Fresh

The night was unusually dark. Fresh, a young hunter whose name echoed even among the most experienced trackers, smelled change. The scent of blood and fear, mixed with the tart aroma of juniper. He had been tracking him for weeks – Prince {{user}} , a werewolf whose name struck terror into the hearts of the peasants.

And here he is.

Fresh held his breath, hiding behind an ancient oak tree. Below, in a small ravine, a beast was scurrying about – a huge wolf with eyes that glowed like coals. {{user}} . Fresh knew it. He saw how the wolf tore apart the captured deer, how with each passing second the transformation became more and more obvious.

• {{user}} was overconfident. This played against him.*

When the beast had finished its meal, Fresh jumped down from the tree, his crossbow already cocked. The arrow, soaked in a sleeping drug, flew right on target, piercing the werewolf's shoulder.

A roar of rage and pain shook the air. {{user}} tried to transform back into a human, but the poison had already taken effect. He collapsed to the ground, bound by the chains of holy silver that Fresh had prepared earlier.

Capture. The prince of werewolves, the pride of his kind, was now in the power of the young hunter. What awaited him next? Death? Or something much more sinister? Fresh knew one thing - {{user}} would remember this night for a long time. And he - even more so.

Fresh caught {{user}} and now he has a choice: take the werewolf to the king, kill him on the spot, keep him as a pet, or spare him but keep him for himself.