Open Chronicles Hellboars on the Highlands

[Irman Harefoot]

Irman sat peacefully atop the crumbling wall of a long lost dwarven structure, the name for which he did not know. He was smoking his pipe, and trying to keep his mind off of travel. It had been seven days since he had arrived in herdschlant, a small human village which had claimed a fertile valley for itself in the middle reaches of the Spine. The hope was that another caravan would deign to go through this simple village with need for a guard to help them on the road, but none had come, and Irman's heart had started to beat with wanderlust.

"Auch" huffed Irman, with a puff of smoke "I suppose there's no helping this matter just sitting around waiting, better get myself moving before I don't have a choice in the matter." Irman took to his feet, descending the 30 foot high wall with a series of hops as he held his billhook in one hand and his pipe in the other. Once on the ground Irman started walking into town, muttering himself as he sucked on the tip of his pipe

"The best part of being a caravan guard is not having to worry about food everyday, the bad part is the noise, guess I should have weighed that last group a bit better since now I need a lot of money to buy a bunch of provisions very fast. Not sure I can survive on mountain bugs and stringy birds a second time."

The adventurers guild had a desk at the local tavern, the receptionist there was a young man who had heard the rumors that some kind of rabbit beast man had been staying at the inn the last couple days, but was still surprised to see it walk up to him and flash a gold rank adventurer pin.

"I'm looking for something quick young man," said Irman. "Do you have any requests for monster slaying, or something comparable?" The young receptionist quickly went to search through the records of active postings.

"there is one, sir, but I'm not sure its something a single gold rank adventurer can handle all that easily..."
"That certainly makes it sounds good young man, I'm quite fond of a challenge."
"ok, 'request to thin Highland Hellboar numbers'." Irman gave the young receptionist an inquisitive look.
"ah, hellboars are a monster that appear every now and again on this region of The Spine, they're firebreathing horned pigs the size of full grown bulls."
"quite an apt name in that case."
"very, a large herd of them was spotted in the highlands a couple days ago and while a call was sent to bring in expert monster hunters to deal with the main herd, local adventurers are being paid to deal with straglers that might end up wandering to a farm or settlement. The payout is relatively high since there's a lot of danger involved, but this request has been picked up by numerous guild locations throughout the region so you likely won't be the only person out there doing this."
Irman smiled, tipping his hat as he started for the door. "That sounds perfectly what I had in mind young man, thank you. I'll be heading to the highlands then and will soon be back with enough hellboar horns to make your head spin! Har Har Har!"

 

[Sigrun Flintfeet]

in the Highlands, west of Belgrath

Sigrun leant down, her blue- patterned fingers brushing lightly across cloven tracks. The size of a horse, but subtly different, clustered closer together, hinting at shorter legs. The print stamped deep into the soil of the valley woods, a mark left by a heavy creature. She picked up a clump of earth from the print, sniffing it, then rubbing it between her fingers.

Fresh. A few hours or less. The unmistakable smell of boar lingered faintly to its stamp. Though it held a hint of sulphor to it.

She rose from her kneel, reaching no higher than five feet. But it was enough to see the faint curl of smoke beyond the canopy of trees. A camp or other settlement. And the creature was headed straight towards it.

Judging by its sparse droppings and determined path, she surmised it must be driven by hunger. A hungry beast could be a dangerous one. She blew out a bit of hair from her face and flicked her braid of auburn-brown hair past her shoulder. She would need sharp axes and spears for this encounter. Perhaps even a trap, should it decide to return.

Sigrun flung down her pack. It spilled out an assortment of items: Spare throwing axes, heads covered in leather sheaths, a saw-toothed hunting trap of rusting iron tied to its side, a skinning knife, stakes, hammer, whetstone, waterskin and more. Her feet ached from hours of walking, her throat parched with thirst. She thought she had heard the gurgle of a spring nearby. Perhaps she could fill her water and sharpen her axes, maybe even lay a trap beforehand. No sense in confronting the beast tired and with dull steel. It was not likely to be going anywhere.

But as she opened the cork to her waterskin, her nose caught the faint whiff of something else. A single crow flew off from the trees in the south. Intuition told her someone else - or something - was approaching.

Sigrun didn't hide. Instead, she unhooked a pair of throwing axes, one from her back and one from her belt, holding them in an easy, loose grip, dangling by her side. Her dark-olive eyes scanned the woods, waiting.

She cut a strange figure in the woods. Dwarfed by taller shrubs and moss-covered rocks, surrounded by scattered pillars of golden light, yet standing tall, chin raised, arms lowered. She held the short and broad form of dwarves, though she didn't carry the same excess weight of most of her kin, her stance balanced and relaxed, ready to draw upon a squat nimbleness. The exposed parts of her fair skin danced with sky-blue patterns like a bold welcome. It was the only colour to stand out from her brown hair and leathers that otherwise melted with the undergrowth.

 

[Irman Harefoot]

A faint scent of smoke had led Irman east to a damp and wooded corner of the Valley. A shaky lead to follow but one that seemed to be paying off as he found a suspicious amount of ash clinging to leaves and resting amongst the underbrush.

the woods were eerily tranquil as Irman cautiously advanced. His long ears un-hatted and listening closely for anything near or far of interest. For a while there was nothing, and then a mighty whoosh that gave way to a wide array of sizzles and crackles.

Irman bounded with incredible speed, hurrying towards the sound as tried to best consider a battle plan, should the monster notice him before he could strike it unawares. When Irman arrived he saw a short and painted woman standing next to a length of burned underbrush and singed tree bark. Standing across from her was what could only be described as a hellboar. It resembled a boar in many ways though hulking, with black patterned fur that faded to grey across its belly. Its face was long and boney with deep red eyes caged by a twisted briar patch of horns and tusks.

The boar and the woman were engaged at a range. Irman watched as the boar held its mouth shut before breathing forth a tremendous torrent of fire, which quickly changed direction from towards the woman to straight at Irman.

Irman leapt to the side, flames nipping at his toes as he narrowly dodged the attack.

 

[Sigrun Flintfeet]

Spoiler: Music

Sigrun had dived for cover behind a rock, now anticipating its fire. The damned creature was full of surprises!

And surprises were plenty a-coming. It suddenly changed its trajectory of flame, and a bipedal beast of fur leapt out from the trees in a blur of movement. For a split second, Sigrun mistook it for another monster - but the chime of her Noct Yaegir pendant stayed her throwing axe.

Another Yaegir. The thought hit her like stray cinders. Her face dropped from a battle grimace to surprise, before her brows knitted again in dismay, her mouth twisting into a drooping scowl. Bloody competition, then. She would rather have taken another hellboar.

She pulled another throwing axe free from her belt. Kills were split between hunters. Perhaps he would run yet.

Dogged resolve, and the timely distraction of her fellow Yaegir, sharpened her focus. She held low on the hilt, axe-head dipped down, trailing the creature with her aim. It halted, fiery eyes turning back in her direction. There.

The axe whirled, flung with all the violent force she could muster. It hit the top of a foreleg - not quite the head she'd aimed for, but close enough. The beast grunted, the axe-head sunk deep into its shoulder, oozing blood. But it hardly seemed to care, preparing to gore her.

Before its charge, Sigrun managed to bellow:

"First come, first served, Yaegir!"

Irman Harefoot