The Huntress (Mission)

Mission Details:

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees.
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor.
And the Chasseur girl stalked across the blackened forest floor.
The Chasseur girl stalked across the blackened forest floor.

She’d a head of raven hair, scarf wrapped below her chin
A coat of shabby leathers, hair placed up with a pin
On her face was nary a wrinkle. She came with no ally
In her eyes was a curious twinkle,
Her shuriken shone a twinkle
Her kunai hilt a twinkle, under the night sky

Through the brush she stepped with careful poise, her posture never marred
She crept towards the caravan, knowing all was locked and barred.
She peeked from her place in the treeline
And who should be waiting there
But a pair of sleepy caravan guards
Bless, a pair of sleepy caravan guards
Breathing softly out in the lovely midnight air.

And dark in the dark old forest grove, a dead old willow creaked
While the Chasseur huntress listened. Her face was white and peaked.
Her eyes were grey and thoughtful, searching for her pay,
And she saw the chest a loaded
The chest a loaded with coin
Like a vulture she watched with interest, as she heard the guardsmen say-

“One mo’ my jolly friend, don’t let the place out of your sight,
But I shall be back once I’ve done my duty, before the morning light
If a bandit shall press you sharply, and harry you into the day
Call for me in the moonlight
I’ll come a running in the moonlight
I’ll come to you in the moonlight, and a bandit we shall slay”

He rose from his seat on the log. His blade came to his hand.
But he loosened his grip in ease. The fire burned like a brand.
As the black cascade of darkness enveloped him, his walk in the night progressed;
He wished his friend well in the moonlight
(O, sweet black waves of the moonlight)
Then he set aside his blade in the moonlight, and swaggered away to the west

The huntress watched him yawning. The huntress watched him swoon;
And before she set upon them, she cast her eyes to the moon,
When the road was a gypsy’s ribbon, looping the purple moor,
Like a thief in the night she came creeping-
Creeping, Creeping,
The Chasseur girl came creeping, across the forest floor

She said no word to the guardsman. She took his coin instead.
Silently, she crept to the camp, while the rich merchant man slept sound in his bed.
She knelt beside the caravan, a kunai at her side.
There were locks on every window
And heaven in one dark window
For the huntress could see in the moonlight, the chest that the merchant did hide.

He had tied the chest to the window, an arrow aimed straight for her chest.
He had bound a crossbow beside it, with the muzzle aimed straight for her breast!
“Now, keep good watch!” hollered back the guard, knowing not of their silent guest
She heard the doomed men say
Call for me in the moonlight
I’ll come a running in the moonlight
I’ll come to you in the moonlight, and a bandit we shall slay”

She twisted her blade in the lock, and but the knot to the bow held good,
She writhed with her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the moments crawled by like years
Til, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

The tip of one finger touched it. She strove no more for the rest.
Up, she stood up to attention, the muzzle was missing her chest.
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
For the guardsmen were there in the moonlight
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins, in the moonlight, carefully minded the crossbow’s aim.

Click. click; Click; Click! Had they heard it? The lockpick ringing clear;
Click. click; Click; Click! In the moonlight? Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Under the splinters of moonlight, into the dark of the woods,
A crossbow bolt went a flying,
Flying, flying
The guard to his feet he was climbing, startled by the arrow that flew to the moor

Pitter, patter, in the frosty silence! Pitter patter, in the echoing night!
Nearer they came and nearer. Their faces were like a light.
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; She drew one last deep breath
And her pockets filled in the moonlight.
She slipped away in the moonlight
Saved her own neck in the moonlight, under the dark of the caravan door.

The guardsman turned. He shouted to the west; he longed for bandit’s blood.
He bowed his head below the wheels, but she’d already ran to the woods!
Not till dawn would they wake the merchant, and his face would pale to hear
How a thief had pilfered his profits
The merchant’s hard earned profits
His guards had failed their duty in the night, their quarry fled into the darkness there.

Loud, he shouted like a madman, shrieking a curse into the sky
With the white road smoking behind him, and a horse whip brandished high
Blood red were his eyes in the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat;
But they’d never find her on the highway.
Shoot her down like a dog on the highway.
She was too clever to be caught on the highway, stalking off to the market to gloat

And now that night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor
The angry merchant went a riding
Riding, Riding
The angry merchant went a riding, hoping to settle the score.

And through the brush she steps with careful poise, her posture never marred
She creeps towards the caravan, knowing all is locked and barred.
She peeks from her place in the treeline
And who should be waiting there
But a pair of tired caravan guards
Bless, a pair of tired caravan guards
Breathing softly out in the lovely midday air.

(Exit)
(TWC: 1076)
+500 Ryo
+1 AP
500/500 Transformation Technique
500/500 Rope Escape Technique
76/500 Spanking

(Full disclosure, this is based on a poem called The Highwayman, by Alfred Noyes, which is really awesome and you should check it out. The peom gives me a lot of muse, and I decided to make my own little version of it. I feel that I’ve done enough to change it and make it my own to warrant being credited with WC, but if it’s not acceptable, since it uses Alfred Noyes’ tempo and flow, as well as his rhyme scheme, that’s fine, I’ll rewrite this. I just like this topic a lot and I’d like it to be cannon for Athena regardless.)

Approved