Origins of Hunter

Hunter Leemonex... Few werewolves in Endasia have a strange past. Most werewolves grow up in their pack, survive with their pack, and die in their pack. There are also werewolves such as Hunter, who only wish they had such a simple life. Hunter Leemonex is reminded of this past every day. What event could occur that would cause such distress in his life?

This is the story of Hunter Leemonex.
The story of the werewolf that was a part of the 'event' that seemingly killed his whole family.


6. Mind Reader

Hermit's rock was surprisingly far from camp. It really isn't that far, but the rough hilly terrain kept me from making my normal progress.

It doesn't take long to come across two figures, who must be Helen and Cassie, the werewolves Koba told me about. They are walking, no hurry at all. It must be the reason u caught up to them so fast. I'm not used to no hurry these days, I'm always going somewhere quickly to do something important.

They hear me a little ways off, and they wave at my arrival. They don't seem that surprised, which seems odd. Frankly, I'm surprised whenever anyone pops in on one of my adventures. Then again, i'm not hunting. I slow and then wave back when I come close.

"Hey hey," Helen says.

"Hello," I say, smiling. "You guys still on your way to hermit's rock?"

"Yep. You going too?" Cassie chimes in.

"I am. Mind if I join you?"

"No," Helen says. "Leave," she punches my arm, surprisingly hard. "Yes, you may join us."

I laugh.

"Don't hurt his arm," Cassie says in a motherly way. "It's tender."

"Oooooh boy," I say smiling. One time when we were hunting as a pack, I got stung by a scorpion in the right arm. To identify what scorpion stung me, they asked me what it felt like; no feeling, painful,throbbing, something like that. In a hurry, I said it felt 'tender,' which did sum it up, but it was still a funny choice of words. It's been a small joke among our pack.

"What brings you, Hunter?" Cassie asks.

"Funny you ask," I say. "I really don't know. I didn't feel like hunting today, but I couldn't think of anything else to do. I just decided to go, without really thinking."

"Hunter doesn't want to hunt?!" Helen says, covering her mouth with an exaggerated gasp.

"Yep," I say, smiling again. "I don't know, I've done a lot of hunting recently."

"I find it funny that we find it more shocking that Hunter doesn't want to hunt more than Hunter not thinking," Cassie adds. "Guess we've grown used to it."

I laugh. This is the best part of the pack, without question. The friendly environment that really is just like a bunch of teenagers. Weird, funny, enjoyable. I think it's about time I start hunting with a partner instead of going solo, it is so much more enjoyable.

"So why did you guys decide to come?" I ask.

"Seems like something I should do at some point in my life," Helen says.

"I came because I want to know what's my future," Cassie says, overly happy. "I've heard this guy is really good. I don't really believe in fortune tellers, but still."

"Yeah, I've heard he is pretty great." I pull out his card from my bag. "Come one come all, to see the great Pierre." I put the card back. "People who know him refer to him as 'magnificent one' or 'Pierre the Legend.' He has even predicted the future for the hero Deordish. Hopefully I'm pronouncing that right." I'm laughing as I recall this, as are Helen and Cassie.

"Who is Deordish?" Cassie says, still laughing. "I've never even heard of him!"

"I think that's the idea," I respond with a grin. "He was so important nobody knew anything about him."

"We probably shouldn't make fun of Deordish... Or Pierre for that matter," Helen jumps in, though she is still grinning.

"Yeah, Pierre might smite us," I say. I stop in my tracks. I smell the hermit. Not the hermit exactly, but something dark, damp, and smelly. We are very close to the rock in which the hermit lives. Too close. I'm afraid he heard us make fun of him, since there isn't anything to muffle our voices besides our footsteps.

We all stand, silent. Cassie punches my arm this time. "Moron," she whispers, referring to my comments about Pierre. We are very quiet. When we want to be, werewolves don't make a sound.

It doesn't take long to realize we are a stone's throw from the hermit's house. We try to find the entrance, much quieter this time.

We are now on the other side of the rock. The wooden door stands out, which I find funny. Stone house and a wooden door, there is absolutely no connection between the stone and wood, a somewhat clean stone rock and a dark wooden door. Certainly, Pierre wasn't hoping this to be camouflaged.

Etched above the door hangs a sign, it says "Hermit Pierre." I think under that says "the magnificent one," but it is hard to tell, the wood is worn away.

"Do we just go in?" Cassie whispers.

"Sure, go for it," Helen says. Without hesitation, Cassie opens the door. It doesn't creak at all, which almost makes it more spooky than it actually creaking.

The inside of the house is naturally dark, and it has a musty smell to it. The same musty smell I smelled a minute ago. The walls are made of mud, the floor is wooden, with a few various wooden support beams extending from the floor to the ceiling. In one of the far corners occupies a small desk with scattered, unorganized papers and an unlit lamp.

It's concerning, however, what we see in the corner of the room. In the the other far corner was a bed, which seems occupied.

It doesn't seem like anyone's home, or awake, rather. Why do I feel like I'm so wrong?

We back out as quietly as possible, but we were already several steps in. We did exit silently, but for some reason it did feel like we were caught, much like when you are caught somewhere you shouldn't be... You feel like someone knows you just did something bad, and you need to pretend you didn't do anything.

I shut the door.

"Well then," Cassie says.

"Well then, indeed," a voice says behind us. I jump, and when I get scared, I automatically draw my weapon. This happens, my bow is drawn in an instant, aimed at the new comer. "Now now," says the man. "I might just have to smite you if you start threatening me." He smirks, which looks normal on his wrinkled face.

He is as short as a dwarf, but everything about him besides his height screams wizard. Dark blue pointed hat with a larger brim, and a cloak that goes down to his feet is the same color as his hat. It looks like wearing something like that would be murder in any sort of heat. He also has a twisted wooden staff he is heavily leaning on. If he was taller, this person would be the definition of a wizard.

His face is old and wrinkled, as the best wizards often are. He wears a very distinguishable white beard. His eyes are a light grey, but when he looks at us it seems as if he is in a dream, not entirely focused. Maybe he's looking into us. I shiver.

"Sorry," I say. He must have heard us. My apology doesn't sound very genuine, but it was. I'm surprised he heard me. I lower my bow and fix it on my back.

"Are you you Hermit Pierre?" Cassie asks (I think everyone knows he obviously is, but I think it's her way of telling Pierre what we are after.) She doesn't sound surprised or taken aback at all.

"The one and only," the wizard answers. "Not so magnificent, though," he says, poking the sign above his door with his staff. His staff came close to my head, I could feel static electricity come off of the staff. I want to touch it, but I'm also somehow sure that it would kill me. I decide not to touch it.

"That was something I put up there many years ago," Pierre continues. "I had some help with my job a long time back, to boost my business. My help made me make all of these... Promotions? Promotionals? Whatever he called it. Humans nowadays are only in it for the money." He purses his lips and shrugs.

He walks to the entrance of his house. I step aside for him, as does Helen. Cassie still is almost in awe to the wizard.

"I think someone is in your bed, umm..." Helen pauses.

"Just call me Pierre," says the wizard. "And no, there isn't anybody in my house." He unlocks the door, even though it was unlocked. "Want to know something about magic?" He removes the key, and turns towards us. "Magic isn't always magic. I mean, magic is magic, but sometimes magic is just the creation of an illusion. So sometimes, magic is no more than an illusion" He smiles, and opens the door.

There is no longer a musty smell, or mud walls, or the dark feeling. The walls were a magnificent white, the floor a dark shade of wood. Even the size of the room was larger. The walls seemed to emit light.

"After you," he says to me. He doesn't take his eyes off of me. I walk in, pretending not to care. Cassie and Helen walk in behind me.

There is two major differences to the room; the desk and the bed. The bed seems to be much like a hammock back at camp, but a little wider. Also, the desk is much bigger, and there are so many scrolls. Too many to count. In the walls, in drawers, scattered on the desk itself.

"Do you still do fortunes, Pierre?" Helen asks. This question has an obvious answer.

"I suppose," Pierre replies as he continues making his way towards the desk. He moves very slowly with his staff. "I truly haven't don't them in a while, but there's no harm in trying, I suppose."

"What's the price?" asks Cassie. She reaches into her bag. "I have some silver coins and some copper ones."

"Silver?" Asks the wizard, puzzled. "I thought werewolves can't touch silver."

"Only as a weapon," I say. "Like, if we are stabbed with it. It has a poisonous effect, but this currency is mixed with other chemicals that takes the edge off." It's the first time I talked since we met Pierre, and I still feel like he is sizing me up. Helen and Cassie staring at me doesn't help, either.

"Ah," says the wizard. "I should know that. But, alas, I have been becoming more and more forgetful recently. I believe my time is coming." He says it so naturally, like there is no fear. I've always been afraid of death, it seems like something to be feared, but I'm questioning myself now, the way Pierre makes it concerning...

He goes past his desk and sways the staff, revealing a small room. "Who wishes to go first?" He asks, slowly turning.

"I guess I will," says Cassie. She seems eager somehow. I'm not.

"Come on then," he says. It shouldn't take too long."

She walks into the room, and as if it were a curtain, the wall reappears.

Helen and I sit in awkward silence. I feel like anything I say will be heard Pierre, so I keep my mouth shut.

It only took about ten minutes, and Cassie comes back. She has this glazed look in her eye, but she is smiling. She sits down, face unchanged.

"You next, child?" Pierre asks Helen. He didn't even give me an option, and I really don't want to go last for some reason.

"Sure," Helen says, she doesn't sound scared either. She walks into the hid room.

While Helen is in there (wherever 'there' is, Cassie dares to stand up and walk to the hidden entrance. "Incredible," she says. "Look," she shifts her body so I can see, "this is a wall, nothing to it. It's not hollow or anything, and somehow Pierre pulls it like a curtain." I keep quiet. Magic is such a peculiar thing. I wish I knew a little, but I doubt it can be taught. I wouldn't know, though.

Helen emerges from the room. Her eyes are blank, but she holds a fairly unhappy face. I'll have to ask her later about it.

"Last but not least," says the wizard," Hunter Leemonex." I hesitate. I never told him my name, how could he have known? Oh, I see. Helen or Cassie must have told him. But I was talked about? I wonder if he asked.

I get up and walk through the entrance, trying not to look fazed. The room is darker than the other, but not very much so. There are two chairs and one small table in between. I sit and the far one, and watch Pierre pull the 'curtain' entrance close. He sits down.

"I'm having a hard time reading you, Hunter," Pierre says, arms crossed on the table. "I'm seeing a lot from your past, but I'm getting trouble from your future. I'm stuck in one of your memories, and I can't seem to get any farther than it." This guy is poking in my mind? Should I be careful what I think? I can't do that... Reading anyone's mind seems so horribly rude?

"Which memory?" I ask, almost choking. He probably knows I'm afraid. Something about magic always seems to get me.

"Shortly after your night with Isabelle and Pete," he says, still staring into my eyes. I wince at "Isabelle."

"Bitter memory with her?" Pierre asks. I get the feeling he is more after an answer than curious.

"Yeah," I say, eyes glued to the table. "You could say that."

"I have to do this quick, Hunter," Pierre says. "It will be painless."

My vision is dark. I don't hear or see anything. I don't know where I am, or what happened to me. If I haven't blacked out yet, I have now.

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