On the hunt
A parliament of monsters hides behind the curtain. They emerge,
sometimes, past the red velvet. They move in shadows among the human
herd, and they reach out and pluck the unsuspecting into their
grip. Humans can be livestock to the hungry, lovers to the lustful, toys
to the wicked.
All the horror stories talk of it: vampires filling their
mouths with our blood, lycanthropes harrying mortal prey through
dark forests, demons convincing a man to hand over his soul in a
gift-wrapped bundle. But they aren’t just stories, are they? No, the
horrors are real, hiding within a labyrinth of mystery.
Hunters are humans who have come, by some means, to recognize the truth
that monsters exist. These individuals cannot sit idly by. They must
study their foes. They must destroy them or steal their power.
They must use them as pawns against one another. It’s not an easy thing,
the endless hunt, the ceaseless Vigil. It is a thing of brutality and
obsession, a slope slippery with the blood of those who came and fell
before, a slope that descends into nightmare. And yet they can do no
differently, because the Vigil drives them. They sacrifice.
They push forward.