#Lore24 â Entry #189 â Supers Month II #8 â Hunting What Hunts You
From the journal of Abigail “Sassy” Dawson, Mage of the Order of Hecate
I âspose it were sometime in mid-spring, somewhere in the Nebraska or Dakota Territories when we had some trouble that werenât of the normal variety. Weâd managed well enough to avoid trouble with the Indians, well, âceptinâ that one incident, but that ainât nothinâ to get into here. My travelinâ companions were bickerinâ back and forth as they usually were when we was on long stretches between civilization, âbout something that happened back in the Dark Ages, I reckon, how it was Assaneâs fault Richard got drawn and quartered for somethinâ sheâd started, or somethinâ or other like that. I was ridinâ on a little ways ahead just so me and Asher could have a little peace and quiet for a time when everythinâ went all deadly quiet.
We was on alert, stopped cold in the middle of some old Indian trail in the middle of the woods when this feelinâ of dread just came rushinâ into me like nothinâ Iâd ever felt before. I had my pistol in one hand and a protection spell in the other before I knew what was goinâ on. I scanned around the area with my mystic sight but didnât see no signs that weâd come into one of them âbad placesâ where things was known by the Indians to be unnatural. Didnât see no Indian signs aside from the trail in fact. Asher couldnât get a bearinâ on anythinâ either, and he was downright spooked like I ainât never seen him before.
As the two genies came back into earshot, they realized, for a wonder, that somethinâ was wrong, cause they were suddenly very alert when they saw me standinâ stock still on the trail, and had their own protections up. They took to the air and split up to scout from above, but by then that dreadful feelinâ had started to fade, and a few minutes later, the sounds of nature started cominâ back. When the two came back, they played it off as them spookinâ away whatever it was, but I could tell they was a little rattled by whatever had been there.
Weâd get our first clue a bit further on down the trail that we was beinâ hunted by somethinâ, and that it wanted us to know we was gettingâ hunted. We came up to a clearinâ in the hills, real idyllic little scene with a pond and a freshwater spring. Well, it woulda been were it not for the pile of rottinâ meat we found on the shore and the smaller chunks floatinâ around the water. I figure it mustâve been a whole herd of deer what were massacred there, and though they was rottinâ off the bone, it couldnât have been done too long ago. We set to cleaninâ up the mess, Richard burninâ the corpses while Assane worked on purifyinâ the water. Whatever had just come through ate a little of each one, the organs like the heart and liver and even the brains, but left most everything else. Werenât no messages left behind other than the bloody mess, but it wouldnât be the last one of those we came upon.
Was maybe three or four days later when we ran up on that feelinâ again, drawinâ us to the north, only this time when we came up on the massacre, it were a bunch of Indians, maybe two dozen of them, all warriors. They was missinâ the same parts as the deer were, but this time, instead of beinâ thrown all around, they was laid out deliberate-like, in some kind of dark ritual, their innards splayed out in specific ways, devilish signs made in their blood. Worst part was they was all still alive somehow, cryinâ out in agony, even without their brains, it was like their spirits were still trapped in the bodies.
I hadnât never seen nothinâ like that before, and couldnât evern start to imagine what couldâve done it. My companions had some thoughts about it, though, cause it was their job to know this kind of stuff, so they had told me many times, and for once they agreed it were some kind of demon runninâ around, and likely sent after us by someone or somethinâ that weâd pissed off. Most likely it was their fault, cause I didnât reckon Iâd done nothinâ to deserve that kinda attention just yet. They was pretty sure it was leavinâ a trail for us to follow, just waitinâ for the right time to strike, when it was good and ready, meaninâ we had to somehow find it first.
It werenât no happy trail weâd found ourselves on, that was for damn sure.