Warlock of the Techmode's page

One man, tall and lanky, stalks the forest. His quarry: a "troublesome" witch. By troublesome, that meant the source of missing children and monsters coming dangerously close to the borders of the Olde Forest. Too close, the man thought as he loaded his crossbow, making a satisfying click as the bolt slid into place. Suddenly, he whirled around and fired the silver bolt at a vague shadow in the mist. The shadow made a satisfying shriek, then dropped to the ground.

The man strode over to the shriveled body of the witch, which was lying still, making an-unsuccessful-attempt at playing dead. "Got you," he said softly, and the witch managed to gasp out one word-"Huntsman!"-before she got another bolt between her dirty-white eyes.

"That's me," the Huntsman replied in a gravelly voice, not used much for talking, before he walked off. That was one problem taken care of. Now to find another.
***
After being thanked extravagantly by the townsfolk and lavished with praise after praise, the Huntsman hit the road. Walking along the dusty road along near the fringes of the Olde Forest, with the noonday sun beating down on his back like a drum, the hunter had time to think-and he should probably do some thinking, considering he was going back to the place of his birth.

There, he was raised to be a guide for all the foolish travelers who decided cut across dangerous swathes of land. It invariably happened: some knight-errant on a foolish quest needed to get somewhere and get somewhere FAST, and they hired a guide to get them to there quickly.

It was dangerous work. Even waving a massive blade around in the general direction of the monsters that inhabited the Olde Forest and other such places wasn’t enough to deter the monsters. It took skill, and knowledge of the forest. The traditions there. Who you could trust a meal from, and who you couldn’t. The arrogant knights generally don’t listen to you, though, and you have the idiots half of the time.

Lonok, as he was known as back then, was the top of his class. He was savvy, he was fast, and when all else failed, he was a quick draw and a good shot with a crossbow. Lonok had a record of the most knights surviving the Olde Forest, and his reputation preceded him. Knights and other rich travelers paid large sums of gold to get Lonok to transport them safely across the forest, though Lonok preferred to get peasants and such across the Olde Forest. They were always better company than arrogant knights, listened to what he said, and, in Lonok’s mind, always had more noble of a goal than the most chivalrous knight: whether to stand by their dying mother, or to come to their daughter’s wedding.

When Lonok had taken an older couple to their home village to see their granddaughter’s birth, everything changed. Lonok decided to stay to witness the joyous occasion, and took great joy in seeing the older couple dance and cavort like they were small again at the party. This is why I do what I do, Lonok thought as a rare smile crossed his grizzled face as he watched from the brush, Not to help some knight in shining armor save the princess or the world. I do this to help small joys like this come to be. As he thought this, he let his guard down… and then the bandits swept in from the forest.

Lonok watched in horror as the bandits razed the town town, turning the wooden village into a massive blaze, and slaughtering everyone there-including the old couple and their grandchild. The bandits then left, looking disappointed. The small town, without a name, had almost no loot in it.

Lonok suddenly realized that he could so much more good in the world if he not only guided-if he protected as well. And there, in the ruins of a destroyed town, Lonok made an oath: “I forsake the name Lonok. I will be the Huntsman, and I will hunt the evil men and fey that wreak such mindless destruction.”

For a year, the Huntsman wandered the countryside “fixing problems” with a vengeance. Suddenly, he realized that without a guide, the poor would be without the small amount of joy he provided them with. So, after he took care of the immediate “problem” he decided he had better go home to find a protege that was willing to help the poor.

While the Huntsman was thinking all of this, he was jolted by a sudden though-how was he going to explain his absence!? The lead Guide always thought his antics were against tradition, but this… He would be lucky if he was shunned! But then, the Huntsman realized that the money-mongering guides could keep to themselves. All he wanted was a willing protege-not a cut of the gold. How the Huntsman would enjoy being free of the shackles of the tradition. Smiling, he quickened his pace toward town.