[center][h1][b]John[/b][/h1][/center]

It was a rough night for John. He was out on a hunt for Goblins far on the Southern woods when terrible noise was heard from the foot of the mountain. Considering the time, and the unnatural loudness of it, John instinctively knew a village was under attack. And by that he did not mean an attack by wild animals either. No, it was the sound of a large-scaled raid.

"[i]That direction.. Goldencrest?[/i]" He thought to himself. "[i]Was there a large scale attack on the village? Are witches involved in it?[/i]"

His thought was interrupted by a Goblin spear whistling just millimeters away from his cheek. An attack that was instinctively answered by the roar of his trusted flintlock gun, followed by the wet sound of a goblin chest bursting into puddles of flesh and blood.

"Ah damn.. Hope I can retrievable the bullet after this," he then announced dejectedly as he refocused his mind to the ongoing hunt. "That thing cost more than a drink, you know."

-----------------------

Having finished his duty, John rushed as fast as he could towards the direction of the now-smoking-ruins that was once the Village of Goldencrest. Needless to say, he did not make it in time. The sun was already setting in the horizon when he finally arrived at the scene. The area was desolate; not a single living soul was to be found within the vicinity, and the once prosperous if rather small village has been reduced to ash and glowing cinders. Even the Church, a shining symbol of divine protection, had been reduced to smouldering pile of coal.

John was not the most pious of man, but in the face of such harrowing display, even he felt the urge to kneel and offer a prayer for the deceased. However, he would not let sorrow led him from the thing that is most important. Determining who, or what, was responsible for the attack.

Thus, John scoured the remnants of the village for clues on what kind of terror made its presence towards Goldencrest. Scars on the walls, craters on the ground, remnants of cryptic runes, trails of blood; anything of the sort.

He knew that looking for such clues are next to impossible, now that the location has been desolated by flames. Yet still he continued, for even if a sliver of evidence were to be found, he believed that it would help immensely in the Hunters' long term endeavour against the witches.