A note from the author: This is my newest piece of writing based upon the Monster Hunter games, although more specifically, the playstation portable versions. I have not played the series in quite some time, and so I may make a few errors regarding the monsters and their habitats. If you do see any errors, please do not hesitate to point them out. Also, if you care to do so, please leave a review or send me a PM of what you think of the story, whether you wish to see more or if you enjoy my writing style. As a side note, I have written several other fanfictions of the Monster Hunter world, including Heroes among Legends, Hunter's of Legend and Hunters Origin (one of which was quite popular on the GameFAQs boards at a time), so if you see any similarities, it is because it is written by the same author. I have tried to make the world of Minegarde as vibrant as possible, so please excuse the somewhat lacking action in the first few chapters or so - I am still trying to get everything ironed out first! I have completely reconstructed areas as to how I see them (or how I believe they should be seen) and so bare with me. Pokke, for example, has been expanded so it resembles more of an actual village than just a few buildings, and the world now has some lore to it. Anyway, thanks for taking the time to read the story and I hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 1 - The Festivities

Fireworks lit up the night sky. The music that was being played was almost inaudible above the din of the festival. Twirlers fizzed, blazing with lights and the echo of muse, cheer and cry floated about the cool mountainous air. Yet despite the cold winds, there was warmth to the on goings, everyone to meet someone new or old, and if not properly acquainted before, they were certainly now. The street was lined with all sorts of entertainment, from contortionists to the musicians and jugglers, scores of dancers, and all manner of women. Magicians kept the children occupied whilst the parents engaged in lively converse, sometimes ending with a great blare of laughter, or cry of disagreement. But the main centre was the roaring fire, crackling and snapping, but never dying – a continuous supply of wood assured that.

The Guildhall was just as lively, if not more so, with its own fire which was magnificent in and of itself even though nowhere near as grand as the one that roared outside. However it was one that certainly held some respect with the townsfolk. The golden heart of Pokke. The tables in the Guildhall on this night were reserved for only the hunters of Minegarde. They were all kept happy, some more quiet or drunk than others, but all humoured by one another, unhindered by the incessant flow of all manner of liquors (much to the content of the tender), many swapping tales of daring and terrors. Thick, sweet aromas wafted from the roasting meat spitting and sizzling above the fire on a spit. A slice shaved from the side, along with the other food of the Hall, was enough to feed three men, and one mug of the tender's special brew to have then unconscious before the night was out.

Two boys sat off in a corner of the room at their own table, sharing a slice of the smoking meat and a tankard of hot wine. The volume of the festivities inside the Hall had gotten the best of them, and they finished their meal quickly, tipped the tender, and stepped out into the cool night air, observing the somewhat calmed revels of the town. The band broke into a jolly fast tune, the flutist and strummer playing in union. A few men cheered and rooted for their friend to dance, and dance he did. Along the table his feet tapped quickly in unison with the band, and he added his own lyrics, much to the distress of the townswomen but to receive a cheer from the men. The song ended and the table overturned, and Rion joined in with the great surge of laughter. He helped the drunken man to his feet, only to have him vomit and collapse again. Idias obviously wasn't amused.

"Lighten up, will you. Look, over there, they are about to light up the fireworks again." Rion started forward, his friend close behind.

"He could have been seriously hurt, you know. You shouldn't encourage people who have had far too much to drink."

"Hah, all fun and games! Quickly, I should like to see how they work."

The fuse sparkled to a spit then sent the missile whistling high into the glittering sky, bursting into a thousand shards of light, much to Rion's amazement. "Another, look, Idias! how it dances among the Gods! Let us get another drink from the stall and then watch them."

As the sun rose above the Eastern Peaks, the travellers and circus folk waved goodbye to the townspeople, nought to be seen again for another three years. Rion watched as the single column of carriages, carts, and clusters of people disappeared around the track until Pokke was once again peaceful and sleepy. He flexed his fingers inside his gloves and pulled his jacket closer. The town was slowly beginning to recover from the previous night's celebrations, which had lasted well into that morning. Oddly, to Rion anyway, was how they always left only hours after the party had finished, barely having an hours sleep each, and most still drunk or with splitting headaches and groggy eyes. The great fire was now but a smouldering pit of ash and charcoal, the tables laden with half-eaten food, spilt drink and the occasional snoring man. Streamers hung from house to house flapping and twisting lazily in the chilly morning breeze and the smell of strong ales and ash wafted about the village. The guards mulled about, with much talk of the sleepless previous night with women who had had far too much to drink (to which at the time the guards should have been at their posts) or the ones who had joined in with the festivities and drinking contests and were now suffering the consequences.

The Festival of Pokke is as it is known in the Lowlands and, to some lesser extent, the rest of Minegarde. It was truly a place to be at on the Midsummer of the Third Year, where the music drifted through the high mountains and low valleys of the Eastern Mountains and the mystical sights of fireworks lit the heavens. Its origins were mostly unknown, as it did not mark any special occasion but for the middle of summer on each third year, although it is commonly believed it pinnacle of creation of the land, which took exactly three years. Others however, including most of Pokke's residents, merely believe it is but a grand moot of people from all corners of the world and a place to swap tales and news.

The last time the festival perturbed Pokke, Rion was but a child, and at the time he had not been allowed to so freely roam about the town at such late hours. Indeed, the hours had passed quickly for him, as he recalled, huddled in his bed, peering up out of his window and watching as the blues and reds and yellows fizzed slowly against the obscure night sky. Both his parents had gone to the festival, of course and at many times he had considered sneaking out, but he knew the consequences had he'd been caught, or should his parents arrived home before he did. Indeed a rebel at heart, but to face his parents when they were angry? He nought dared.

The tables were cleaned of muck and stowed in the warehouse behind the Guildhall, where they were usually not brought fourth again for some time, if not at all until the next Festival. The streamers and ribbons were untied, rolled up and stowed also, as well as various other apparatus forgotten by the travellers. Of course, the travellers were not only there for a celebration, but also brought items to trade, and of course gold to trade with, especially for the rarities only found in Pokke and it's surrounding region. Indeed, the "sweet waters of Pokke" were well known to the rest of the world, and was a commodity that was shipped regularly.

Rion made his way through the village, stepping over a snoring man (who had his arm provocatively high on a sleeping woman's thigh), and made his way to the Guildhall to find some hot food and a drink. Sitting on the steps of the Hall, he looked out over the mountainous ranges and his mind ran with images of flying creatures and beasts with teeth as long has his arm and as white as the moon. The deep rivers that he so wished to swim in, not caring for the cold, and the highest peaks, where the wind tore at the flesh and where the great monsters of the Mountains slumbered…

"Rion!" The boy started awake, his mug of wine no longer steaming and the sun much higher in the sky. "There you are. I was beginning to wonder where you had gotten off to – I've been looking for you for an age."

"I must have fallen asleep, ha. These summer days are so relaxing. Although I really should find mother, she probably needs help with the washing, but you said you had been looking for me?" Rion stood up and stretched, his neck sore from the position he had been napping in. He noticed his bread and cheese had disappeared.

"Yes, come quickly! You will never believe what we have caught. Even now there is a commotion down at the dock."

Pokke consisted of three levels, plotted awkwardly (but with some elegance) against the side of Pokke Mountain. The top was the entrance to Pokke and had to be passed through if travelling over the Ranges by land. It was considered the village square as it entailed the three market stalls, the blacksmith, the Guildhall, the Blue Rock (the hallmark of Pokke), three mansions, the school, the barber, the dressmaker, the barracks and three guard towers, among other things. Indeed, it may have been at the pinnacle of the village, but it was certainly the heart.

The second level of Pokke, reached by stairs from the first and third level, or by a path that forked the road less than a kilometre from the village, was where the people lived. It consisted of over fifty huts packed tightly in against the mountain with but spider webs for streets. It was difficult to manoeuvre a cart between the buildings, lest a large work animal such as a popo, and so it had become an area with little activity save for children's games. There was still much room to spare however, and more houses were being raised with each year as the population expanded. The larger houses were further towards the back, each having much more room and were built into the rock. They also proved to have the best views - two-storied with rooms overlooking the rough paintwork of the Pokke Ranges.

The final level of Pokke, connected to the level above by a winding staircase of rock and wood, or a dumbwaiter system (for which larger produce was lifted on), was the farm. It stretched out far and clawed around the base of the mountain with various sites connived about, each with their own purpose. As a rich mountain, mining was proficient, although somewhat frowned upon by the residents (especially the more destructive means of removing rock). Even though the mountain slopped deeply between the second and third levels, it was still considered too dangerous to dig into the mountain base, and especially so with such method as blast mining. After several months of heated debate between the village's council heads, it was decided that the mining site had to be moved two hundred metres, to where there were no houses directly above, and that the amounts of powder used in blast mining was restricted to specific amounts. With much grudgingness, it turned out to be a lucky move for the village, as they had found a rich deposit, with far more ores in both rarity and quantity than the previous area, and consequently any grudges were soon forgotten. The mining area had developed quickly, soon with three levels of scaffolding, and newly blasted spider webbed tunnels on the bottom and middle. The top had proved rich with rare ores and delicacy was being taken to remove them.

Another proud feature of Pokke farm was its newly constructed dock (more rather a few jetties, a small shipping bay and warehouse, but a dock nonetheless), and it was the sentiment of the village trade economy. "The Fleet" consisted of five crafts – a twelve-man gig, a flat-bottomed raft, two single masted trading vessels and a small fishing trawler. It was at the latter, or rather the wharf where it had been docked at, that the commotion was emergent. A long, thin creature had been caught early that morning in the fishing net, and was discovered when they had returned. Cast on the jetty, the fishermen were lifting the dead creature's limbs with a knife and inspecting it. It resembled an eel but with legs and an oddly shaped head. It'slimbs were a pale green and it's bluish fins looked underdeveloped.