Hey everyone! Gaah, I know, it's been over a year since I updated anything at all I'm sorry! But I finally have something written for you all. It's been a hectic year, lots of preparations, but I'm done giving excuses now XD I had been working on this chapter for a while now but I was stuck on how I wanted to finish it or continue it until recently, so I hope you enjoy this update.

Also I've already started the next chapter so hopefully I don't make you all wait a year until I update again like I have a really bad habit of doing. I need to stop that XD

"Rise n' shine, hunter!" a strong voice boomed rambunctiously, startling Strom out of his fitful sleep and causing the surprised boy to fall out of his bed and land on the hard floor.

"Agh!" Strom grunted, snapping his eyes open as he made the impact. He looked up and the first thing he saw was his father, pristine Barioth armor and all, giving him a toothy grin at the fall in obvious amusement. Strom stood up, brushing himself off before rubbing whatever sleep was left from his eyes, "Did y-you h-have to g-give me a personal w-wake up call, d-dad?" he asked almost irritably, not exactly enjoying the rude awakening.

Varick chuckled and nodded, the grin still plastered all over his face, "Damn right I did, boy! How else am I gonna git ya to wake up on time?"

"Y-You c-could have Z-Zopa wake me up," Strom mumbled.

His father laughed, "We tried that! Ya slept right through it! I figured ya needed somethin' a lil' louder to do the trick," he glanced at the cream-colored Felyne who was watching the spectacle in mild amusement, "Looks like I was right, eh?"

Zopa nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching into a tiny grin, "It appears so! Meowster Strom sleeps deeper than I thought, nya. Didn't even notice when I sat on him!"

Strom looked at his housekeeper in unfiltered shock, "Y-You sat on me?"

Again, the Felyne nodded, "It was a last resort! I tried telling you to wake up, and then I tried tapping you before giving up and deciding to sit on you, nya. You slept through it all, so I asked Varick fur help!"

Varick chuckled, scratching his scruffy chin in contemplation, "Looks like we'll hafta set up some kinda alarm system. Somethin' loud, obviously. Hunters need to wake up early so they can git the most outta their huntin'. You gotta git used to wakin' up 'round this time." Before Strom had any time to react to what his father said, Varick gave him a hardy slap on the back, causing Strom to tumble forward slightly before regaining his balance. "But that doesn't matter right now! We got some huntin' to do! Go git yer armor on and meet me at the restaurant over by the smithy. Ya know the one, right?"

Strom nodded slowly, "I-I think so, but w-why a-are we going t-there?"

"For food! A hunter's gotta eat!" Varick said with a grin, "Can't go killin' monsters on an empty stomach, now. That's yer first lesson, boy!" He paused for a moment, ". . .Or maybe waking up early was the first lesson. . . Ah, screw it! We don't need to be puttin' all that in a list, it's common sense. Ya just hafta remember that eatin' before goin' out on yer hunts is extremely important. It gives ya that much needed energy boost!"

Strom looked at his father dubiously, "B-But can't y-you just use t-th-the meat you get o-off of m-monsters for f-food? W-Why pay for it?"

"Well, ya could do that, but unseasoned Popo meat is just bland to all hell. Not exactly the tastiest thing to eat on its own. Besides, it doesn't seem to have the same kick that a complete meal has, ya know? Not to mention there's that whole issue of accidentally burnin' the food on yer own. . ." Varick shook his head definitively, "Too much work! It's much better to just let the chefs cook for ya."

"P-Point taken."

"Well, on that note, I'll let ya git yer gear on 'fore I talk yer ears off. Ya know where to find me." Varick turned to leave, his armored boots leaving a confident clicking noise behind as he walked. As soon as he reached the entrance to the stone hut, however, he paused for a moment, an expression of consideration crossing the hardy hunter's face before he turned back to look at his son. "One more thing, I checked with the watchmen before wakin' ya up. They're fairly certain that we won't be runnin' into any large monsters today. Should be a breeze for yer first day." Then he strode out the door, heading south down the dark, cobblestone path.

Strom watched as his father left, a mixture of awe and uncertainty on his face, before he let out a huge sigh and buried his head in his hands. Today was the day. Today he finally had to go out into the deathly-frozen tundra and do what his father wanted him to do for the longest time. Hunt. It was an experience he had dreaded ever since he learned about the low life-expectancy rates of monster hunters. Any hunter who managed to make it to retirement without getting into a career-ending accident or flat out dying was either incredibly skilled or extremely lucky. Strom knew for a fact that he was neither of those things.

He also knew that a lot could still go wrong during this outing. Even if Morden's watchmen were skilled and fairly accurate with monster predictions, a large monster could still easily pop up out of nowhere. And Strom knew that he wasn't nearly prepared enough for a random large monster attack if that happened. There was too much risk involved for him to ever feel comfortable about going out into the tundra, especially since his particular homeland was notorious for having the nastier monsters in the world. All of these thoughts swirling around the novice hunter's overwhelmed little head was enough to make him want to curl up and hide away with Siluk again.

The crisp sound of a throat being cleared obnoxiously loudly made Strom look up from where he was sulking, and he immediately met the stern, blue gaze of Zopa when he did. It was almost a warning look, practically telling the novice hunter that he couldn't back out of an outing this time. It made him remember his discussion with Zopa last night, and Strom took a deep breath to calm himself down. He needed to at least try this time before backing out, especially since he hadn't even gone out into the field this whole time. Besides, his father's threat of literally dragging him out into the tundra if he tried to sneak away lingered in the back of his mind. There wasn't really much of a choice for him.

Strom crossed the room to his red equipment box that rested on the opposite wall to his cot. He reached in carefully, taking the unused armor out and quickly putting it on. He found that the brown, scaled leather was tough and awkward to move in from lack of use, and the few, shiny steel plates that both added visual appeal and extra protection didn't make movement that much easier. It was also a little heavy, but Strom supposed he would eventually get used to the extra weight after wearing the armor for a little while. After he rolled his shoulders back experimentally to get used to the feel of the armor, he picked up a nearby leather pouch and peeked at the contents inside. Within the pouch rested the basic necessities of monster hunting, including a few vials of green potions, some hot drinks, whetstones for his blade, and a few paintballs. He could only assume that all of this was courtesy of his father, and anything else that he could possibly bring with him on the hunt would have to either be bought or made by himself. He tied the item pouch to his fur-lined waistcoat, then picked up and sheathed his steel sword and strapped the accompanying shield to his arm.

He was finally ready to head out and meet his father after he took a few more steadying breaths, but he couldn't help the feeling of unease trickle through him as he stepped out of his hut and headed down the cobblestone street. The shocked stares he got from passing villagers as he walked only furthered his unease and made him feel uncomfortable. They obviously weren't expecting to see Strom wearing hunter's gear anytime soon, if at all. He was certain the majority of them thought he'd never even take up hunting, despite Varick's insistence. Strom did his best to ignore the strange looks and little whispers he got as he hurried down the street and past the village houses, soon breaking out into the town center, much to his relief.

It didn't take long for him to work his way toward the blacksmith's. The small, stone shop came into view shortly after he walked east along the edge of the market district. As he passed the roaring hot flame of the forge, a rough, almost gravelly voice called out to him. "Finally wearing that hunter's armor, I see."

Strom stopped, jumping slightly at the sudden voice before turning to meet the owner. There, leaning against a sturdy iron anvil, stood an incredibly short humanoid figure, his jade, leathery skin wrinkled with such age that it left his eyes in a permanent squint. "Y-Yeah, I-I guess I am," Strom said quietly to the Wyverian blacksmith, unconsciously shrinking a little at the comment. He wasn't exactly fond of the stares he was getting from his fellow villagers.

"How're ya likin' it?" the blacksmith asked. A large, toothy grin was spreading across his features as he spoke, deepening the wrinkles on his face.

"Oh, um, i-it's . . . i-it's great, I guess," Strom said quietly, rubbing the back of his head demurely, "Kind of h-hard to m-move around i-in. . ."

"S'how it is with most beginner armor. Unfortunately, the guild made it standard issue ta git ya used ta the feelin' of runnin' around in armor like that. Good armor feels more like a second skin than anythin' else." The elderly artisan puffed out his chest proudly, swinging his comically large hammer up to rest on his right shoulder, "Rest assured, any armor I make fer ya won't be so awkward or squishy."

The timid hunter looked at him with wide eyes, "Y-You didn't make this, Sindri? I-I thought my d-dad h-had commissioned this. . ."

Sindri let out a huge, bellowing laugh that startled Strom a little. Someone who looked so petite and fragile shouldn't be physically able to let out such a sound, yet he was filled with untapped energy. "Me? Make that junk? Please! I only make my armor outta the best materials ya can find. That armor there couldn't even hold its own fer very long against a Great Baggi."

This only made Strom's spirits sink even lower than they already were at the start of the day. Hearing how flimsy and low quality his armor was did not help in the slightest to ease his fears of today's approaching outing. It was official. Strom would die. "Y-You're s-saying that d-d-dad just g-gave me the w-worst armor I c-c-could get?"

"I wouldn't say the worst. Just not the greatest. The worst armor ya could get is none at all. At least what yer wearin' now will give ya some protection."

"B-But if . . . i-if the Hunter's G-Guild makes this st-st-standard issue, sh-shouldn't they b-be able to g-give out better quality a-a-armor? Wouldn't t-that make new hunters, oh, I don't k-know, l-live longer?"

Sindri shrugged rather nonchalantly, "Quality over quantity?"

Strom instantly grimaced, placing a hand on his forehead. He felt as if he was going to pass out at any moment. Impending doom would come sooner than he anticipated. "T-That's horrid. . . T-This s-system is just – it's entirely sc-screwed up! That's what it is!"

"Hey, I don't make the rules, kid. I just make stuff. Ya want good armor? Go out and get the materials fer it. Earn yer armor. That's how it works 'round here."

"B-But what's the point of earning b-better a-armor if you d-d-die before you can e-even wear it?"

"Death at that stage isn't likely," Sindri said simply, as if he wasn't just debating life and death situations with the trembling mess before him, "Ya do know they have countermeasures for when things git really bad, right? And this early in yer career means that yer less likely to run into the nastier beasts."

"A-And if I-I do h-happen to run into a n-nastier m-monster?"

The blacksmith's jovial expression quickly turned into a serious one, all signs of mirth had vanished from his face, "Well, kid, I suggest ya git really good at dodgin'."

Strom's expression fell to pure, unmasked dismay at the very notion of such a suggestion. Sure, dodging and running away wouldn't be too difficult, the young man could probably even not-too-proudly proclaim those two actions to be specialties of his, but the meaning behind Sindri's advice carried much too heavy a weight for the timid hunter. "T-That's. . . that's w-wonderful," he whispered softly, unable to muster a louder noise than that.

The little artisan had continued his work as if he didn't hear or see Strom's reaction to what he had just told the man, "Ya best git on over ta yer father 'fore he gits impatient with ya."

"D-Do I have to. . ?"

"Of course ya do! I have work ta do, kid, I can't have ya distractin' me all day. Gotta git this hammer finished fer yer father."

Breakfast that morning was tense and silent, at least for Strom. He and his father sat at a stone, round table, gigantic plates of food placed in front of them. After the young man had inspected his large portion of earthy Moss Pork for hair balls (he didn't entirely trust a Felyne's ability to keep their fur out of the food they made), he began slowly picking apart the meat. It was a little grisly, the texture of the moss was akin to licking paper, but other than that, the meat tasted good. Well-seasoned and still juicy, as meat should be. He quietly chewed his meal as Varick excitedly droned on and on about the upcoming hunt through a mouthful of Dragon meat. His father had the manners of a barbarian.

Strom, who would usually remind his dad of his horrible table manners, was preoccupied with staring at the ridiculously large slab of meat on his plate, gnashing his teeth contemplatively. Was this to be his last meal? Stringy, mossy meat? Wasn't the best of last meals, but at least it was something. The monster who ate him would certainly appreciate the extra nutrients, he supposed. He briefly wondered what his gravestone would look like. What would it say? He imagined something like: Here lies Strom, the hunter who sucked at hunting. Granted, this would only be if he even had anything left to bury.

The young man exhaled softly, swallowing the lump forming in his throat. He really needed to stop thinking about those things, it'd just make the feeling of dread even worse than it already was. Quickly, the greenhorn shoveled the last piece of Moss Pork into his mouth, finishing off the potential final breakfast of his life. He only hurried upon noticing that his father was already done with his own oversized plate of meat. How hunters ever managed to eat that much food that fast and not get a stomach ache was completely beyond the boy.

"Ya ready to head out?" Varick asked with a wide, toothy grin. The pure pride on his face only made matters worse.

Strom knew that he wouldn't be able to verbalize his answer, so he just nodded.

Varick gave him the traditional hearty slap on the back, the one that always caused the slender man to stumble slightly, and then the hardened warrior laughed boisterously, "Good! Should be a calm day today like I told ya this mornin'."

The young man sighed, the tension in his stomach easing a little. If there were no monsters, it couldn't be that bad, right? He followed his father to the entrance of the cave, walking up the cobblestone path. Metal boots clicked on the stone, reverberating through the secluded village. "S-So," Strom started, wanting to break the silence, "if w-we aren't gonna r-run into l-large m-monsters, wh-what are we h-hunting?"

"A very elusive species o' creatures," Varick said with a sly grin, rifling through a big pile of various tools next to the cave entrance, beside a large torch. "Most people know 'em as -" he dropped a large, iron pickaxe into Strom's arms "- rocks."

Strom buckled under the sudden weight, nearly dropping the tool cradled in his lanky forearms. "W-We're mining? All d-day?"

"Yup! Monster huntin' ain't all just about huntin' monsters, boy."

"W-What? B-But . . . isn't th-that literally the j-job title?"

"Well . . . yeah, but that ain't all we do, kiddo. Sometimes we go out huntin' for materials. Plants, ores, insects, the whole deal. Kinda need to so ya can make yer own tools, or strengthen up yer armor or weapons. New hunters like you will spend most of their time gatherin' stuff for later." Varick paused and added, "At least all the smart ones do."

Strom let out a huge sigh of relief at that. There would be no actual monster hunting for a while, then. Could they just gather materials forever? The greenhorn hunter would certainly appreciate that more. Just think how nice and safe it would be, hunting through the lands, searching ferociously for all sorts of herbs, small bugs, and ores, bringing them all back to people who needed them. He could be a hero in a different way! Strom: the Mighty Plant Hunter! Had a nice ring to it.

"Doesn't mean ya won't still run into monsters, though," Varick added, banishing Strom's pleasant fantasy to the dark chasm of his mind, "I mean, there's a reason them casual folks don't go out gatherin' stuff themselves. Too dangerous for 'em."

The young hunter watched as his father marched past the torches marking where their village was, the pickaxe resting on the white shoulder pads of his armor. The feeling of dread resettled itself into Strom's stomach as he copied his father's movements and trudged into the cold, icy tundra. Only one thing ran through his mind.

I suggest ya git really good at dodgin'.

It was high noon, and absolutely nothing interesting had happened. The light buzzing of insects and the gentle trickling of streams were the only noises filling the air. No curious or vicious creatures crept through the dense undergrowth. Not a single leaf was out of place, torn, broken, or scarred. The land looked entirely sacred, untouched by even the tiniest sign of life. Bright, hot sunlight filtered through gently waving leaves, giving the unruly jungle a look much like a watercolor painting. Peaceful, beautiful. . .

And horribly anti-climatic for the ambitious hunter who had been sent there.

Seriously, all day the monster hunter had been scouring the expansive forests within what the Hunter's Guild had dubbed the Everwood, and still, nothing had showed up. She stamped through the dense woods, slicing away any pesky plants in her way with her carving knife as she explored. The hunter would have to take a break soon, her crimson Rathalos armor was becoming heavy and hot in the current weather. A trip back to camp with a well-done steak in her belly would do her some good. It was a wonder she never got lost in this blasted jungle. The trees loomed on forever, the cave-systems were terribly large, and the amount of supplies the Hunter's Guild had given her was a graceful zero.

Apparently, when the Guild wishes to send a hunter into the Everwood for research or any other reason, they decide it's not worth the effort to give them some supplies and instead make them pack everything for themselves. Perhaps to save the supplies for more dire missions, perhaps for some dumb reason, who knew? All the young woman did know was that it was complete and utter bullshit. Especially for the hunt they sent her on. Honestly, it was a wonder they even gave the hunters a camp for this kind of thing. And to think, a few days ago, she was excited to go out into the large, mostly unexplored landscape for the first time.

When she had first received this mission directly from the Guild, it had seemed like there would be much more going on than what had actually ended up happening. There were reports of strange roars echoing through the jungle, with odd activity and many wooded areas completely decimated. All who had reported this to the Guild said the same thing about their findings, that the roars were accompanied by the sky itself completely darkening, as if a sudden eclipse had appeared, and that, as soon as someone went out to investigate, only a destroyed plot of land was left behind as evidence. So, of course, when the Guild approached the prodigious hunter about investigating for herself, Arya was happy to accept. She wasn't the only one being sent out, of course. They had several hunters out in each known area of the Everwood, and each hunter was in charge of reporting any suspicious activity in their sector. Given how big Arya's section was, it certainly felt like she was alone in this.

If only she had realized exactly how deceptively boring this mission ended up being.

Days had passed since the start of her investigation, and no sign of the new monster showed up. The only large monsters she ran into were the ever-too-common Velocidromes and the occasional, ape-like Kechawacha. Man, were those gigantic monkeys annoying. Hopping and swinging everywhere, coating her in heavy, gooey snot. Gross.

Arya sighed as she sliced a large, noisy red beetle out of the air, practically tearing it to bits with her longsword. Stupid Bnahabra. They are always buzzing and flying around everywhere, darting this way and that, trying to sting passerby and inject them with paralytic venom. While it sounded fairly terrifying to maybe children and young people, they were just a gigantic nuisance to even the most common hunter, especially when one had to try and gather their wings. The bugs were so damn fragile.

The hunter worked her way back to the temporary camp, knowing that she would just drive herself mad if she continued without a break again. She may have been used to running long distances in heavy armor, even in extremely hot and cold temperatures, but going out this long in deceptively hot temperatures would not do her good, especially if she wanted to preserve her cold drinks. Arya backtracked through the area, her boots squelching on sticky mud and destroying innocent ferns that dared to be in her path. Upon reaching a small, trickling stream, she knelt down and took off her helmet, splashing her face with fresh, cool water. The period of refreshment was brief, however, as she quickly wiped the water droplets away from her blue eyes and replaced her helmet. After all, despite how accustomed she was to hunting, she certainly didn't want to be caught off guard with her helmet removed. Even if she was good at rolling out of the way of a monster attack, she still occasionally got tossed about.

Just as she stood back up and brushed the dirt off of her silver greaves, she heard the faint sound of thumping feet, the snap of twigs (or branches depending on the monster), and a shuffling, huffing sound. Something was nearby, that was for sure. Arya unsheathed her sword, taking a round, smooth stone out of her item pouch and running it along the blade of her weapon a couple of times. It was always good to keep one's weapon sharp before approaching a monster. She tossed the whetstone aside once she finished sharpening her weapon, the once smooth surface now scratched and unusable. The hunter stood to her full height, drawing her shoulders back and taking a deep breath before following the sound of the creature.

Maybe this time she would finally find something interesting.

Ooooh look at that! New character! XD

Don't get me wrong, the story will still focus primarily on Strom, given his name in the title and everything, but Arya here will help speed the plot along and hint at some things from her side of the world. And, of course, start up some actual hunting since Strom is going to need A LOT of time to actually be okay with trying to hunt like he's supposed to.

We're working on that, trust me!