s what gets me through the day. I wake up knowing that I could drop dead from bandits, wolves, plague or monsters, but at least I will give as much as I take.”
“People are so eager to kill themselves these days.” The dragon muttered under his breath. Its paw wound had somehow opened up again, and the wyrm turned aside to lick it freshly clean.
“And what do you mean by that?” Logan retorted.
“Nothing.” The dragon replied. “I am a bit tired. We can continue this story after a brief rest.”
Monster Hunter Tri OST - Credits
This passage was probably one of the most difficult for me to get down. I must have rewritten this some 5 times X).
From
chickenzaur!
The smoldering fires cooled and the dead were buried, and a young Logan Durham was left alone with his Uncle Matthew on the snow-covered roads South, joining the long sad trails of refugees as they went seeking shelter from the cruel winters of Betakinin Sound. Everywhere they only encountered rejection.
"Sorry, no space here."
"We don't need your kind."
"Fuck off beggars!"
Logan became sullen and more bitter with every rebuff, all but disappearing into his cloak.
It was weeks later the Townsfolk of Lynchburg finally reached their nadir.
“Bandits!”
The procession was moving South along the Royal Road as it steeply descended from a hill when suddenly a pair of large, thickset men stepped out from behind a boulder.
"Stop scrum! You are now in the lands of the White Rock gang!" The thug who called pulled out a sword, the other a club. "Hand over all your food and treasures, and we might be merciful on you lot."
The crowd panicked, people trying to flee back up the road, only to be stopped by another pair of bandits stepping out from atop the hill, trapping the hapless refugees.
The refugees were herded like sheep; they were lined up and robbed of everything they had left, trashing what they had no interest in. Then the bandits started harassing individuals, attacking those who looked at them the wrong way, bullying and taunting those who shied away, but focusing especially on the women.
“Look at this pretty one!” One of the thugs called out as they grabbed Cora the weaver’s apprentice by the shoulder. As the young woman froze in fear, one of the assailants leered down at her.
“Perhaps we can get her to sing for us. Are you a good singer, little girl? I’m sure we can-”
“Stop this!” Logan yelled suddenly, stepping forward. He had gotten sick of bullies in the world, of the strong taking from the weak, of the general unfairness of everything.
He was just angry.
“Logan, no-!”
Crook in hand, the shepherd brushed his uncle aside and confronted the quartet of robbers, who had stopped their activities to stare at the upstart.
"Let her go. Let us all go." Logan yelled as he raised his polearm.
The thugs stopped to laugh.
“You plan on defending this useless rabble?”
“A kid? The audacity!”
The bandits pushed Cora aside and drew their weapons.
“A brave fool like you deserves a quick death.”
Immediately the highwaymen fanned out to surround the defiant refugee.
Logan however stood his ground, staring right at what appeared to be the individual directing the bandits. “At least I’m not a coward. Who do you all have as a leader but a craven that sends underlings to gang up on me?” Without breaking eye contact at the thug he was taunting, Logan spat on the ground. “Show us all why everyone should listen to you.”
The White Rock underlings indeed stopped and turned to look at their surprised commander, who after a pause, laughed as he obliged by stepping forward.
“Ha! A brave one!” The thug exclaimed as he stepped forward as he drew his sword. “I am Reynard of Oxenham! And you kid, you just made your worst and last decision of your life.”
With that the bandit charged the shepherd, swinging his sword blindly. Logan dodged, striking back with his shepherd’s crook to smack the bandit leader.
Reynard grimaced as he fell back, rubbing his head. “You’ll pay for that!” He yelled, attacking again. Sword and crook clashed. Logan had little idea what he was doing, but he had fought wolves before, and wolves were faster and more dangerous than a marauder used to bullying the defenseless. The bandit leader was stronger and more experienced than the shepherd, but even so Logan was faster and had the bravery of someone with nothing to lose.
“Roll over shrimp!” Reynald finally snarled, giving his young opponent a heavy kick that sent the duelist flying to the ground, his staff landing with a clank nearby.
Immediately, desperately, Logan reached for his shepherd’s crook, but as he attempted to grab it the bandit leader put his foot down upon the staff with a snort, pinning the weapon to the ground.
Looming massively over the defiant shepherd, Reynald raised his sword over his head to deal a killing blow.
“Okay fool, now you perish.” The bandit gloated.
But the thug was a bit too triumphant, for Logan noticed his opponent’s weight was not well distributed, and just as Reynald swung his weapon, Logan quickly dropped onto his back-the blade singing overhead- and gave his staff a swift kick. Already off balance from the swing, the bandit leader stumbled as the pole rolled and gave way.
The leader of the White Rock gang fell like a pile of rocks.
“Wha-?” was all the highwayman managed to utter before he hit the ground hard, his weapon falling with a crash beside him. In an instant, the shepherd leapt up and snatched Reynald’s sword before falling upon his foe. All of Logan’s anger and fury, his frustrations, sadness and fears since the dragon attack boiled over, and the shepherd could only get himself to utter a single word: “Die.”
With all his might, Logan plunged the blade into Reynald’s neck. A spray of blood showered the shepherd’s body like some obscene consecration of his actions. The bandit lord gave a quick gurgle and went limp.
A hushed gasp traveled through the entire encampment, then quiet. Even the other bandits had frozen in shock. Logan picked up his weapon and stormed off towards what appeared to be Reynald's second in command.
“ If any of you want to try it, come on and whet your horns!” The shepherd yelled.
As Logan took a step forward, the sun peeked through the clouds, casting a glow down on the young herder and illuminating him like some heavenly being.
The bandit underlings did not like that one bit.
“Good heaven’s, he’s one of those saints! Forget this group! Run!”
“Flee!”
“Look, we’re sorry, have mercy on us!”
Within minutes, the surviving trio of highwaymen had turned tail and disappeared down the road. Logan made sure they left. Then he turned back to the Lynchburg refugees. Everyone was staring at him, then back at the dead bandit leader, and then at Reynard’s-and now Logan’s-bloody sword.
And then they backed away from him.
The shepherd stopped.
Logan thought he was a hero. But things had changed after the killing. He was now a killer, and things would never be the same between him and his former neighbors, his former community again.
They could no longer accept what he had become.
After a long quiet, the former shepherd simply nodded, went back and picked up his pack, and finally wandered off alone, away from the other former inhabitants of Lynchburg.
“Logan!”
After a few steps, the Logan stopped and took a single look back, saw his uncle take a few halting steps forward and try to say something, before giving up and hanging his head down in shame. The former shepherd silently waved goodbye, before turning back forward again, throwing the hood of his overcoat over his head and silently continued up the new path chosen for him.
He had been greatly wronged by random acts from the Heavens, and he had rightened some of that wrong on his own, being gifted a sword with which to enact his vengeance in the process.
Thus the former shepherd would continue to do what he had started.
Logan had lost his home and family to monsters, and as he trudged along he gave an oath to make sure that no monster would ever be able to slaughter families in their homes like this again. He would hunt them instead.
He would make them fear him instead.
He would be a hunter of monsters.
***
“So that was how I took up my current occupation. It’s what gets me through the day. I wake up knowing that I could drop dead from bandits, wolves, plague or monsters, but at least I will give as much as I take.”
“People are so eager to kill themselves these days.” The dragon muttered under his breath. Its paw wound had somehow opened up again, and the wyrm turned aside to lick it freshly clean.
“And what do you mean by that?” Logan retorted.
“Nothing.” The dragon replied. “I am a bit tired. We can continue this story after a brief rest.”
Monster Hunter Tri OST - Credits
This passage was probably one of the most difficult for me to get down. I must have rewritten this some 5 times X).
From
chickenzaur!
Category Artwork (Traditional) / Fantasy
Species Western Dragon
Size 2251 x 1637px
File Size 622 kB
Listed in Folders
Hmm, would you be afraid of someone who came to your rescue with a stick, just because he used a sword when he got one? I wouldn't, and I find it a bit hard to believe that everyone in Logan's traveling company was. Surely someone would be grateful. What about the girl? She looked like she stood to lose a lot more than her lunch money.
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