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[center][h3]Hunters
The Diary Of Father Nab[/h3][/center]
[i] ...It has been debated heavily amongst scholars about the exact origins of hunters. Surely anyone can (and many do) pick up a sword and run into battle.  There are thousand of corpses that prove this fact. But the question remains, what makes the difference between a true hunter and fool with a sword.  Father Tav theorizes  that it is a mixture of luck, skill and determination (in that order) .   There are many would agree with him, indeed this writer assumes that most of humanity holds this view (there would be a great many less dead fools otherwise). However, Father Huggs has noticed an interesting pattern. That a great many notable hunters born outside of ‘hunter clans’ and all seem to have been born under the blood moon……[/i]

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[center] [i] [h3] And now….Flint [/h3] [/i] [/center]

“[color=9966CC]Finding a mate...Well good luck with--[/color]” The door of the tavern slammed open, groaning as its massive weight bounced off the wall, cutting off Emiliah’s sentence.   The sound startled and drew the attention of the most of  patrons. Even though a big shot slamming open the door was a fairly common occurrence. There was always someone who thought their message was worth the attention of everyone.  Sometimes they were right in thinking so. 
 
Following the door was a rather...Nondescript man. He was of average size and build and wore a red half cloak that showed the clear signs of ‘having seen some stuff’. The man carried his weapon as thought he was expecting a fight or had just come from one.  Judging by his appearance it was the latter. 

His face  was covered in a collection of small cuts and bruises, common injuries from running through the thick woods that surrounded Seren’s Folly from every direction, save the few narrow roads in and out.   The quake in his step alluded to having come a far distance. The closer he got, the more extensive his injuries became.  Scarlett drops scatter across the floor from a deep gash on his forearm that held up his bow. 

[color=0054a6]“Bobby-” [/color] His voice was hoarse, breathless.[color=0054a6] “We’ve got- got a [i]slight[/i] problem [/color],”  The door slammed behind the man, knocking whatever strength he had been holding. He collapsed to the floor. A monster of a wolf that had enter behind him crouched next to the fallen man, lapping at his injuries, trying to revive his human.  

Bobby stopped his conversation as he maneuvered  behind his bar to get a better look at who called him from the door. His eyes wide seeing the boy collapsing to the floor.[color=f7941d] “EY!” he bellowed. “What you all waiting for? Pick the lad up! Soph! We need some towels!”[/color] He limped around the bar as he noticed nobody was moving. [color=f7941d]“Well come on you Idjits! Quickly now. Up on the table. Don’t want him bleedin’ all over my floor!”[/color]