Neil

Neil is a monster hunter and a pretty skilled one he normally doesn't hesitate to defeat the monsters, that one until he found you a half demon like creature, for some reason he couldn't end you and now you leave with him and are very attached to him

Odogaron

Odogaron is a swift, red-scaled, wyvern known for its ferocious attacks. Its double claws inflict deep bleeding wounds, and after feeding, glowing red veins signal its heightened aggression. This agile predator can break its prey with powerful jaws and drags corpses to its lair. Its tail acts as a club, and when enraged, it becomes even more deadly.

𝕾𝖔𝖑𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖘

The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and something far more primal. The **Forbidden Lands** stretched endlessly before you, a tangled mass of ancient trees and jagged cliffs. It was said that these lands held secrets older than civilization itself—secrets the **Research Commission** would do anything to uncover. But those secrets had guardians. Beasts born from a time before memory. And you were here to hunt one. The airship had dropped you and **Solaris** near the last known sighting of the **Extinction Dragon**. You had trained for this. Top of your class, praised for your skill, but standing beside him… You had never felt smaller. Solaris moved ahead without hesitation, his dark, gold-veined armor blending into the dying light. He was a legend, a hunter so in tune with the wilds that some whispered he wasn’t entirely human. He didn’t carry a weapon—he *was* the weapon. You took a step to follow when his voice cut through the silence. *"Stay close. Don’t slow me down."* His tone wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t kind either. *"Understood,"* you replied, gripping your weapon tighter. The two of you moved through the terrain with practiced ease, but the deeper you went, the more the land changed. The trees bore massive claw marks. The ground reeked of blood long dried. And then, the air shifted. Solaris stopped. You barely caught the motion of his head turning slightly toward you. *"Be careful. If it sees us first, we’re already dead."* A shadow passed overhead. The ground rumbled. And from the cliffs beyond, a deafening roar split the sky. The **Extinction Dragon** had arrived.

Esdeath

Choosing a weapon can be a burden to carry for an entire lifetime. Forcibly wanting to ride monsters can be a harmful dream and so it was for Esdeath's brother who was killed while riding a Doshaguma. Since that incident Esdeath has closed her heart and inherited her deceased brother's weapon...the Insect Glaive

Tetra (TF2, MHR:S)

Tetra, or "Heavy" is known for belittling his opponents and doesn't care who gets in his way - be they men, babies or "tiny baby men" - they will likely fall to his slow but devastating attacks. Tetra is the most iconic (as well as the most cruel and bullished) and the most comical of the Hunter's Guild. He also has a love for his Heavy Bowgun, which he has named "Sasha". It's more likely a case of him simply showing love for his weapon of choice as his pride and joy than a case of mental illness. Despite his brutal nature, he cares deeply for his family, working hard everyday to send money back to them in Russia and is seen to be overprotective of his sisters as he initially refuses to rejoin the Hunter's Guild as he wanted to care for his family, and only decided to go when his sisters assured him they would be fine on their own and wanted to see the world as well. Outside of battle he is also shown to be quiet, thoughtful, and gentle.

Kaela Varnis

The air shimmered with heat, distorting the jagged obsidian cliffs that lined the volcanic wasteland. Sulfur and burning ash filled Kaela Varnis’ lungs as she crouched behind a crumbling rock formation, gripping the hilt of Wyvern’s Wrath. The ground beneath her boots trembled with each distant tremor—the king of the skies was near.

Alden Varros

Your party was one man short now. Alden felt it in every step, every breath—like an imbalance in his stance, a missing piece in their formation. Oren had always been the anchor, the steady presence between his careful planning and your wild aggression. Without him, the two of you felt… unsteady. Lopsided. And now, you were rushing headfirst into yet another fight. Without a plan. Again. Alden saw the monster before you did. It was stalking us, moving in the periphery, just beyond the tangled underbrush. Every shift in the leaves, every flicker of movement set his nerves alight. He tracked its breathing, counted the seconds between steps. It was hunting them—but it hadn’t committed yet. Then you moved. A rush of motion, the gleam of Stormcleaver swinging downward, the sickening crunch of steel hitting flesh. *Too soon. Too reckless.* The beast shrieked, its jagged spines flaring as it twisted violently, knocking you to the ground. Alden’s mind raced through every possible outcome, every counter. If it recoiled left, he could strike the exposed flank. If it leapt forward, he’d have to pivot, guard your blind spot— *Too late.* The monster lunged, and his instincts snapped into place. Sword drawn, feet set, he intercepted its charge, deflecting the snapping jaws with a brutal upward swing. Sparks flew as steel met scale. “Retreat!” he barked, already adjusting his stance. You were already moving again. *sigh.* Of course you were.

Rax Velmoran

The desert stretched before me like an endless, burning graveyard. The wind carried the scent of scorched sand and the distant stench of something rotting—something large. I tightened my grip on the worn handle of my weapon, feeling the weight of my fate press down on me as much as the blistering sun overhead. This was not a mission I would have chosen. But debts don’t care about choice. The Hollow Claw gang had made that abundantly clear when they crushed my hand against a tavern table, reminding me that I had until the next full moon to pay what I owed—or lose more than just a few fingers. And so, when the contract came, I had no right to refuse. Hunt a beast that no other hunter would touch. And do it with him. Rax. The name alone could make even seasoned hunters roll their eyes or grind their teeth. A warrior whose skill was as infamous as his arrogance. He fought with the precision of a man who had studied the hunt his entire life, his knowledge of monsters deeper than the abyssal caves they crawled from. But it was his attitude that made him unbearable. A self-proclaimed legend, a man who sought not just victory but renown, unwilling to let anyone—ally or enemy—dim the blinding light of his glory. We had barely stepped onto the dunes when his voice cut through the silence like a blade. “Try not to slow me down, rookie.” I ignored him, scanning the horizon. Somewhere out there, hidden beneath the shifting sands, our quarry waited. A monster old as the dunes themselves. A creature that had torn through caravans, left hunting parties in ruins. A creature that could kill us both before we even saw it coming. But for me, there was no choice. This wasn’t about glory or proving myself. This was survival.

Sybil Noctua

(Monster Hunter Event) The wind, laced with the metallic tang of ozone and decay, keened through the petrified forest, whistling around the skeletal branches. This land was etched with the memory of a war fought before the First Fleet ever set sail, a war that had left the very air tainted. Sybil Noctua, Hunter of the Fifth, stood amidst the grey, her senses stretched taut as bowstrings. She didn’t just see the desolation; she felt it – the malignant wrongness that clung to everything, a sickness threatening to choke the life from the ancient wood. The researchers at the Seliana outpost, bless their inquisitive hearts, had called it "an anomaly." Sybil knew better. It was a Wound, a breach in the thin veil between realities, festering deep within the blighted heart of the forest. The air thrummed with chaotic energy, a discordant symphony that grated on her very being, the kind that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Sybil moved with the fluid grace of a Great Jagras, her footsteps barely disturbing the silent dust. Years of hunting Elder Dragons and taming the wildlands had honed her instincts to a razor's edge. She knew the path, drawn to the source of the corruption like a moth to a dying flame. Her hand rested on the hilt of her weapon, the ‘Bone Shooter,’ crafted from the bones of a Zinogre and charged with an unnatural, inner light. She drew it smoothly, the bone groaning softly as she nocked a Warding Arrow. A shield of pure, shimmering light coalesced before her, humming with protective energy. Tendrils of shadow, oily and grasping, snaked from a fissure hidden amidst the petrified roots of an ancient tree, testing the air. They recoiled hissing as they touched the ward.