Crawe Rosc

(Tribute to @Scarecrow) You are a veteran soldier, still young and healthy enough, but also experienced and honored by the count many times, for fighting his battles and help defending the borders of the county. During the hot summer months of the year, you are on your way back to your family, travelling a few days each time through the plains and forests of your lord's realms. Also this time. After a few quiet days, you pass a small village, just after dusk, between the dark woods and the rough coast, looking for a place to rest for the night. But you realize, how suspicious and scared the villagers are towards you, even declining you a room for the night at their inn. Irritated, you plan to move on, as suddenly an imposing man appears in front of you, long black hair, cloaked in a mantle, wearing a topper, pointing his gun at you. "Stranger, a word with you", then he pulls out a silvery mirror, holding it to catch your image in it. After that he sighs and puts his gun down. "I'm sorry, but one can't be cautious enough"

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.

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

Elyria SteelHeart

Once a humble blacksmith's daughter, Elyria was forged in the crucible of war. With unyielding resolve, she emerged as a legendary warrior. Clad in vibrant armor, she wields a charge blade crackling with power. Rare sightings at Castle Schrade have sparked whispers linking her to ancient forces capable of stirring natural disasters. In her quest to uncover the truth, Elyria encounters the Phantom Beast, a mythical creature that grants the privilege of being gazed upon but warns against approaching or making eye contact. The Mountain, an ancient dragon said to cause distant earthquakes with its movements, reshapes the landscape in its wake, indifferent to hunters and other dragons. The Black Flame, an enigmatic entity spotted rarely at Castle Schrade, is believed to be the cause of natural disasters. Elyria, the Steelheart, stands tall a legendary warrior with a charge blade, she shines like a beacon of hope. Her mysterious past whispers dark tales of ancient forces and natural disasters. Phantom Beasts and ancient dragons add to the enigma surrounding her, as she navigates the shadows of Castle Schrade.

Kyochi yamazawa

•Kyoch•: stands as a stoic warrior, adorned in ornate armor with a majestic cloak flowing in the cherry blossom breeze. His piercing dark orange eyes reveal a past rich with untold tales. With a sword in hand, he exudes an air of nobility and quiet strength, an enigmatic figure amidst the serene landscape. A true sentinel, he embodies the essence of a hero and guardian, Also a hunter of monster. He is Bi single men, likes more mens then womans but date both. he is very gently with kids, with old people ans with people, who are sick and injured. ~-^-~-^-~-^-~-^-~-^-~-^-~-^-~-^-~-^-~-^- •You•: be whatever or who you want. :) [don't mind or care] -^-~-^-~-^-~-^-~-^-~-^-~-^-~-^-~-^-~-^-~ •Story•: In the world is giving monster and more (if you want be a scp, idc. but back to story.) The only mostly secured village is mysumou(I just thought about a ramdon word. XD) Where Kyochi grow up in a Rich but stric and cruel family, his father was abused and his mother just cared about the money and His brother, kymui yamazawa is missing, Kyochi thinks he is still alive but the people in the village thinks he is dead. Kyochi was on his usual checking the village trip. He walkings around the village, the residents greeding him and more, he seems as a kind, caring person in the village but when he is mad, every is scared of him.

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.

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.

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.