This is it! The very last Hunter! Which means, tomorrow is Release Day! We are SO. EXCITED! Don’t forget to stop by tomorrow for the release-day announcement. There’s a special surprise here on the DevBlog in honor of our first game-release.
But for today we have Lucas Talbot, the cowboy werewolf whose motto is, “If brute force doesn’t work, you just ain’t using enough.” When we started writing these, Lucas wasn’t my favorite, but by the end of this story he certainly was. He’s just so much fun!
Lucas Talbot
Playable Character
Arkady reeked of blood, and decay, and despair. Lucas’s nostrils flared with distaste. His wolf brain was struggling wildly to Change and begin ripping out throats. He suppressed the urge ruthlessly. There would be time for a wolf’s teeth later, now it was time for a man’s wits. There was something else here, beyond the usual demon-stench of an outbreak.
Lucas pulled out his revolver and checked the cylinder was full. He grinned ferally. “C’mon, Bessie. We’re goin’ huntin’!”
The big man tossed a camouflage cover over his big, low-slung Harley parked along the black, wrought iron fence. Patting it affectionately, he addressed it directly.
“Sit tight, ol’ girl. Don’t you go talkin’ to no strange men, now.” Chuckling at his own wit, Lucas swaggered through the arched gateway. The letters above said ‘Arkady Township Cemetery’ and the wealth of headstones combined with the faint scent of dead human were further clues.
The werewolf’s face grew more lupine, yellow eyes above lengthening canines and framed by slightly pointed ears which managed to be not at all elfin. He stalked along as if he owned the earth he walked on, revolver held loosely in front of him by hands tipped with very un-human claws. Following that underlying scent of Hell, he made his way through the head-stones and gaudy memorials toward the other fence. Halfway through, his head snapped to the right along with his revolver. He thundered off a shot, dropping in its tracks the shambling corpse which had been creeping up on that side. Well, trying to, anyway. The scrape of stone behind him made him whirl and fire point blank into the animated stone gargoyle lumbering up to swipe at his head. The thing shattered satisfyingly, crumbling into gravel. Lucas grinned.
“Good work, darlin’. Bet there’s more where those came from up yonder, though. Awfully dark ahead.”
Hopping nimbly over the back fence of the graveyard, he continued on through an old orchard toward a heap of stonework which seemed to mark the edge of the town proper. Wending through the trees, he hesitated. Turning slowly, he peered among the trunks. Movement made him pause and raise his gun. He held it steady, but didn’t fire.
“A’right Malcom, I know y’er there; I can smell yer stinkin’ hide. Come on out.”
An even larger man stepped out and confronted him square on. The hulking man had dark black skin and hair, but bright yellow eyes matching Lucas’s. His teeth flashed in a pointed grin as he stared down into the Hunter’s eyes.
“Evenin’ Lucas. Out for a stroll in this bon’ weather, aye?”
“Well, hell, it’s a fine evenin’ for a stroll. What’re you doin’ this far from the bayou? Come to help put down whatever’s invadin’ this whistle-stop?” Lucas quirked an eyebrow, not at all believing it to be true; Malcolm wasn’t that kind of wolf.
The larger man barked a laugh. “Ah, Lucas, still the idealist I see. Your naivete is gon’ get you killed one day, aye.”
“I reckon that may be so, but it ain’t today.” Lucas spat, squared his shoulders and puffed up his chest a bit, revolver never wavering from Malcolm’s chest. “Walk away. Whatever history we got ain’t gonna keep me from tearin’ out that lump you call a heart if you interfere.”
Malcolm shimmered and twisted, settling into his other form. He growled softly around a muzzle full of sharp teeth, lips drawn back. His furry arms curved forward to embrace Lucas, claws fully extended. “No, you’d never kill you old pack-leader. You’ve no’ got the stones. Come along now, pack be waiting. Can’t you hear them howls, what’s welcomin’ you back to you place among us? Don’t be a fool, aye.”
Lucas sighed, shoulders slumped almost in defeat. “I hoped you wasn’t gonna put me in this position, Malcolm. A true friend wouldn’a, an’ I never wanted to believe you wasn’a friend, just a mite power-hungry, maybe.”
The other werewolf’s triumphant chuckle was shattered by the heavy BOOM of the revolver. The glowing bullet ripped through Malcolm’s chest, sending viscera across the headsrones behind him. He looked down at the gaping wound in his torso, opened his mouth to speak, then dropped to the grass in a heap. Lucas looked down at him, hands hanging loose at his side. Shaking his head, he sighed and turned away.
“He was a right bastard, Bessie, but he was my Alpha once ‘pon a time, an’ that made us kin. Ain’t right, havin’ to kill one o’ yer own. You remember that.”
He put a second round into Malcolm’s forehead, as a eulogy.
The Hunter continued on to the pile of rock with an ancient gate set between towering pillars and a new building beside it. The sign said ‘Old City Gates: Visitor Center,’ and beneath that, ‘Welcome to Arkady.’ The stench of Demon-stink was almost overpowering, and black tendrils of solid shadow were twining around the gate itself. And yet, another set of smells distracted him.
“Ah, well ‘least we won’t be fightin’ whatever this abomination is by our lonesome, darlin’. Friends comin’.”
Lucas turned toward the newer building, howling a loud greeting. An answering whoop from the other side heralded the arrival of five individuals led by a familiar tall black soldier carrying a small arsenal. Lucas swaggered over to greet the man.
“Deacon! Glad to see you, my man! There’s somethin’ foul afoot I don’ fancy takin’ on alone.”
Deacon grinned widely, and the two men bumped fists in greeting. “Lucas, you old dog! Glad to see you made it.”
The rogue werewolf turned to greet the others with a tip of his hat. “Howdy, ya’ll. I see everyone’s here; good to see ya’ll lookin’ in such fine fettle.” His eye fell on the tall blonde hanging a little back. He smiled a charmingly crooked grin, pointed teeth showing “Well, now, who’s this pretty little lady?”
Roland smirked. “This is Erica. Erica, meet Lucas. He’s a werewolf, but he’s on our side. Like Mercy, only more friendly.”
Deacon gave Lucas a serious look. “Too friendly, sometimes. Erica is on her Trial, and it’s a Crossing. She’s had a rough day, so go easy on her.”
Lucas assumed an injured expression. “You wound me, Boy Scout; I’d never do nothin’ to hurt a friend. An’ I can tell we’re gonna be real friendly, me’n Miss Erica.”
Renata snorted derisively. “Enough banter; we’ve serious business to attend to. The Lord has guided us here–”
“More like I guided us here,” Roland mumbled.
Renata ignored him, “–which means this must be the Threshold.”
Mercy’s quiet, deadpan voice startled them all. “The Abyss is about to open.”
“Can we stop it?” Erica gripped her shotgun, and small bits of debris swirled around her feet, a wind rising from a gentle breeze, picking up speed by the moment.
“No.” Mercy slipped into watchful silence once more.
Deacon shook his head. “Alright, people. Everyone load up, extra ammunition where you can reach it. All senses extended, keep a sharp eye and let’s have no surprises. If we hit whatever comes through hard and fast, maybe we can stop it bringing too much over to this side and shut this thing down without losing the town.”
Lucas slid a few more high-caliber silvered bullets into Bessie’s cylinder and nodded along with the others. “Right y’are, boss. I don’ smell nothin’ nearby. There was a lone werewolf over yonder, but I already, ah… took care of ‘im. The others are roun’ ‘ere somewheres, but they’ll keep their distance for now.”
Deacon simply nodded, but Mercy shot him a questioning look. She had known him the longest, being the longest-lived among them. Lucas caught her eye and nodded slightly.
“Malcolm.” He said simply.
Mercy nodded in understanding, placing a consoling hand on his forearm before fading away into the shadows to take her place. She was quiet, hard to know, but she understood how hard it was to fight one’s own instincts, and even one’s kin and kind, in order to do the right thing. Out of all of them, Lucas reflected, Mercy might be the only one who really got him.
The others took their places too, forming a rough circle. None too soon, either. Wavering tendrils of liquid shadow sprouted from the ground, solidifying into a gaping black hole in the center of the arched gateway. It seemed to suck all light into it, almost burning the eye with the intensity of the darkness beyond. Lucas stared into the Hellgate, taking careful aim at the center, and kept his body from shifting out of his instinctual fight or flight response.
Something appeared out of the blackness, some deeper darkness splitting off from it and rushing past them, rising into the sky and unfolding into an incomprehensible silhouette of horror. It was like a hole through the world, a shadow brought to life, its form like some terrible shadow-puppet. Claws, fangs, horns, tendrils, stingers… Lucas could recognize individual shapes, but they were put together into some kind of huge, impossible chimeric amalgamation.
It loomed over them, turning its oppressive attention toward them with a cold malice, radiating immense power not meant to exist in the living world.
Lucas stared right back at it, golden eyes practically glowing.
“Well, boys an’ girls,” He grunted. “Looks like we’ve got us a rodeo.”
***
Our tales end here, and the story of the Battle of Arkady begins. Will the Hunters be able to defeat the demon Avenastur, or will darkness reign? The fate of the world is in your hands when you play Hunters: Battle of Arkady, available tomorrow from Roan Arts LLC!
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All content is the property of Roan Arts LLC. Copying or reproduction for profit or without attribution without permission is not permitted. The authors are Lia Wolff and James Weimer. The artist is Caytlin Vilbrandt.
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