Notes of a Foolish Hunter

It’s almost the anniversary of one hundred years of the Hunt, and we’re gonna fucking celebrate it.

The spirit of the Hunt is stronger than ever, and spirit is all we need in order to do an impossible task. And so today marks the day towards our journey to do the impossible. The Board of the Highest Huntsmen has officially decided that, this year, our collective goal is to go after something that was previously considered a myth.

Mother Nature. Or so they call it.

It’s never been seen, but it’s said to walk the grounds of Portugal in its deepest forests and its highest mountain ranges. It travels all the time, but never near civilization, probably why we’ve never seen it. It’s responsible for the environment around us, always has been. That’s how the story goes.

Mother Nature looks like a deer with the whitest coat of fur in the world and golden, shimmering antlers longer than any kind that the world has seen. Its fur is covered in blue markings that constantly shift, almost like sentient tattoos; one for each journey it has completed.

We’re going to hang its head on the wall of Lodge One, in the name of the Hunt.

There’s only one big problem, really; not only is it responsible for the environment, but it controls it, too. It can detect anything biological from twenty kilometers away, so there’s no way in hell that we’re getting anywhere close to it.

The Board is making plans to counteract its abilities. She’s a tough one, Mother Nature. But the Hunt is tougher.

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