Anyhow, if you figure the story out halfway through, just sit quietly and be patient, I wrote this between classes. 
Also a note regarding Vengeance: I am sorry for not updating, as I'm sure you've noticed, it is on major hiatus. This is because when I started writing it I just dove right in without thinking about much of anything. So while I know how it basically starts, a few events, and the ending, I haven't written up a story outline. I hope to get that written up sooner then later.
Without further adieu, I give you:
The Hunter
He waited patiently on the hilltop, watching his hunting grounds. Waiting for the perfect time. Waiting for that perfect moment. Waiting for the precise second to charge in and take down today�s chosen prey. Then, without warning, a swift kick to the old horse�s gut forced the old nag into action. Rearing up half out of surprise and half out of tradition, the pale grey horse let out a haunting and painful howl that echoed though the hills. Before its front legs even hit the ground, the horse had pushed off with its hind legs and tore down the hillside.
To look at the odd couple would bring a questioning look to many an eye, for nothing about them was even remotely well kept. The horse�s coat was rough to the touch and the smell of manure emanating from the beast was strong. The rider�s robe was tattered to the point of being worse than the rags many women keep under the sink and his bow seemed to be hardly more than a gnarled stick with a string from end to end. Even the nag�s reins were in poor shape. Barely a thread and the saddle would have been disposed by many without a second thought.
Trees whipped past the pair at incredible speeds, and animals barely managed to crawl, creep, or jump out of the way of the oncoming bullet of flesh. With his two deep red eyes, The Hunter watched as the city walls loomed closer and closer to him and smiled when he was within walking distance. Just a sudden as the rearing kick, a sharp jerk came from the reins, causing the horse to attempt to stop immediately. Lurching forward in the saddle, The Hunter waited as the horse slowly skidded to a stop, kicking up rocks and bits of dirt enough to bury a small animal under.
The Hunter climbed off his mount and headed off into town, passing the guard without a thought, and leaving his horse to gnaw at some scraggly weeds growing up against the tall stone walls. He smugly walked through town, knowing everyone but being known by none. Everyone from the prestige Count Isaac -- whose picture was so obscenely plastered onto the wall of one of the town�s many bakeries -- all the way down to the many beggar boys with those false broken legs and sores over their bodies. He knew them all and he was certain they were none the wiser about his own existence.
The townsfolk curled their noses when he grew near and shuddered when he came into contact with them. Very few, if any, thoughts wandered through The Hunter�s mind as he made his way across town to a fairly wealthy house. Without a second�s hesitation, The Hunter walked from the cobbled street straight into the stone two-story building�s parlor. Soundlessly treading across the wooden floor, everything, even the boards under his feet, seemed to hold its breath as The Hunter made his way to the second floor, where sounds of merriment and conversations trickled down from.
A heavy oaken door placed at the top of the stairs was all that barred him from the elaborate party that was happening just inches away. Reaching out with an old and wrinkled hand reached out and gently pushed the door open enough for him to stride into the room to find three couples sitting at a rectangular wooden table. At the instant the door swung open, all conversation stopped. The Hunter stared inventively at one man in particular. He was in his late forties with a slight grey tint to his hair, and while he wasn�t precisely muscular, he was quite fit. He was in the middle of shoving a roll down his throat when he saw the door open. Quickly swallowing, he stood up abruptly, treated The Hunter as if he wasn�t even there, and closed the door.
A larger guest dressed in expensive linens made a joke about a draft which caused the conversation to pick right back up, as if nothing happened, and the fit man was laughing while he took his place and jumped right back into the conversations, after getting another glass of wine. Calming now standing next to the window, The Hunter reached into the quiver on his back to pull out one of the deep black arrows with one hand, and, with the other, reached over to liberate his shoulder from the gnarled bow.
The grin on The Hunter�s face grew with every passing second as he drew his bow, aimed toward the fit forty year old man. He loosed the arrow as soon as he brought the bow to its full potential and the arrow went screaming into the man�s chest. Then a peculiar thing occurred, the arrow didn�t stop. The arrow slowly pushed its way through the man�s chest, all the while he his choking and people are rushing to his aid. They thoroughly ignore the arrow, which is now halfway into the man�s chest and making its way out his back, and attempt to give him a flustered version of the Heimlich maneuver.
Just as they manage to project a wadded up piece of purple dough, the arrow flies out the back and the man takes one last exasperated breath before falling dead onto the table. The Hunter starts to cackle as he walks over to the arrow, which has an odd grayish sphere pinned by it. He carefully tore the grey orb away from the arrow and a bag on the Hunter�s waist seemed to swallow it up. He laughed as the women screamed and sobbed and the men stood there like statues, staring at their now-dead friend.
Once more The Hunter pushed open the door, this time the five people too preoccupied to notice a door being blown open. He laughed again as he left, knowing they never sensed his presence. For he is above them, yet below. For he is more powerful, yet more fragile. They never had a clue. For he, he was Death. The greatest hunter of them all.
-------------------------
As always, constructive criticism is very welcome.
