Hunter of Natherre

"Let the priests light their candles. Let the guards stand their walls. But none of it matters when the thing wears your brother’s face, or whispers with your mother’s voice. The dark births such creatures—vampires, shapeshifters, devourers of flesh and thought. That’s why we exist. They do not fear the light. They fear us. One blade. One purpose. One promise: the dark may birth monsters, but it will never keep them safe from us."

 

Who Are the Hunters?

  The Hunters of Natherre are not soldiers. They are not clerics, nor mages, nor mere mercenaries. They are something else—a calling in human form, a grim necessity made flesh. Where monsters walk in masks of charm, where the unnatural threads its claws through the fabric of the world, the Hunter walks. Alone, if needed. Feared, always. Known by their watchful eyes, silent conviction, and the subtle weight of something old behind every move they make. Trained to see what others can’t, and hardened to do what others won’t, the Hunter of Natherre is more than a profession—it is a burden chosen or placed upon a soul that refuses to look away.  

Origins of the Hunt

  You don’t become a Hunter because you want to. No one dreams of joining their ranks. You become a Hunter because something is taken from you, or because something inside you knows the truth of the world and won’t let you ignore it. Some are chosen from birth, raised in hidden sanctums to inherit the mantle. Others are forged in loss—the sole survivor of a massacre, the lone witness of a demon in priest’s robes, the child who never believed the thing in the woods was just a wolf.   Whatever the path, the final step is always the same: the Rite of Severance. Past ties are burned. Names may be cast aside. What remains is the Hunter, reborn with one purpose—to keep the unnatural in check. The process of reintegration is not perfect, as some memories and skills are lost, while the overall hunter is intact.  

The Hunter's Code

  Though no single creed binds them all, every Hunter lives by a code—a quiet law etched into the soul.  

• Protect the Innocent. They need not know what stalks them, only that it will never reach them.
• Balance Above All. Not all monsters are evil. Not all men are good.
• Resist the Corruption. Power has a price. A Hunter must never become what they hunt.

 

The Awakening

A Hunter does not choose their vessel. They awaken as dictated by the unseen forces that govern the Hunt—fate, the Balance, or something older still. Each time, it is different. A farmer's son. A city guard. A wandering beggar. Sometimes young and strong. Sometimes old and broken. They arrive with scars not their own, surrounded by strangers who expect them to belong.   The mind is always the same. The soul endures. But the body is a mask—and not always a comfortable one. Memory returns in flashes. Muscle memory that doesn’t belong. Instincts born of another life. The first hours are spent reorienting—speaking with someone else’s voice, walking on legs that don’t remember the weight of a blade. The Hunt never waits, but the Hunter must adapt quickly.  

"Woke up in a hayloft with calloused hands and a dislocated shoulder. No sword. No coin. Just the scream of something dying wrong in the distance. That’s how it was this time."

     

Tools of the Trade

  A Hunter rarely wakes with what is needed. Their greatest weapons are not forged of steel or etched in silver. They are the mind sharpened by lifetimes of combat, the eyes that see patterns others miss, the voice that turns suspicion into truth. A Hunter walks into unfamiliar cities speaking their language, piecing together meaning from glances, habits, and blood left behind in back alleys and basements. They adapt. They learn what the body can do, push it beyond what its former owner ever dared. A butcher’s hands might know how to hold a cleaver. A tailor’s fingers may be nimble enough to pick locks. Every borrowed life offers a thread to be pulled, a path to trace. Sometimes, the body remembers things even the soul does not. When tools are needed, they are found or made. A rusted chisel becomes a stake. A shard of mirror, a knife. Knowledge is extracted through observation, deception, or carefully applied fear. A Hunter may walk unarmed—but never unprepared.  

"A sharp mind, a steady hand, and a lie that fits the moment—those are the tools they never take from me."

 

Reputation

To the common folk, they are myths. Grim saviors spoken of in tavern whispers. To rulers, they are dangerous—useful in crisis, inconvenient in peace. To the creatures of the dark? They are the inevitable end. Hunters do not seek thanks. They are remembered in scars, half-truths, and stories meant to scare children. That is enough.  

“We don’t hunt for glory. We don’t hunt for coin. We do it because the world sleeps better when we do. But don’t mistake our silence for weakness, or our restraint for mercy. When we come for you, there’s only one thing left to decide—whether you’ll be remembered... or forgotten.”   — Varek, Veteran Hunter of Natherre

 

Benefits

  Hunters of Natherre develop a host of skills and signature abilities that allow them to battle the darkness at each each step. Listed below are the Benefits that each Hunter will share.  

  Iron Will
Gain advantage or bonus against any effect that deprives the Hunter of free will.  

"Woe to the creature that thought they had a Hunter in their thrall—only to find they’d just made themselves easier to reach."

  Pierce the Veil
Advantage or bonus when identifying supernatural creatures masquerading as mortals.  

"Well now, I will need to be careful. She is good, which means she is old, so dangerous. Nice touch though, a blood sucker sipping wine at a party full of sycophants. She’s very good, however there are always tells. Pale - but not too pale. Breathes, but only slightly with a slight rise and fall of her chest. She’s old, and that makes her dangerous. Most wouldn’t pretend this well or even care to. But I see you, blood-sucker.

  Echo of the Tongue
Hunters instinctively speak the local language of their host body, though the speech is neutral and lacks dialect or emotional nuance.  

"It ain’t how they talk that gives them away—it’s how they don’t. Words that fit the ears but not the heart."

  Bond of the Hunt
  Hunters of Natherre always recognize each other. No disguise, illusion, or shapeshifting can deceive one of their own. This bond acts like a supernatural form of limited True Sight, ensuring mutual trust and eliminating the threat of infiltration.  

"You can dress like us. You can sound like us. But we’ll never mistake you for one of us."