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Written and Illustrated by Cyrus Choi
Chapter 1:
Three, two, one, let’s go!” My older brother whispered (albeit pretty loudly) our pre-hunt countdown as I leapt from the bushes onto the herd of Fleistiers we tailed for the last ten minutes. The largest Fleistier, who was the leader, went down first as I stabbed it on the side and in the throat. When we hunted Fleistiers, we always targeted the leader. Because of the leader’s large size, his or her job was to warn the others of incoming danger. The leader fell over before it could call out and alert the herd of our presence, probably because I punctured its vocal chords. If this was two years ago, when I just started hunting, I would probably have gone for the chest, where the heart was. Then I would realize that the hide was toughest at the chest and immediately regret my decision as the leader calls out and my brother berates me. But that was two years ago. Now, I know better. As I slew the leading Fleistier, some of the nearby Fleistiers notice and call out as they start jostling forwards into the pack, hoping to escape danger. However, their vocal chords are weak (due to the Fleistiers communicating mostly with movements and not speaking much) and all the comes out as they panic is a few quiet whimpers. Despite the weak warning, the Fleistiers in the front notice the panic at the back and start running too. I slay 2 more Fleistiers, aiming for the larger ones, before the entire herd starts running. This is when my brother springs into action and blocks the path of the incoming herd. Some of the Fleistiers are smarter than the rest and run past my brother, while others are more dense and stand stationary, confused on where to go. Fleistier’s aren’t very good at turning sideways, in case you didn’t know. I catch up the the pack and start killing more of the herbivores until I have defeated 10 of them, at which point my brother steps aside and lets the remaining Fleistiers run past. We don’t kill more monsters than we need.
Three, two, one, let’s go!” My older brother whispered (albeit pretty loudly) our pre-hunt countdown as I leapt from the bushes onto the herd of Fleistiers we tailed for the last ten minutes. The largest Fleistier, who was the leader, went down first as I stabbed it on the side and in the throat. When we hunted Fleistiers, we always targeted the leader. Because of the leader’s large size, his or her job was to warn the others of incoming danger. The leader fell over before it could call out and alert the herd of our presence, probably because I punctured its vocal chords. If this was two years ago, when I just started hunting, I would probably have gone for the chest, where the heart was. Then I would realize that the hide was toughest at the chest and immediately regret my decision as the leader calls out and my brother berates me. But that was two years ago. Now, I know better. As I slew the leading Fleistier, some of the nearby Fleistiers notice and call out as they start jostling forwards into the pack, hoping to escape danger. However, their vocal chords are weak (due to the Fleistiers communicating mostly with movements and not speaking much) and all the comes out as they panic is a few quiet whimpers. Despite the weak warning, the Fleistiers in the front notice the panic at the back and start running too. I slay 2 more Fleistiers, aiming for the larger ones, before the entire herd starts running. This is when my brother springs into action and blocks the path of the incoming herd. Some of the Fleistiers are smarter than the rest and run past my brother, while others are more dense and stand stationary, confused on where to go. Fleistier’s aren’t very good at turning sideways, in case you didn’t know. I catch up the the pack and start killing more of the herbivores until I have defeated 10 of them, at which point my brother steps aside and lets the remaining Fleistiers run past. We don’t kill more monsters than we need.
I’m already carving the flesh off the slain animals when my brother strolls up and begins carving the meat too, placing the spoils into a large leather bag. The bodies of the Fleistiers seemed out of place when placed in the serene, grassy plain the herbivores live on.
“Good job, Jager,” my brother halfheartedly complimented.
“You too, Stark,” I responded with equal expression. Me and my brother were hunters. We slay monsters to make a living. We did this everyday for two years, the same menial task of hunting the passive Fleistiers. Occasionally, when we had time, we would hunt larger monsters and upgrade our hunting gear, but we rarely had time because we needed to hunt at least 15 Fleistiers a day. This gave us about 10 bags of meat.It takes a long time to locate a Fleistier herd, and the Fleistier herd we fought before this one had a tougher leader who managed to call out before succumbing to his wounds. His brethren promptly scattered, and we only got five Fleistiers. Okay, okay, it may have been my fault for missing the neck, but I was half asleep, so you can’t blame me if my eyesight was a bit blurry.
After the remains of the dead Fleistiers were turned into a pile of bones, we picked up our bags and walked into the forest beside the grassy plain we hunted on. There was some time before the tavern started serving dinner, and dinner usually doesn’t start until we arrive with the day’s meat, so me and Stark foraged in the forest for mushrooms and edible plants. People have to eat their veggies too, you know. They taught us all about foraging for plants at the Liement Hunter Academy. I remember thinking back when I was 12, when I had just enrolled in the LHA, “Why are we learning about plants? This a Hunter Academy, not the Botanist Academy.” Now I know how important knowing what plants to eat and what
“Good job, Jager,” my brother halfheartedly complimented.
“You too, Stark,” I responded with equal expression. Me and my brother were hunters. We slay monsters to make a living. We did this everyday for two years, the same menial task of hunting the passive Fleistiers. Occasionally, when we had time, we would hunt larger monsters and upgrade our hunting gear, but we rarely had time because we needed to hunt at least 15 Fleistiers a day. This gave us about 10 bags of meat.It takes a long time to locate a Fleistier herd, and the Fleistier herd we fought before this one had a tougher leader who managed to call out before succumbing to his wounds. His brethren promptly scattered, and we only got five Fleistiers. Okay, okay, it may have been my fault for missing the neck, but I was half asleep, so you can’t blame me if my eyesight was a bit blurry.
After the remains of the dead Fleistiers were turned into a pile of bones, we picked up our bags and walked into the forest beside the grassy plain we hunted on. There was some time before the tavern started serving dinner, and dinner usually doesn’t start until we arrive with the day’s meat, so me and Stark foraged in the forest for mushrooms and edible plants. People have to eat their veggies too, you know. They taught us all about foraging for plants at the Liement Hunter Academy. I remember thinking back when I was 12, when I had just enrolled in the LHA, “Why are we learning about plants? This a Hunter Academy, not the Botanist Academy.” Now I know how important knowing what plants to eat and what
plants you shouldn’t.
My brother Stark was a hulking, 21 year old man. He was muscular, buff and built like a tank. That’s because he is one. He wields an arming sword with a shield that he uses to tank and spank. He protects me in battle, because I dual wield daggers and can’t guard with those two knives. My job in fights is to deal as much damage to the monster as possible when Stark has the beast distracted. For armor, my brother wears steel plated armor (those cost us a fortune) while I wear leather armor with Kalzitier bone guards on top (Kalzitiers are a species of monster that have very tough bones). Our abilities were polar opposites, but we still both shared the same black hair. He has bangs covering his forehead, while I cut mine short, because I don’t want my hair flopping on my eyes and hindering my vision in combat, especially when I’m supposed to evade attacks. Stark’s longer hair has to be kept out of his eyes by a headband during combat, and we commonly banter about this subject.
“Stark, you I should really cut your hair shorter. It’s going to stop you from seeing which plants to pick. One of these days, we’re going to get poisoned by a mushroom because you couldn’t see clearly,” I joked as we gathered plants.
“Nah, Jager, my hair is fine. This headband works properly and it looks quite fashionable, just like my hair. I suspect that you’re actually jealous of my bangs,” Stark retorted.
We continued bickering until Stark suggested that we stop and focus on picking plants. As we picked, I admired the landscape. We were gathering plants near the edge of the sparse forest, so we could still see the clearing that we did our hunting on. Sunset was happening, and the plain was bathed in a orange glow. On the green and grassy plain, Fleistiers were plodding around, eating grass, despite the fact that we had slaughtered ten of their kind just half an hour ago.
My brother Stark was a hulking, 21 year old man. He was muscular, buff and built like a tank. That’s because he is one. He wields an arming sword with a shield that he uses to tank and spank. He protects me in battle, because I dual wield daggers and can’t guard with those two knives. My job in fights is to deal as much damage to the monster as possible when Stark has the beast distracted. For armor, my brother wears steel plated armor (those cost us a fortune) while I wear leather armor with Kalzitier bone guards on top (Kalzitiers are a species of monster that have very tough bones). Our abilities were polar opposites, but we still both shared the same black hair. He has bangs covering his forehead, while I cut mine short, because I don’t want my hair flopping on my eyes and hindering my vision in combat, especially when I’m supposed to evade attacks. Stark’s longer hair has to be kept out of his eyes by a headband during combat, and we commonly banter about this subject.
“Stark, you I should really cut your hair shorter. It’s going to stop you from seeing which plants to pick. One of these days, we’re going to get poisoned by a mushroom because you couldn’t see clearly,” I joked as we gathered plants.
“Nah, Jager, my hair is fine. This headband works properly and it looks quite fashionable, just like my hair. I suspect that you’re actually jealous of my bangs,” Stark retorted.
We continued bickering until Stark suggested that we stop and focus on picking plants. As we picked, I admired the landscape. We were gathering plants near the edge of the sparse forest, so we could still see the clearing that we did our hunting on. Sunset was happening, and the plain was bathed in a orange glow. On the green and grassy plain, Fleistiers were plodding around, eating grass, despite the fact that we had slaughtered ten of their kind just half an hour ago.
plants you shouldn’t.
My brother Stark was a hulking, 21 year old man. He was muscular, buff and built like a tank. That’s because he is one. He wields an arming sword with a shield that he uses to tank and spank. He protects me in battle, because I dual wield daggers and can’t guard with those two knives. My job in fights is to deal as much damage to the monster as possible when Stark has the beast distracted. For armor, my brother wears steel plated armor (those cost us a fortune) while I wear leather armor with Kalzitier bone guards on top (Kalzitiers are a species of monster that have very tough bones). Our abilities were polar opposites, but we still both shared the same black hair. He has bangs covering his forehead, while I cut mine short, because I don’t want my hair flopping on my eyes and hindering my vision in combat, especially when I’m supposed to evade attacks. Stark’s longer hair has to be kept out of his eyes by a headband during combat, and we commonly banter about this subject.
“Stark, you I should really cut your hair shorter. It’s going to stop you from seeing which plants to pick. One of these days, we’re going to get poisoned by a mushroom because you couldn’t see clearly,” I joked as we gathered plants.
“Nah, Jager, my hair is fine. This headband works properly and it looks quite fashionable, just like my hair. I suspect that you’re actually jealous of my bangs,” Stark retorted.
We continued bickering until Stark suggested that we stop and focus on picking plants. As we picked, I admired the landscape. We were gathering plants near the edge of the sparse forest, so we could still see the clearing that we did our hunting on. Sunset was happening, and the plain was bathed in a orange glow. On the green and grassy plain, Fleistiers were plodding around, eating grass, despite the fact that we had slaughtered ten of their kind just half an hour ago.
My brother Stark was a hulking, 21 year old man. He was muscular, buff and built like a tank. That’s because he is one. He wields an arming sword with a shield that he uses to tank and spank. He protects me in battle, because I dual wield daggers and can’t guard with those two knives. My job in fights is to deal as much damage to the monster as possible when Stark has the beast distracted. For armor, my brother wears steel plated armor (those cost us a fortune) while I wear leather armor with Kalzitier bone guards on top (Kalzitiers are a species of monster that have very tough bones). Our abilities were polar opposites, but we still both shared the same black hair. He has bangs covering his forehead, while I cut mine short, because I don’t want my hair flopping on my eyes and hindering my vision in combat, especially when I’m supposed to evade attacks. Stark’s longer hair has to be kept out of his eyes by a headband during combat, and we commonly banter about this subject.
“Stark, you I should really cut your hair shorter. It’s going to stop you from seeing which plants to pick. One of these days, we’re going to get poisoned by a mushroom because you couldn’t see clearly,” I joked as we gathered plants.
“Nah, Jager, my hair is fine. This headband works properly and it looks quite fashionable, just like my hair. I suspect that you’re actually jealous of my bangs,” Stark retorted.
We continued bickering until Stark suggested that we stop and focus on picking plants. As we picked, I admired the landscape. We were gathering plants near the edge of the sparse forest, so we could still see the clearing that we did our hunting on. Sunset was happening, and the plain was bathed in a orange glow. On the green and grassy plain, Fleistiers were plodding around, eating grass, despite the fact that we had slaughtered ten of their kind just half an hour ago.
At the edge of the clearing, I could see my home town of Liement, with its tall, circular stone walls and rows of buildings inside them. Even though I had seen this view for two years already, its beauty will never cease to amaze me.
After the sun had gone below the horizon, I alerted my brother, “Hey Stark, the sun has gone down. We should probably head back home before our fellow patrons go hungry.” Stark agreed and we picked up our bags and began the journey home.
It only took around twenty minutes to travel back to Liement. We enter through the East gate, where we greeted the guards, who see us daily. Our home was closer the the North gate, but that gate was fairly busy at all times and I didn’t want to get run over by a ox cart while entering the town. As we walked through the busy streets of Liement, I saw some of the shopkeepers closing up their stands for the day while others kept their boutiques up in hopes of earning more money. Children ran around as their parents watched them like hawks, not wanting their children to be kidnapped. Our town had the luxury of having street cleaners, so the roads were all clean, save for a few bones or rags on the ground. On both sides of the streets, houses stood like walls constructed of wood and stone.
We finally reached our cottage after a few minutes of traversing the winding passages of the North section of the town. We didn’t share our house with anyone else and it was an one story abode made of wood and stone, per the standard of normal Liement houses.
Our humble residence had one bathroom and one bedroom. I shared both of these rooms with Stark. We dropped off our bounty next to the door and did rock-paper-scissors to determine who would shower first. I won and cheered as my brother groaned.
After the sun had gone below the horizon, I alerted my brother, “Hey Stark, the sun has gone down. We should probably head back home before our fellow patrons go hungry.” Stark agreed and we picked up our bags and began the journey home.
It only took around twenty minutes to travel back to Liement. We enter through the East gate, where we greeted the guards, who see us daily. Our home was closer the the North gate, but that gate was fairly busy at all times and I didn’t want to get run over by a ox cart while entering the town. As we walked through the busy streets of Liement, I saw some of the shopkeepers closing up their stands for the day while others kept their boutiques up in hopes of earning more money. Children ran around as their parents watched them like hawks, not wanting their children to be kidnapped. Our town had the luxury of having street cleaners, so the roads were all clean, save for a few bones or rags on the ground. On both sides of the streets, houses stood like walls constructed of wood and stone.
We finally reached our cottage after a few minutes of traversing the winding passages of the North section of the town. We didn’t share our house with anyone else and it was an one story abode made of wood and stone, per the standard of normal Liement houses.
Our humble residence had one bathroom and one bedroom. I shared both of these rooms with Stark. We dropped off our bounty next to the door and did rock-paper-scissors to determine who would shower first. I won and cheered as my brother groaned.
I rushed into the bathroom and started filling up the wooden tub, eager to wash all the blood off my body and clothes. I swaggered back into the bedroom and took off my armor while my brother lamented his misfortune and the fact that he had to spend another five minutes in his sweaty and dirt caked clothes.
After we both finished showering and dressing, Stark and I picked up the spoils from today’s hunting and walked a couple of blocks down the street to the tavern our friend Biering owned. We entered and walked up the the bar table where Biering stood.
“Biering! How are you, my friend!” We greeted him warmly as we sat down.
“Cool and good. How was the hunting today?” We handed Biering the meat and plants we were carrying and he gave the chefs in the kitchen the bags of food through a window. We sold our daily rewards to Biering, who paid us 2 silvers per five pounds of Fleistier meat and 1 silver for every bag of vegetables. Biering was especially happy that we supplied his store with Fleistier meat, because Fleistier tastes better than any other domesticated animal, so it gave his tavern an edge over other taverns that only served beef or something else. We chatted with Biering as he served me and Stark drinks that were on the house. The tavern was rowdy, with people arm wrestling as while others conversed noisily. I wished I had someone to talk to other than Stark or Biering, but I didn’t really talk with anyone who wasn’t a hunter, and I was certain that there were no other hunters in this establishment. Being a hunter was a dangerous job, with you putting your life on the line as you left the safe city walls to hunt and gather. You could encounter a large monster who was competing with you for prey and be forced to slay it. If the weather conditions were poor, you still had to hunt to make a living. In addition, you
After we both finished showering and dressing, Stark and I picked up the spoils from today’s hunting and walked a couple of blocks down the street to the tavern our friend Biering owned. We entered and walked up the the bar table where Biering stood.
“Biering! How are you, my friend!” We greeted him warmly as we sat down.
“Cool and good. How was the hunting today?” We handed Biering the meat and plants we were carrying and he gave the chefs in the kitchen the bags of food through a window. We sold our daily rewards to Biering, who paid us 2 silvers per five pounds of Fleistier meat and 1 silver for every bag of vegetables. Biering was especially happy that we supplied his store with Fleistier meat, because Fleistier tastes better than any other domesticated animal, so it gave his tavern an edge over other taverns that only served beef or something else. We chatted with Biering as he served me and Stark drinks that were on the house. The tavern was rowdy, with people arm wrestling as while others conversed noisily. I wished I had someone to talk to other than Stark or Biering, but I didn’t really talk with anyone who wasn’t a hunter, and I was certain that there were no other hunters in this establishment. Being a hunter was a dangerous job, with you putting your life on the line as you left the safe city walls to hunt and gather. You could encounter a large monster who was competing with you for prey and be forced to slay it. If the weather conditions were poor, you still had to hunt to make a living. In addition, you