Hey everyone! I'll be honest here, I've been wanting to write a Monster Hunter Fanfiction for the longest time, but I never managed to come up with a good story line or good characters that I wanted to use. I just recently got the inspiration to finally start one, and I'm super excited to kick start this story and get it going! I'm also playing with a few different elements in my writing. I usually write my stories in first person, but I'm playing with third person and a bit of fragmentation for this one. I actually used to write in third person most of the time until a few years ago, so it's almost like going back into my older writing pattern. XD Anyway, hope you enjoy it!

A vast blanket of pure, pristine snow filled the land for miles on end, its depth and solidity unknown to all as a fierce storm flew in from the far north. The tundra was silent aside from the harsh howling of the winds as they passed. All creatures who lived in the icy realm huddled wherever they could, staying together to keep warm and being thankful for their tough skin and thick fur. Yet despite the frigid temperatures and the near empty landscape, slight movement could be seen through the endless blizzard. A small figure lurched forward on unsteady legs through the deep snow, passing a herd of tightly huddled Popos. The large, furry, mammoth-like creatures eyed the figure warily from underneath a rocky overhang painted white from the snow. They brought their young calves closer to the middle, taking a defensive stance as the figure drew closer to them.

A larger member of the herd let out a defensive warning huff at the swaying creature, noting that as it came closer it ended up only being a human male. What was alarming, however, was that the human wore a thick, brown coat that was recognizable to the beast as Popo fur. It feared that the human would attack the rest of the herd, given the attire it wore. The Popo lowered its shaggy head, fur covering its eyes slightly, as it pointed its large, curved tusks at the human in warning. The human paid little heed to the creature's antics, however, as it noticeably limped past the herd and ignored their location.

The alpha of the herd blinked in confusion. The human, upon wary inspection, was gravely injured. Jagged, nasty gashes tore through its coat, leaving trails of bright red blood all over its body. The blood was dripping onto the snow, forever staining the purity it once had held during this blizzard. What was odd, however, was the fact that the human male's blood took a slight violet tint to it as it escaped the human's injuries and left a trail.

Whatever had happened to the human made the Popo herd even more wary and alert in the confusing veil of flurries, causing the adults to move closer together to protect their young more efficiently. A larger, predatory monster obviously hunted the human. And if that human was limping away in such a sorry state, the carnivore was most likely trailing behind in tow, hoping to catch an easy meal. The Popos were afraid of what could lie ahead of them, but chose to stay in the warmth of the rocky overhang as the blizzard passed over them. They were ready to move at the first sign of danger, so much so that they collectively jumped back in fright as the human suddenly toppled over, falling flat on his face in the frozen snow.

Deep within a hidden alcove, in a large mountain range, rested a quaint little village. The buildings and houses scattered throughout were made of black stone due to that being the only building material the villagers could work with. And they certainly had an abundance of stone. Torches surrounded the village, strewn throughout the area to light everything in a warm, welcoming, orange glow. The entrance to the small village brought in bright, white light from the outside as small flurries of snow blew in occasionally. Outside the cave stood a vast expanse of tundra, the snow and ice stretching out for miles on end. And on the other side, where the cave rested, was a towering mountain filled with ridges and dips. The rest of the mountain range curved slightly around the entrance of the cave, forming a semi-protective barrier and created a natural crescent shape in the land.

But despite the seemingly remote location for a settlement, the village bustled with life. Children ducked and dodged gleefully under busy adults as they played an intense game of tag, nearly knocking over a few shelved goods in their havoc as the children reached the hub of the village. A merchant chided them angrily as they passed, but the little ones merely giggled and continued their game as the merchant fixed her stall while spitting out an excessive amount of unsatisfied grumbles.

This is where life thrived in the village. The village center was where everything and anything could be found. Merchants' stalls and shops were surrounding the center, creating a circular market district filled with various goods both from local and foreign sources. Restaurants sizzled and hissed with the constant sound of food cooking, the delicacies' scents wafting throughout the area and effectively making passing villagers' mouths water. A single stone inn sat nestled between a bustling restaurant and one of the larger shops, providing shelter for the few travelers that would occasionally stumble across the remote village.

Surrounding the market district were the houses the natives lived in. Like the other structures of the village, the houses were made of rich, black stone for the walls and the rooftops. Some of the richer buildings, however, were decorated with glistening gemstones found from the mines within the mountain caverns. At the entrance of the cave stood the village's stable, the structure holding the town's tamed cattle and transportation. Large, docile Popos were nestled comfortably in the pens and stalls, munching on their hay in content. Beside the stable were a few caravans for travel, allowing the residents to safely traverse the frigid tundra for trade and other business.

And in the very center of it all, what truly brought a sense of vitality to the village was a large, stone basin with a great tower of fire inside. This brought much needed warmth to the cave, and gave off the biggest source of the warm glow that graced both the villagers and the village itself. Here was where the villagers would gather for gossip and the newest, riveting hunting tale from their local monster hunters. This was where they would celebrate just about anything that could possibly be celebrated. This was where the children would gather and tell each other horrifying stories when they thought their parents weren't paying attention. This livelihood emanating from the settlement, the excitement in people's eyes, the joy, the seemingly easy survival of these people, and the gems and furs they sent out into the world were what made Morden Village such an alluring and enchanting place. It was, as the villagers liked to dub it, "humanity's hidden gem" in an otherwise inhospitable landscape.

Just as the villagers had settled into doing their various routines for the day, a large, looming figure entered the village, bringing with him a bout of snow that had clung onto his boots. He stamped his feet for a brief moment, the sound of metal clanking against rock echoing through the cave, before moving forward into the village. As he passed the villagers, adults gave him looks of respect and reverence while children stopped their game to look up at the armored figure in wonder and amazement before excitedly crowding around him when he neared the great bonfire.

The hunter took a seat at the edge of the basin, the stone structure having a large enough rim to allow people to safely sit beside the fire. The hunter's white scaled and furred armor shone a bright orange in the firelight he was so close to, giving him an almost ethereal glow about him that mystified the children even more. He took off his helmet adorned with deep, orange tusks acting as horns and revealed a tanned, aged face that naturally commanded the respect of his peers. A ragged scar ran over his left eye, leaving it blind compared to his other piercing blue one. His long, silvery gray hair was held back in a tight ponytail, giving him an almost militaristic appearance. As his stern face was revealed, the children almost instantly quieted their begging and looked at him expectantly.

He glanced at the children with a sweeping, stern gaze before his expression suddenly broke out into a wide smile. "Lookin' for a story, are ya?" he asked in a gruff, gravelly voice. The children nodded excitedly, looking up at him with gleaming, innocent eyes. The hunter chuckled and gently ruffled the black hair of a little boy who stood waiting at the front of the crowd, "Sorry, kids, nothin' new today. Nothin' interestin', anyway." A collective, disappointed groan rang through the small crowd, all of them had put their hopes into hearing a new monster story from their local hero. One of the younger kids stuck out her lip in a sad, pitiful pout. "Don'chu' 'aww', me," the hunter said firmly, "Go on, now, git! I'm sure ya have somethin' better to do." The children all sighed before scampering off and resuming their little game of tag.

A village elder watching the whole spectacle chuckled in amusement, her eyes wrinkled in mirth. She shuffled forward, her back hunched over slightly from age as she used an intricately engraved cane to help steady herself as she walked. A colorfully dyed Popo fur shawl was draped around her shoulders, decorating her otherwise normal village clothes. The hunter stood up and dipped his head to her respectfully, honoring the chieftain of Morden Village. "Back from the hunt, I see," the village chief said with a surprisingly youthful grin, "Did you get the materials we needed, Varick?"

The hunter nodded, "That I did," he proclaimed, handing over a large sack filled with various ores, furs, meat, and bones to the chief, who looked over the contents before nodding in approval. "Had a bit of a run-in with a Lagombi while lookin' for the stuff, wasn't too much of a problem, but it would'a been a good experience for my son." The hunter scratched his chin in thought, "Speakin' of which, where'd he scamper off to?"

"I saw him on his way to the stables when I ran into him earlier," the chieftain replied simply in her raspy voice, "Maybe you should check there. I'll start getting these materials out to the villagers, see if we can work on repairing the mine carts."

"Need any help?" Varick asked.

"No, no, you've done more than enough already. Besides," the chief added with a grin, "I'm tougher than I look. Can't run a village in this kind of environment leniently, can you?"

Varick laughed heartily, "No, ya can't, ma'am. I see yer point. Lemme know if ya need anythin' else. I'll head on over to find my son." At that, the two parted ways and the gruff hunter made his way back up towards the stables, as the chieftain suggested. Sure enough, as he neared the stables, a young man sat almost gingerly beside an elderly Popo, petting its fur gently as he spoke softly to it. The Popo itself was content by the company, closing its eyes and resting its weary head. Varick came to a halt in front of the young man, crossing his arms in front of his chest and looking at the sitting figure in slight disapproval. The man looked up as he realized the hunter's presence, revealing a wide-eyed face that was almost the exact spitting image of Varick, minus the scar and replacing the controlled, pony tailed hair with white, loose, shoulder length locks.

The young man quickly stood up, resulting in a small, irritated huff from the disturbed Popo, and stuttered, "O-Oh. . . H-Hey, dad," he said slowly, glancing between the shifting Popo and the tough-looking hunter. "I-I was just . . . making sure Siluk here had hay and all," he continued quietly and nervously, carefully pointing towards the elderly Popo that had quickly resumed munching on feed.

Varick sighed, unable to help showing his disappointment in his son, "Boy, here I was thinkin' ya had snuck away into the tundra to finally buckle down n' become a hunter." He shook his head slowly, his gaze making his son shrink away slightly and look tinier than he already was, "But here ya are, shrinkin' away from yer responsibility again." Varick cleared his throat with a hefty grunt, "All right, what's yer excuse this time?"

The young man stammered, "I-I was . . . S-Siluk needed-"

"Siluk don't need anythin', boy, that's what the stable hands are for. Gotta do better n' that."

"I-I. . ." The man seemed to stop himself, at a loss for words, before sighing in defeat, "It's cold outside, too cold to waltz around out there. . . And there're a lot of bad things in the tundra, n-nasty things," his stutter became worse as he continued, "l-like that Great Baggi w-with the sleeping spit, o-or the Lagombi trying to t-throw giant snowballs at you, or t-the G-Gigginox, o-or t-the . . . the B-Barioth. . ."

Varick sighed, while the fear of the cold was completely and totally ridiculous considering that everyone in the village wore furs and carried hot drinks everywhere for a reason, the fears about the monsters were fairly sound, especially to defenseless villagers and novice hunters. To be honest, most tundra monsters were nasty, making the freezing climate less than ideal for beginner hunters. And, Varick had to admit, a fear of the cruel white drake known as the Barioth wasn't extremely far-fetched. That creature gave even experienced hunters a hard time. Hell, Varick had a complete armor set made out of the beast and he was still a little fearful of it! He focused on his son again as the soft-spoken man continued, "I-I'd just get e-eaten alive. . ."

Varick looked at him sternly, "Strom," he said with a firm voice, snapping his son out of the fearful daze he had left himself in, "ya honestly think I'm gonna let a couple o' beasties just gobble ya up? I wouldn't be much of a hunter if I let that happen to my own son, now, would I?"

Strom stared at his father with hesitant white eyes before shaking his head slowly, "N-No," he said quietly.

"Exactly! I'm more n' capable o' protectin' ya should somethin' nasty come across. Have a lil' faith in me, Strom. I wouldn't let anythin' happen to ya."

Strom nodded slowly, sighing quietly, "I-I know. . ."

"Which is exactly why I'm gonna take ya out on a hunt tomorrow!" Varick boomed, giving Strom a hardy slap on the back and unintentionally causing the boy to flinch a little from the impact.

"T-Tomorrow?" Strom stuttered with an uncertain gaze.

"Tomorrow," Varick confirmed, "And don'chu even think about sneaking out on me again, boy. I'm good at trackin', and I'll personally drag yer sorry behind outta the cave if that's what it takes to get ya huntin'. Understand?"

Strom nodded slightly, unable to help his head droop a little in both fear and dismay. "Yeah. . ."

"Good! Then ya best find yer huntin' armor and that weapon ya picked out. We're leavin' first thing in the mornin'. You'll be fine."

"No, I won't be fine!" Strom exclaimed to himself once his father escorted him to his hut that, unfortunately, just so happened to be right next to his parents' dwelling. Strom had been mulling over the dread of him finally having to hunt the whole way home, his father continuing to tell him how he'll do great and won't have any problems. Hello?! Did his dad even see how many hunters returned from the wild with broken bones and unspeakably horrifying gashes?! Strom's even seen his own tough-as-nails father return home with a decent amount of damage to him after some particularly nasty hunts. And Varick always returned from a Gigginox hunt with tons of venom pumping through his veins.

It was practically a given that Strom, a tiny man who couldn't even take a simple pat on the back, would die an unspeakably horrible death within the first ten seconds of exiting the cave. Okay . . . maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration, but only slightly. In reality, Strom could only hope that when they got into the field the larger monsters would think him too scrawny for a proper meal and would ignore him for larger threats. Unfortunately, even if that did happen to be the case, many monsters were exceptionally violent or territorial. Or both.

"That's it!" Strom continued after dwelling more on the subject, "I'm finished! Doomed! Dead! If the monsters don't kill me, my dad certainly will! Dammit all!" He kicked an empty basket nearby, not paying attention to where the basket had launched until a surprised meow suddenly sounded, following with a crash that could've been comical had Strom not been so stressed.

A small, cream-colored shape tumbled out of the rolling basket, letting out a mew of surprise and startling Strom slightly. The furry cat lay still there for a few moments before hopping up swiftly onto its hind legs and shaking its head. "Meowch! I landed on my bum!" the Felyne said, rubbing its hindquarters with a brown paw.

Strom looked at the pint-sized creature in guilt. He didn't mean to startle the little guy; he didn't even realize that the Felyne was there. Strom still needed to get used to the fact that hunters, even novice hunters, always had a Felyne to watch their houses during quests and help with the upkeep for everything. Strom was only recently introduced to the one in his home since he became an apprentice hunter a few days ago, and he had already managed to startle the poor thing. His so-called hunting career was going off to a great start. "S-Sorry, Zopa. . ." Strom said quietly, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment.

Zopa looked up at the hunter with big, blue eyes, "No, no," he insisted, "it's purrtially my fault fur taking a nap in the basket, nya."

"B-But you still got hurt," Strom said.

Zopa chuckled, the sound being more along the lines of quiet, staggered mewing, "Purrlease, I can handle more than a little kick." He stood up as straight as he could, puffing out his chest proudly, "Us Felynes can be excellent meownster hunters when we wanna be, nya!"

Strom couldn't help but find that a little hard to believe considering the fact that the little cat barely came up to his knee when he stood up to his full height. Sure, they were known to accompany hunters on hunts sometimes, but a Felyne taking on a monster alone? He decided not to voice his doubts, however. "Still . . . didn't mean t-to s-s-startle you."

"All is furrgiven," Zopa assured him, "As long as you purrdon me for asking why you wanted to kick a poor, unsuspecting basket, nya?"

"Oh, t-that. . . W-Well you see. . . I-I'm just really s-st-stressed."

"About what?"

Strom hesitated for a moment before deciding to pour out the entire truth to the Felyne. After all, he had a right to know considering the small scare Strom gave him earlier, whether Zopa admitted that or not. "Hunting," He said with a heavy sigh, "My dad wants me t-to g-go hunting with him t-t-tomorrow, a-and there's nothing I c-can do to get out of it."

"Why would you want to get out of hunting? It's considered an honorable purrfession, nya."

"T-That's what my dad says," Strom said, "b-but hunting t-t-terrifies me! Y-You could s-so easily get e-e-eaten or w-worse. It's t-too dangerous for someone l-like me!"

"You could just tell him that you don't want to hunt," Zopa said with a small shrug.

"A-Are you insane?!" Strom nearly shouted in shock, causing Zopa to jump slightly at Strom's obviously unexpected outburst. ". . .S-Sorry," Strom apologized again, "I g-got a little c-carried away there. . ." He took a deep breath to calm his nerves and to soothe his stutter, "I wish I-I could back out of h-hunting as easy as that, I really do. B-But my family, unfortunately, h-happens to have a l-long line of great hunters. I-I can name a few ancestors of m-mine that have d-done borderline legendary d-deeds in their time.

"S-Strength apparently r-runs in my family. M-Monster hunting is the f-family tradition. It's a j-job that at least one p-person for e-each generation takes up. A-And my dad b-believes I can b-be a g-great hunter if I-I just buckle d-down and do it." He sighed and sat down on the edge of his soft cot, "B-But I can't do it! I'm too afraid, a-and there's s-so many p-people that count o-on you. . . I-I'd just l-let them all d-down and g-get people hurt. I-I'm not s-strong enough or brave e-enough. But m-my dad t-thinks it's my d-duty to take up hu-hu-hunting, to c-continue the legacy e-even if I'm a c-c-coward. And it's n-not like I c-can r-run away from it, e-either. T-That'd require l-leaving the c-c-cave w-where a-all the monsters a-are."

Strom paused and glanced at Zopa, trying to gage the furry creature's expression and finding only a pondering look on the Felyne's face, "S-So you uh-uh-understand my predicament, r-right?"

Zopa stared at the novice hunter for a few moments in silence before licking his paws and smoothing out his fur. "A little," he admitted, "but I still don't see why you can't just tell him the truth, nya."

"I-I tried. But e-every time I would t-tell him t-that I didn't w-want to h-hunt, he'd just g-give me a b-big lecture on h-how hunting is e-extremely important to t-the s-safety of h-humanity and how it's the p-pride of our f-family. He's all a-about honor a-and tradition. I c-cant reason with h-him when h-he believes t-that I'll b-become a g-great hunter l-like him."

"At least it seems like he has faith in you, which is more than you can say for yourself, nya. Meowbe if you go out there for a little bit and try hunting, you could gain some courage, nya?"

Strom looked at Zopa as if he was crazy, "A-And risk g-getting e-eaten? Hell no!"

"Well, this constant worrying isn't helping you, is it?" Zopa chortled slightly, "You said your dad was a great meownster hunter, right? If he is, he's not gonna let you get eaten so easily, nya."

"I-I guess so," Strom said with uncertainty. He still wasn't feeling good about the whole endeavor, though, "But w-what if-"

"No buts!" Zopa interjected, "Even if you don't think you're cut out for hunting, it's good to at least try and see for yourself if what you think is true, nya. Meowbe you need more faith in yourself, like your dad has. Besides, meownsters are everywhere, no changing that. It'd be good to at least know how to defend yourself, especially when you live as far away from civilization as we do, nya?"

"Yeah," Strom replied with a sigh. He glanced at his sword and shield gifted to him by his father. It rested beside a large box that was meant for holding all of the monster materials a hunter would get during their career. Obviously, Strom's box was empty. The weapon itself was in mint condition, its metal blade shining in the firelight that lit his room. Unused, same as the basic hunter's armor his father had bought him. All of that would change come tomorrow, his blade would get its first taste of blood, and there was no doubt in the cowardly hunter's mind that he'd get quite a few scratches in his armor.

Strom rested his back on the bed, staring up at the stone ceiling of his home, eyeing the dark corners that his warm torchlight failed to reach. He was still incredibly stressed about what could possibly happen tomorrow. A lot could go wrong, you know. However, he did have to admit that what the little Felyne had said to him comforted him at least a little. And if a Felyne could hunt down monsters, maybe Strom didn't have as bad of a chance at monster hunting as he had originally thought. Though, there wasn't any real use dwelling on it now, even though he lived in a cave, he could still tell when the sun was starting to go down. It gave the village a darker orange glow than any other time of the day. It'd only be a mere few hours before Strom would have to test his metal against monsters. He'd need all the rest he could get.

"T-Thanks for the t-talk, Zopa," Strom said quietly as he closed his eyes for sleep.

"You're welcome, Meowster."

"P-Please, j-just call me Strom."