Act 1: At the base of the valley

A frozen silence under the crisp crunch of snow, interrupted once more by the gallop of a horse. A gruff looking man, clad in leather and denim, with a scarf bundled tightly around his neck rides into town. The wind is still for now, but he has to make it before it picks back up.

“Hyah!” The horse picks up it’s pace, not too fast, the sun is setting and light is scarce. It’s only a few more minutes before the snowy trail ends and the frozen gravel begins, he’s made it to Asphodel.

The man hitches his horse and heads inside the general store. The door swings open and catches the patrons off guard. In a town this small, the general store is also a saloon. Men are laughing, drunken at the bar, and the place is terribly lively.

“Bill! Haven’t seen you in ages! What brings you down from the mountain? And in a storm like that no less.”

Bill pulls off his scarf and shakes the snow by the door.

“I couldn’t resist your Italian charms.” The clerk laughs. “HA! What do you need Bill?”

“I need eight feet of wire, two bottles of rum, and a case of 22 Long.” The clerk turns from Bill, searching his wares. A man at a small table approaches Bill by the register.

“Y-You know bud. You look awfulllly famil…famil-yer.” Bill turns slowly to the drunken patron, hand on his hip.

“I’ve got a familiar face I’ve been told.” The clerk rushes over to the counter.

“Because he’s here all the time Ken. You’ve met twice before, go take a seat.” The drunken man stumbles back to his chair by the window.

“Thanks Gino.” Gino relaxes his posture and Bill pulls his hand away from his pistol.

“The last thing I need is a stray bullet taking out a window in this storm.” Gino continues to tally Bill’s items.

“Alright Bill, that’ll be 56 dollars and 38 cents.” Bill’s taken aback by the sheer price.

“Now where the hell do you get off chargin’ good folk that much!” Gino sighs to Bill.

“Supplies’ been weak as of late. You’re the only trapper bringing anything down from the mountain. I’ll gladly pay you more than the going rate for any carcass you bring me.”

Bill settles down, he scratches the back of his head and talks without eye contact.

“That’s eh… Part of the reason I’m here. Not much luck either.”

“Hey! *SNAP SNAP* Then why don’t we make a deal. I’ve got a little job for you then.”

The door to the store flies open and a man in all suede leather walks in. He hangs a heavy sheep skin coat on the wall, and it groans in response. Snow drips from his boots with every step and shake of his ten dollar spurs. His twisted face is a terrible portrait of greed sitting above a small but noticeable badge, “Sheriff.”

“Me oh my. Had I known I’d be this lucky I would’ve spent the whole live long day playing poker, stead’ of locking up criminals like you.” He tilts his nose down towards Bill.

“And what brings you to this fine establishment Sheriff Porter?”

The sheriff approaches Bill until he’s just below eye level with the man.

“You’re only allowed outside of a jail cell by my good graces, much less shoppin’.”

Gino steps forward. “He’s the best trapper we have, you know how much he provides for the town.”

“I know, I know. The legendary outlaw, entirely too familiar with the touch of death. Makes for a damn good trapper!”

The sheriff walks around Bill cautiously towards the bar.

“Then tell me why this legendary trapper has an empty horse, and a growing tab with the town store. What’s wrong? Is the life of a rabbit really harder on you then the lives of 26 men?” Bill stands aggressively to the sheriff.

“You watch your Goddamn mouth Porter, or I’ll take that badge and carve every last word of yours into that slimy back you got.”

The sheriff tentatively puts a hand on his pistol. He knows he has the upper hand, but even he might have gone too far.

“Bill please,” Gino interjects. “You too sheriff, neither of you want this.” Sheriff Porter and Bill calm down. They sit at the bar and Gino pours them both a drink.

“Here, warm up a little.” The two men happily sip the drink and begin talking more amicably.

“So why don’t you have any pelts Bill?” Bill turns to the sheriff.

“Goddammit what did I say?”

“I know I know, I meant it as a genuine question. Is everything alright?”

Bill slinks into the countertop.

“Not really, critters have up and disappeared entirely some days. When the sky’s clear and I feel lucky, I’ll go set a trap. But for some damn reason, every time I come back the critters broke out.” Gino stops polishing his glass to lean his hands on the counter.

“Or something broke in.”

The sheriff snaps at Gino, “Come on Gino! That ain’t real. We’ve been over this!”

Bill leans forwards inquisitively, “What do you mean something broke in?”

“There’s a reason you haven’t seen a living thing in weeks. A creature, a beast, has taken up residence in the valley.”

Sheriff Porter turns to Bill and takes off his hat, “It’s driven everythin’ away from here to Mt. Caina. I can’t explain it; it’s taken over the whole valley at once. It ain’t natural.”

“But Bill can do it. We don’t have a choice sheriff.” Gino pleads with Sheriff Porter.

Sheriff Porter fully turns to Bill with begging eyes, “I know you and me have had our differences, but this concerns you too. None of us will make it through the winter unless we get some fresh game down here. There’s a price on the head of The Beast, but I’ll double it if you can really take it down.”

Bill pauses, contemplating the sheriff’s offer, he swigs his drink and slams down his glass.

“I don’t need your damn money, buy me a case of 22, a case of canned beans, and a bit of liquor.” The sheriff perks up at Bill’s words.

“So you’ll do it?”

“Get me my supplies and I’ll go.” Gino puts the ammo, food, and booze on the counter.

“Here, on the house. Good luck Bill.” Bill grabs his supplies and dons his scarf as he heads for the door.

“Now wait just a Goddamn minute.” The drunken man from earlier stands to protest Bill.

“Just what kind of… m-man do you trust to climb the Amarok Trail in the MIDDLE OF WINTER, and kill The B-Beast?” Sheriff Porter stands from his barstool and approaches the drunken man. He turns to Bill, supplies in hand, ready to leave.

“I trust the Butcher of Black River.”