The multiverse needs heroes. Who better to recruit than talented people who are already dead? No ties to their respective worlds, no worry about their safety, and the skills to get the job done.
But before the final team can be chosen, their stories must be recorded and judged. These are the stories of how they died.
The walls appeared to be made of solid granite. No sign of an opening could be found along a wall, floor, or ceiling. Physically, this room was inaccessible. Yet somehow he was here.
Frey ran a hand along one of the walls. The last he remembered, he was struggling to stay alive. He was sure he had died, but he didn’t seem to be harmed right now. "Where am I?"
"This..." A voiced echoed. "Is the storytelling room."
Frey turned quickly, instinctively reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there. Sitting comfortably at a newly formed granite desk was an elderly man, smiling gently. Where he came from was as much of a mystery as the room itself. "Who are you?" Frey was sure he wouldn’t like the answer.
The man smiled, his white beard bunching with the movement. "I am the Recorder." The man's voice was strong and young sounding. He sounded as if he were in his prime, but looked as if he was near death. "You have a story to tell. A story that has no witnesses, but still a story that needs telling."
"What story?" Frey had never told a story in his life. He couldn’t even remember any of the ones he had been told as a child.
The man gestured and a granite chair rose from the floor in front of Frey. "The story of your death."
Frey sat down on the hard chair. So he was dead after all. "Why would you want to know about my death?"
The man traced a rectangle on the desk with his finger. "The death of a Hunter is a great thing. I record those stories for redistribution. Every world will know of your final story."
Frey swallowed hard at the implications of what the man had just said. There were other worlds. "What's so special about people who hunt?"
The rectangle on the desk cracked and rose up, forming into a normal looking book. "Not a person who hunts; a Hunter. Someone who is special. Someone who may be of use in the Final Days." The man opened the book and pointed to a page that was completely blank, save for a single name. "Godfrey the Tracker. That is you, is it not?"
Frey stared at the page. Godfrey the Tracker could be any number of people on any number of worlds, but he could feel something emanating from the page. Whatever the book looked like, there was definitely something magical about it. He felt that the page referred to him, and him alone. "How could I help in the ‘Final Days’?" He had no idea what that was, but he was sure he wouldn’t be very useful.
Amazingly, words scribbled themselves onto the page in a metallic blue ink. A Tracker can find the Key.
He blinked. The book had just “spoken” to him. "What's the Key?"
Once again, the words scribbled into existence. Once again, he found himself wondering why he was so accepting of this situation. The time will come for the Key. Now is the time for the story of Godfrey the Tracker's death.
The man turned the book back around. "The book is right. I wish to hear the story before we continue. Sit back, relax, and tell me your final story."
Frey leaned back in the chair, amazed at how comfortable it suddenly seemed. He still didn't understand all of this, but he knew the conversation wouldn't stray. If he wanted answers, he would have to tell his story. "Well, it starts a few days ago..."
A/N: This is the beginning of the Monster Hunter collection of stories. Each story will be about a different "Hunter". Most of them will be hunting some kind of magical creature. And all of them will die at the end of the story. Some stories will be 1 chapter long, some will be multiple chapters long, and some will be nearly the length of a small book. The limit rests only with my imagination and patience to continue the collection. If you have a story that fits within the parameters of this collection; feel free to add it once the currently posted story ends. This collection is planned to be never-ending and just as an outlet when I can't focus on my other works. To that end – Frey’s story is slow going, but I am working on it. If you finish something before I do, feel free to post it first.