A large white and brown spotted Dog
Large Wachtelhund, male, 85 lbs-
Traits- Single Master, Discriminatory Smell, Domestic Animal, Quadruped, Sharp Teeth.
Skills- Brawling 14, Tracking 13
Attack- Bite 1d-2 cutting
(An Alsatian Forest, Dawn, Spring 1199)
Francesco crouched in the tall grass at the edge of the clearing, his clothing festooned with leaves to help hide him from the buck. Raising the crossbow to his shoulder, he sighted down the quarrel, taking careful aim for the animal’s heart.
“……..zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzttthud.”, came the hiss of the arrow, followed seamlessly by the sound of impacted flesh. The stag fell, instantly killed.
Franco looked quickly around, scanning the glade’s edge, trying to find the hunter who had beaten him to the prey.
There, at his left, he saw a large figure emerge from the brush. The man was over 6 feet tall and broadshouldered. He was carrying a shortbow, common to the close range hunters in this part of Alsace, and must’ve been around 30 years old.
‘I haven’t eaten in two days’, thought Franco. ‘That was to be my meal. It shall be yet.’
Raising his crossbow, the Hunter took careful aim, sighting along the quarrel at the forester’s heart…
“..grrrr…”, came the sound from his right, and, before he could react, a large furred figure was upon him, teeth gnashing, snarling, all spittle and gleaming fangs. Franco, knocked to the ground by the ferocity of the attack, dropped the crossbow and struggled to free his knife. The hound snapped at his face, barely missing his chin. Then, suddenly, Franco’s hand found the hilt of his knife. With the dog snapping at his throat, Franco pulled the dagger free and thrust upwards…
“…yip…”, was the only small sound the dog made as Franco’s blade found her heart.
Gathering his legs beneath him, Franco stumbled upright. Looking back to where the forester had been, he saw the man running off into the forest, dropping his pack and bow as he fled. Glancing down to the silent figure of the dog he thought, ‘you deserved better. Your courage exceeded that of your master, and that is a divine tragedy…’.
Still dazed, stumbling over to the man’s discarded knapsack and bow, he noticed the puppy, carefully poking it’s head out of the sack.
“You deserve a better master than fate saddled your mother with…I will call you ‘Remus’…”