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There is a legendary tale passed down through the generations in the hunter gatherer cultures of the human territory. For many it is simply a familiar story they have heard all their life around the nightly fires. But for others it is taken far more seriously. For them it is the rules of the hunt.


This tale describes the first hunter of ancient times - a man named Garon, who was as ruthless and thoughtless as an animal, using only his bare hands and wits to catch his prey and devour it. His hunting was savage and crude, with no trace of elegance or dignity.


But one day, as he was tracking his prey, he felt a presence that made all his hair stand on end and his heart race. His instincts were caught between fight or flight. He'd never felt both the crippling fear of being stalked by a giant wild mountain cat and the elation of chasing down a delicate long eared rabbit at the same time before.


He knew he needed to put it out of his mind though. The only thing that mattered was catching his prey so he could eat and live another day.


Shadows flickered in his periphery, and he swore he could hear something besides the wind stirring the leaves. Yet every time he tried to look there was nothing there. His curiosity grew as he became increasingly distracted from his objective.




The word sharply reverberated in his head, and he quickly snapped his attention back to the hunt. It was as if someone, or something, had spoken directly in his mind in a deep, guttural voice that sounded more akin to a beast's growl than a man's voice. Though Garon was tempted, he didn't dare try to figure out where it came from and disobey its singular order. For the voice was right, if he wanted to catch his quarry, everything else needed to be shut out.


But his prey was quick and determined. No matter how much he pushed himself forward, it remained just outside of his reach. He was losing motivation. It wasn't worth it.




The word cut into his mind and dispersed the fog of frustration that had clouded his judgement. Once again, the voice was right. He needed to remember that humans were built for these long chases. If he was patient, and stayed focused, he would win the battle of attrition.


He continued on with renewed determination, and sure enough, his prey began to slow. He could feel his bloodlust growing, victory was nearly his. Just a few moments more and he'd be able to kill and consume. To tear into the flesh and greedily feast.




The word came out as terrifying snarl, and almost stopped him in his tracks as the cruel, murderous adrenaline poured out of him, leaving him in shame. This creature was going to give up its life so that he may continue his own. Though he had won the hunt, his prey had fought valiantly. It deserved a swift death and earnest gratitude.


He pounced on his prey and quickly broke its neck in a single, swift movement, sparing it from further torment. Then he laid the beast down and bowed his head in reverence and thanks, hoping its spirit would return safely to its ancestors.


When he lifted his head he gasped in shock. Out of the shadows emerged three spectral wolves, each with an arrow pierced through their skulls. He could see patches of bone on all of them, places where both fur and muscle peeled away to expose what should only be seen in death.


Garon now understood that these wolves were the presence that had haunted him at the beginning of his hunt. The strange mix of predator and prey. The cycle of the hunter and hunted. And when he looked into their glowing red eyes he could feel their individual energies once more.


Focus. Patience. Mercy.


He bowed his head in deference. "I swear to honour your teachings and to pass them on, great Heralds of the Hunt."


Satisfied with his vow, the wolves left, stalking back into the shadows from whence they came.


True to his word, Garon always kept these tenets alive in his heart and in the teachings he passed on to his many disciples, ensuring that future generations of humans would never forget the beauty of a true and good Hunt.

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A focused hunter knows what to attend to, and more importantly, what to ignore. When it comes time to hunt, one must be able to follow the thread of relevance through a tangled web of distraction. The Herald of Focus embodies the relentless pursuit of our most meaningful quests.

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A patient hunter knows there is great power in the ability to wait, observe, and strike when the time is right. Sometimes the best action to take is no action at all. The Herald of Patience grants us perspective so we do not lose sight of our prey in a moment of juvenile eagerness.

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A merciful hunter ends the hunt swiftly and without malice. To act with mercy is to view even your greatest foes with compassion, forgiveness, and gratitude. The Herald of Mercy is the embodiment of absolute love in the face of necessary action.

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