Chronicles of the Hutsman [Private/History]

The passing seasons had toiled away at the aging huntsman, unlike those of Imuchakk blood that seemed to keep much of their youthful vigor into their later years. The huntsman had found himself facing numerous challenges and a number of injuries that he’d perceived as rather significant since the effort to rebuild the Sabertooth Warrior’s of the Imuchakk.

Vodarara had never intended to become a member of the organization, rather he viewed himself as too far outside to be worthy or welcome in such a position and with his ever increasing age he didn’t expect to be wandering the frozen plains beyond a handful more seasons.

The youngsters that had been risen as the new sabertooth’s should amazing growth and it was honestly quite interesting for the haggard huntsman to watch their growth and the lessons they learned from the huntsman… even if that sometimes included him… even if he did act like it was an annoyance, even if he did feel like a somewhat proud grandfather in private when he relayed any information back to the High Chief on the events that had unfolded in the missions he or they’d been tasked in carrying out.

…

As the seasons passed, he found himself in an ever changing situation in his activities out in the frozen plains, mountains and forests but also to his surprise he found differences in how he perceived and felt his times within the humble townships of the Imuchakk had been..

Vodarara could scarcely understand what had been happening to himself as he couldn’t perceive the magical effects of being bonded to a king vessel by a household object. The odd-dreams that had come upon him in the night… the whispers in the blankness of his mind cloaked in the shroud of a storm.

The huntsman had always suffered from a number of mental afflictions beyond his physical issues. Paranoia, Distrust and a Lack of Faith in others were but a few of them. Where he’d previously found himself isolated from those that could speak the tongue of the sentient species and had only come to rely on the companionship of the animals that traveled with him in scant seasons before his mindset began to further change.

His physical body had undergone some slow changes that like his mind had slipped the huntsman's mind for the most part as he found old scars, burns and other injuries that dotted his body as if they were a tapestry had begun to fade.
What he had noticed was that his travel times had improved, he was able to make better time and he found that he wasn’t as tired or exhausted from his travels as he’d been in the seasons before.

Beyond this, the arrows that he notched and loosed from his bow also carried greater power and strength as if he was younger once again but it was something more than that… something that he couldn’t put his finger on exactly and maybe it would have escaped his notice in time, if it wasn’t for the growth of the young Saber’s whom in time began to display the powers of their household’s head.

…

If he’d been of his old mind, he’d likely have discarded much of his equipment in fear of the influence of magic, in fear of what he’d once witnessed in the Dungeon of Guison. A tower wrapped in a storm that he’d never come to understand, its identity shrouded beneath a written text that he could never hope to ever read or understand.

The written and even the spoken language had been something that the Huntsman had always struggled with. He’d never been taught in a sense, the history of his existence shrouded by a limited series of memories that he still retained.
A wrecked ship upon a frigid shore, a hostile man and a skinny older woman and maybe a handful of others before his memories faded to the memories of his times roaming and hunting in the frigid forests of a larger mass that he’d traveled to.

His newer memories, freshly carved into his mind as if they were Scrimshaw. A new hobby of his that he’d taken on in the times that he’d stayed in the Imuchakk Communities as he found himself learning the Imuchakk Script while he observed the Elders teaching the Young and during the times that he sat and listened to the Elders talk of the stories, worries and more under the warmth of the flame.

…

The storm that had once cursed his mind and the weight of pressure that had afflicted his body had been driven back by the fortifications of the Djinn of Storm and while the Huntsman hadn’t perceived the truth of the blessing. It had freed him of a number of banes that had prevented his improvement, his evolution beyond that of the knowledge that he’d accrued throughout his years.

Its efforts were for the benefit of its chosen king. Afterall, a strong and faithful householder would only further augment the power of their king.
The huntsman had always been a rough piece of Ice, frozen, thawed and refrozen time and time again that took vast periods of time to carve and shape to the shape that it desired.
To work away at the flaws and imperfections that had formed beneath the layers until the djinn of storm could form anything that was anywhere close to blooming, unlike the young that could bloom with ease as they continued to grow.

Teaching an old dog, new tricks was hard but sometimes the effort to do so would pay off. Having a dog that could retain a complete bond.. A bond that might well one day sustain the tribulations of undergoing assimilation.