The huntsman wasn't quite sure how or why he got where he was now. He rode slowly through the Old Forest, struggling through his slough of dark thoughts, bow and nocked arrow in hand and ready.
The way Narys spoke to him made his blood boil into a rage he was unfamiliar with and it scared him. He had the urge to wrap his hands around her throat and silence those toxic words she spat at the young teen and himself. Neither of them deserved that. All Syllea did was hug Egfor and tell him that Mortermon was still watching and with them. The man fell apart at those words, turning into a bawling mess in the Inn, all his emotions cascading out at once.
Narys turned on Egfor, spewing nasty words at the grieving man. He was calm at first. That should have been the first red flag.
Suddenly Egfor snapped, slamming out of the Inn and tacking up Elf in a rabid frenzy. He snapped at Demlemoth, telling him to leave him alone and worry about Syllea who took the brunt of Narys's verbal lashing. Egfor flung himself into the saddle, grabbed his bow, and thundered off to gods to where, like he had the armies of Sauron on his heels.
Perhaps the tall tales Zavas and Thorbeck muttered about drove him here. The dwarves doubted his prowess; the man who lived through the Fires of Orthanc, who survived the wretched pits of Angmar half dead and unarmed, who had his arm shattered by an orcish mace and still carried on using a log as a shield, who delved into tombs and faced the undead, who faced giant spiders, who faced unknown shadowy ancient evils and wargs, who wrapped himself in a burning cloak and flung himself at a Shade, and can take down a boar himself…
They underestimated him. The dwarves told him to stow his pride yet Nate told him to preserve it.
He heard a twig snap. He turned his head and listened. There it was again, and this time he saw a black shape creeping through the undergrowth. He calls out, "Man or beast?"
He was met with a bestial growl. Egfor took pause. He never heard a creature growl like that. It rattled and rasped, sounding like grinding bones and scraping metal. It chilled him.to his core and he had no idea why, until he realized he was the prey. He locked eyes with a pair of unnatural growing red eyes.
Elf spooked, the warhorse who has dutifully served unwavering in battle. He pranced and pawed, ears pinned, head tossing and eyes rolling back. He trusted his rider, however, and stood his ground.
Without thinking twice, Egfor lifted his bow and fired at those eyes. The soft whump of an arrow meeting flesh and fur reached his ears.
The beast didn't fall. Egfor choked down a cry of shock, rapidly firing as many arrows as he could before a large, furry mass the size of the man himself leapt at him.
Egfor cast aside his bow and raised his hands to protect himself.
Man and beast tumbled to the ground. Egfor gripped the gnashing, slobbering jaws inches from his face. Soulless red eyes pierced Egfor's very being.
The beast seemed similar to a wolf, yet it was larger and seemed off, very off. As if the glowing red eyes weren't enough.
He heard a cacophony of voices in his head, screaming and wailing, above all else, he heard his grandfather, screaming, "Kill it, boy! Before it kills you!"
With a resounding crack of bone and ripped of flesh, mixed with the painful yowls of the strange beast, Egfor ripped the bottom jaw off with his hands. This gave him enough moments pause to grab the knife from his belt and slash its throat.
Egfor threw the beast off of him and dive for his bow, expecting its little friends to come running.
He was met with an unearthly and eerie silence. He wiped the beasts ichor blood from his face and slowly moved to collect his kill. He muttered to himself, "Barghest. Ain't no flesh eating horse but…" with a grunt he hauls up his kill onto the back if his horse to take home. He was done hunting in this accursed place.
