Card of the Week: Master of the Hunt

Those are obviously wolfhounds, not wolves!

Hunted

The horn blew again, long and low, echoing over the valleys and through the trees. Though still faint, it was a little louder than before. And now I could hear the baying of the hounds as well, deep and bone-chilling. The hunt approached, and I had little doubt that I was its quarry.

I continued my flight through the woodland, but I knew that my chances of reaching even a sizeable village before the hounds ran me down were slim. This was the forest primeval, the trees untouched by axe and the ground unbroken by plow. I had sought such a wild place just for its remoteness from humanity, for the wild ley lines at its heart. And though I had found riches of mana, I now wished that I had left it alone and stayed in more settled lands.

Though I had by this time gained significant skill in green magic and, through association, some amount of wood lore, I could not outpace the hounds or their Master as I fled through the forest. No matter what Hidden Paths I found, what Deadfalls I avoided, the cries of the hounds lived forevermore. It was only a matter of time before they hunted me down. That time came sooner than I expected, though, as I caught myself just before I tumbled off the edge of a ravine. A fast-flowing river had cut through the forest here, carving deep into the earth and blocking  my escape from the hunt behind. The canyon stretched as far as I could see to either side—there was no way across. Resigned, I turned back towards my pursuers.

It was not long before the first of the hounds burst through the treeline. They were of great size, larger than any dog I had ever seen before, and of noble appearance. Though heavily muscled, they looked like they were built for speed rather than raw strength. Even so, I knew that even one of them—much less the entire pack—was more than a match for me, sword or no. My magic was my only hope...but the only ley lines I could call to myself were from far away seas and islands. Those lines that I had come here to gather had, it seemed, forsaken me.

Working with what I had, I cast Controlling Magic at the leaders of the pack and brought them under my will. Bidding them approach—but calmly!—I greeted them as I would a friendly stray on the streets of Alsoor, carefully but with confidence. The lead hounds, now friendly, circled me with curiosity, and the other hounds of the pack soon took a cue from their leaders. I was, at least, no longer in danger from the hounds.

Surrounded by the now-friendly hounds, I was ready for the Master of the Hunt when he appeared through the treeline. He was tall, and his wild beard and antlered crown gave him a fey look. He may have been human, but he was no settled or civilized man—he was as much a part of the wild forest as the trees and hills around us. His stony glare seized my eyes, and it was all that I could do to not look away. Finally, he nodded ever so slightly and approached, not as a hunter approaches his prey but as one approaches a stranger. I let out the breath that I had not realized I had been holding.

We talked for long hours, until the sun set on the hills. He was curious as to how I tamed his hounds, and I answered truthfully. I asked him of his hunt, why he had chased me, and he told me: the lands I had explored for their ley lines belonged to another mage, a jealous one who had set him upon me in revenge. I offered him payment for his services instead, and he granted me the right to call upon him in the future as long as I left these lands so that he could fulfill his duties to his current benefactor.

There was no way I wasn't going to make my own wolfhounds into tokens.

When I left him behind that night, I took with me a hound. It was not one of the lead dogs; in fact, it was likely the smallest and scrawniest of the pack. But even the smallest and scrawniest of them was strong and imposing, and I was honored to have her. She may be long gone, but even to this day I have her descendants as loyal companions and friends.

Fiona and Rory in real life.

Wild Huntsmen Throughout the Multiverse

The Master of the Hunt is but one of many wild huntsmen. Tales abound of his likes throughout the multiverse, though the fine details vary. Some tales say that the Master is a god or a king, others say that he or she is a devil or of the fair folk. The Master may be accompanied by other hunters, either mortals or faeries or spirits, and may ride all manner of fearsome beasts. But all lead hounds, huge and fierce. The wild hunt is sometimes seen as a harbinger of plague or war, and those who witness the Master’s hunts are often believed to be doomed or bound for abduction into the faerie realms.

Though Odin (in his many names) is most often the Wild Huntsman, other traditions name King Arthur, Fionn mac Cumhaill, the Devil, Francis Drake, and a whole host of others as the Master of the Hunt.

Do You Hear the (Wolf)Hounds, They Call!

The Master of the Hunt is not often seen in the battles between mages. He is difficult to summon, especially for a being as comparatively weak as he is. He does allow his allies to call upon his Wolf(hound)s, but they too require great investment of resources to summon. Even so, if any mage is likely to find his services useful, a green mage has the best chance of doing so. With abundant resources supplied by allies such as Elves and Birds of Paradise, a green mage might well be able to summon both the Master and a large pack of his Wolf(hounds) into battle.

It is unfortunate that the Master’s Wolf(hounds) specifically require green mana to summon: it is possible to tap infinite amounts of colorless mana through the Basalt Monoliths and certain applications of blue magic, but such mana cannot be reliably changed into green mana in arbitrary amounts. Were there a way to do so, flooding the battlefield with countless Wolf(hounds) to overwhelm an opponent would certainly be an effective way to win a battle, and a satisfying one at that. Alas, such a thing remains an idle dream.

Danatoth of Alsoor


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