[collapse=Overview]Short and sweet character summary, to help you see if you want to read more. If you prefer seeing things unfold naturally, check out the Introduction section. OOC has a couple more details, too.

Brys is a fantasy-setting hunter whose primary motivation is the thrill of the hunt. He is a human and can fit into nonmagical settings, but he really shines when he's allowed to hunt forms of life which are nominally superior to him but which can be overcome through his own expertise. In general, he's a savage figure, professional in his own way but without any real refinement. He's suitable for working alongside others to hunt targets, but even more so for hunting them down himself. Hunting down most targets will remain nonsexual, but if he happens to target something feminine (a witch, a vampire, an elf... the possibilities are endless), he might just decide to have some fun with them. Although his preferred partners are these kinds of victims, other women might catch his eye as well. They'd better have something special to offer, though.[/collapse]

[collapse=Introduction]Some hunt to feed their families. Brys has no family, which simplifies matters. Some hunt for their coin. Brys does this as he goes, but feels no attachment to gold. Some hunt for glory. This is closer to the mark, and yet Brys seeks the recognition of none but himself.

He started hunting at a tender young age, brought up within the confines of a hunting camp's tall, wooden stockade, with the dark, endless forest stretching endlessly all around. Traps and snares were his first contributions to the camp's livelihood, the boy fitting snares for rabbits and propping up deadfalls for moles. It wasn't long for him to move past this, though, as he showed a natural affinity for the bow and was quickly taken out on the hunt for deer. Spear-hunting for boar and bears soon followed, and then - nothing. Those were the greatest of prey for hunters at his camp. The boy grew gloomy, almost inconsolable, feeling his life's journey coming to an abrupt end. Each new mark he was allowed to pursue had filled him with a rush of energy, the young prodigy eager to show himself worthy of each new foe, but now, without even the second decade of his life having begun, he recognized that he had lost it all. He began to hunt on his own, starting by tracking and killing deer without aid, moving towards slaying boars without another to protect him from the vicious creatures, and even managing ultimately to take down the great, hulking figure of a bear. As he watched that massive, shaggy figure twitching on the ground, pouring the last of its lifeblood out into the uncaring mulch before finally lying still, he felt his own life's passion pour out of him. There was nothing left for him to slay; there was no greater height to which he could aspire. He barely even remembered dressing the beast and lugging it back to camp bit by bit, and didn't leave the compound at all for the next three weeks.

On the twenty-second day, he awoke to the noise of hasty, excited discussion outside his room, and slouched out to see a small crowd clustered around a small, bloody pile that had once been a human. "I could only find one of the arms," a hunter exclaimed hurriedly, shaking as he looked around at the group, "but I think we have enough for a burial." "Look at it," another hoarsely whispered, pointing down to the ragged stump where a leg once attached. "It's not a clean cut. Something [i]ripped[/i] it off." The foreman of the camp shook his grizzled head, folding his arms as he gruffly announced: "Troll. Everyone's staying in here until we make a plan to drive it off. I'm not losing anyone to it if I can help it." But Brys had already slipped back into his room, grabbing up his bow, his knives, and whatever other implements seemed useful. For the first time in years, he felt that same burning excitement inside.

Surprisingly, for prey that he had never seen nor heard of before, the troll was easily tracked down. There were trees deep in the woods split open by some monstrous blow and great plodding disturbances in the leaf litter that were child's play for a man used to tracking the hoofprints of deer. And when the wind changed, sometimes for a brief moment, Brys could smell something rank and ominous on the breeze. He crept along, following those prints, eyes peering out to see what beast could have caused them - only to find his ears marking it first. It snuffled like one of the hunting dogs kept at the camp, the wet noise far louder and deeper than any mere hound. Huge thumps marked its footfalls, with the bitter groan and snap of wood sounding out every now and again. Brys stole closer, feet padding silently as he brought himself nearer, until he rounded one mighty oak to see a titanic, shaggy form, larger than a bear, with its mottled gray hide hunched over a fallen log. It bent deeper down, and there was a loud crunching noise as it bit into the rotten flesh of that trunk, the creature somehow feasting on that decay.

It was a shockingly human figure, as Brys circled slowly around it, an arrow nocked to his bow. Its feet looked almost like a man's, only far larger, and its fingers bore some clumsy resemblance to one. But while a human would stand upright, this creature merely hunched over, and when he had come far enough to see into its face Brys found something almost canine there, with jagged teeth crookedly filling its maw. He could see through to its throat, though, and with a steady hand he pulled back on the string, the bow whining in his hands as he tensed it fully before releasing his barbed arrow straight for the jugular.

The shaft hit true, piercing through that gray hide with surprising ease, and the monster bellowed in sudden fury. Its thick fingers grasped at the flimsy shaft, wrenching it out with such violence that the barbs tore through far more skin than they would otherwise, and a fountain of thick, black blood poured out to sizzle on the forest floor. But as soon as that wound was opened, it already began to close over again, skin knitting itself back together as the blood ceased to flow. Brys took a step back, a numbing shock taking his mind as he reached for another arrow, and the troll charged straight at him.

He didn't even manage to fit it onto his bowstring before the troll reached him, its lumbering strides covering the distance in frighteningly little time. A great mitt caught him under the ribs and sent Brys flying, his frail body cartwheeling in one direction as his bow flew in the other. He managed to twist himself enough to fall properly, turning it into a roll that absorbed the worst of it, but already that behemoth was rushing towards him again. He fumbled at the knife at his side, barely bringing it out of his sheath before the beast snatched him up in a huge mitt, bringing him close up to its face and roaring its filthy breath out over him. Blindly, unthinkingly, Brys lashed out, stabbing at the only vulnerability he saw before him: the beast's black, beady eyes. Pale, translucent goo oozed out from those deep cuts, drooling down towards the troll's cheekbones, and it dropped the offender to clap hands over those injuries, howling in pain. Moving from instinct more than any deliberate plan, Brys lashed out along the inside of its thigh as he fell, cutting where he knew an artery to be, and was rewarded with another gush of that black tar. He scrambled to his feet, stumbling away head over heels, not daring to turn as the creature flailed around in pain.

The cut on its thigh healed as quickly as the one to its throat, sealing up in a moment's time, but as Brys watched it from his hiding spot behind a tree, the eyes seemed to be taking much longer to seal up. Heart thudding against his chest, he cast his gaze around for his bow - finding it half-buried in a pile of dead leaves not far away. He dashed over to get it, sliding behind another tree and nocking a second arrow as he watched the beast again. Its eyes appeared to have healed, but it was peering around dimly now, feeling out towards things as if half blind, and its motions seemed slower. Brys felt a sudden spark light up his mind, and on intuition alone, drew his arrow slowly back before loosing it again at the beast's throat.

There was another roar, another fountain of blood, but as it lumbered after its foe this time, the troll had little of its original alacrity. Brys dodged and weaved through the trees, ignoring the spikes of pain from his chest, and before long it lost sight of him, the mighty animal howling in hatred as he managed to escape. Another shot, and it rushed to the little hornet again, even slower this new time. Another shot, another gush, another failed chase, the troll starting to gasp hoarsely for breath at every footfall. Finally it collapsed, falling to its knees with the crash of a tall pine, and stared dimly up towards Brys as he walked up towards it. He took out that knife of his again, cutting clean across the troll's throat, and saw only a faint seeping of that black blood leak out. The monster lay there, still, its veins dry and its life expended.

Brys didn't stay in the camp long after that. He brought back the creature's head, though it had been a horrible burden with his broken ribs, but realized during his triumphant convalescence that he had nothing left to gain from the little place. He had found something new, something thrilling, something that burned brighter than any pride he had felt up to that point: the burning, harsh, sharpness of sensation that filled his mind as he stood over that fallen troll's corpse and laughed so hard it hurt. There was some deep glee that glowed in his marrow, now, and he knew that the only thing left for him was to travel, to find prey as impressive and exotic as that troll, and to slay them himself. This was his destiny, and this was himself. He would go on the hunt.[/collapse]

[collapse=OOC]Basic rules, you know the drill.
1. IC=/=OOC
2. Talk to me about stuff! I'm cool with you opening with a post, too. It's fun to react.
3. I'm down with pre-existing universes and canon characters as well as ones you come up with.
4. Please give me something to work with. I'm not gonna do everything for you.
5. Gimme some story before you build up into smut. The hunt's half the fun, isn't it?
6. The mask was a bad purchase of his when he was drunk. He feels really dumb about it now, but can't bring himself to sell it or throw it away. I think we've all been there.[/collapse]