Elise Austin made her name trying to understand and protect the archaeological footprints of the Hopi people. This led her to the legend of The Destruction of Palatkwapi, a myth with which she became obsessed - to the detriment of her hard-won reputation. Drifting through the desert, a dream came to her: two children tumbling into black water. Recognizing the image’s importance, she followed it, like so many others, into the bayou.

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Arsenal

“Mesa Updraught” Vetterli 71 Deadeye
Accompanying the Archaeologist on her desert treks, this Vetterli 71 Deadeye was most at home perched on the rock face of a mesa, scanning the scrub plain for hostiles, and eliminating them.

Snarling, bloody, gnashing teeth haunted Theodore Tuck’s nightmares, until he came face-to-face with their source in Louisiana. Tuck proved his mettle hunting the Bayou’s hellhounds – and his reckless focus when he attempted to train them to fight by his side.

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For as long as he could remember, Theodore Tuck was plagued by the same nightmare. In marsh blanketed in fog, Tuck would find himself surrounded by sharp gnashing teeth, frothing with spittle and blood as they snarled and snapped, desperate to tear the flesh from his bones. Sometimes there would be hundreds; sometimes only one. And each morning he would awaken with a fresh new scar.

Certain that the dreams were an ill-omen and determined to face his fears and destroy them at the root, Tuck searched field, forest, and mountain the country over, finally coming face to face with those nightmarish creatures in Louisiana. He proved his mettle hunting the beasts of the Bayou and through his skill with animals, but when he set out to tame the hellhounds themselves, even most Hunters thought he’d gone too far. His attempts earned him infamy – and many additional scars.

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Arsenal

“The Bark” Romero 77 Hatchet
With a brutish bark from its shot and a nasty bit from its blade, this Romero 77 Hatchet works offensively and defensively, its spiked barrel equal to any of the Bayou´s hungry jaws and grasping claws.

“The Bite” Crossbow
Theodore Tuck´s trusted hunting companion, this crossbow is as scarred by claw, tooth, and talon as its owner, having fought - and bested - both man and beast with its fierce, piercing bite.

Third in a generational line of apiarists, but the first to develop forbidden, esoteric practices. Her devoted mania saved her brood from the tar seeping into their nectar, but no known witchcraft can reclaim a daughter’s lost love.

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Arsenal

“Bitter Honey” Weapon Charm
The last honey ever produced by The Beekeeper’s apiary; it is a forbidden elixir soured by guilt. Its intoxicating smell promises redemption, but few who wander the bayou have hope in salvation.

“Thorax Brew” Weak Regeneration Shot
When tainted bees are caged, coated in human gore, and set upon each other, the corpses become stained with a crimson honey. This arcane secret, and the secrets of this Weak Regeneration Shot, are an inheritance The Beekeeper desperately hopes will not die with her.

Like the legends of Biatatá, Beatriz Ribeiro Valente was a creature of fire trapped underwater. From the beaches of Salvador to the damps of the Bayou, she learned her flames could not be quenched. With nowhere to belong, she rose to set the world ablaze.

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The following excerpt was retrieved from the short story “Cobra da Várzea”, published in a clandestine local paper from Salvador (Bahia), United States of Brazil (Typewritten translation attached)

It's three after midnight, and the only light for leagues comes from the small fire she built in the sand. She works a knife with steady, agile fingers and carefully carves out her prize. When it gives in, it is with a wet sound, and she closes her hand around it like an embrace. At her feet, four men protest in muffled whimpers, facing the night with bleeding holes where they once had eyes.

When the fishermen find them, they will be dressed in white by the waves of the Atlantic, awaiting final judgment for sins the courts of men had swiftly forgiven. By then, she will be long gone. “It's Biatatá’s doing.” The hushed whispers will spread through the streets and the pews. Some will call her a hero, others a murderer, and the superstitious will insist on the stories of a fiery snake stealing men's eyes and driving them mad. Above all, the people will ask, and the papers will plead, why?

Rolling the fresh eyeball in her fingers, she wonders, not for the first time, if she could ever answer. She never believed in justice, and she can't remember the last time she enjoyed revenge. All she remembers is being small and scrawny and invisible in a crowd of too many. Falling and being used as pavement. Bleeding and being left to rot. She asked why many times, and when the answer came to her, it felt like soothing to a burn.

Perhaps the reason for one’s evil is simply that one can. And if so, then her own reasons could be just as plain. Not a savior nor a beast. She kills these wretched men because she can, and others won't.

She throws the eye into the flames and takes a deep breath before smiling. Tomorrow, she travels North to colder lands, on the trail of worse evils and tougher choices. But tonight, the salty air of Salvador warms her skin, and as the men’s cries fade into silence, she knows these dead will not come back.

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Arsenal

“Cobra da Várzea” Scottfield Spitfire
In Portuguese: “Marsh Snake”
The world expected nothing from Beatriz Ribeiro Valente, and when she pounced, they weren't ready. As tales of Biatatá's conquests found their way back to her home in Brazil, her fateful Scottfield Spitfire became a symbol of defiance to the downtrodden.

“Proteção do Andarilho” Slate
In Portuguese: “Wanderer's Protection”
Although the name Biatatá instils fear in the hearts of many, wanderers travel near water in hopes of her protection. The greedy who disturb an honest journey with lead are bound to be met with a blast from this Slate.

“Língua de Fogo” Liquid Fire Bomb
In Portuguese: “Tongue of Fire”
With a blinding flash, this Liquid Fire Bomb turns still waters into an inferno, and Hunters know the end is near. Running is futile. Fighting is foolish. Close your eyes, and pray Biatatá doesn't catch your scent.

Few who encountered this New Orleans “gentleman" would ever forget him – be it for his strange and extravagant dress, his raucous sense of humor, or the content of his infamous Blue Books.

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Arsenal

“Storied Past” Quad Derringer
The many men felled by this Quad Derringer knew it only in the short moment between the parting of that infamous fur coat and their own demise.

William Durant is a Hunter, a scoundrel, and a murderer with a complicated past. Loyal solely to himself, and lacking any shred of honor, when his friends meet, his moniker is only spat out alongside promises of vengeance.

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Arsenal

“Honor Shredder” Concertina Trip Mines
If anybody asked, The Black Coat would insist that he was a man of honor. Still, alliances run thin in the bayou, and this Concertina Trip Mine is one of his favorite ways to eliminate the number of hands reaching for his Bounties.

“Widower” Conversion Chain Pistol
Even this Conversion Chain Pistol can't hold enough bullets for each of William Durant's mortal enemies. After thieving it from a Spanish Lord, however, The Black Coat has been untouchable.

Bloody Red: Hood
Emilia Montgomery was a naïve little girl before she met the wolf in the woods. After she killed and skinned him, her blood turned ice-cold. Now she carries out her new mission to punish all things big and bad.

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Bloody Red: Wolf
From high forests to foggy swamps, Emilia Montgomery hunts ruthlessly with a trickster’s cunning and a wolf’s bite. The tale of her grisly origin speaks for itself when she wears the head of her cruelest nemesis–a warning to all. Hunters: Beware.

Born in Senegal and brought to New Orleans as a slave, Doctor John was eventually freed and rose to prominence in the New Orleans Voodoo community, founding a chapter of Hunters with his most loyal followers. His ability to heal led to suspicions that he had caused the very plague he fought, though none who spoke against him survived for long.

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An influential practitioner of voodoo. He has foreseen the evil, which befell the swamp, long before it even arrived. Now that evil has arrived in force, it has learned to fear the doctor’s bleached skull visage, and his necklace of prophecy bones that foretells its own downfall.

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Arsenal

“Bone Veve” Mosin-Nagant
Doctor John's Mosin-Nagant, decorated with carvings resembling Veve markings, illegible to mortal eyes and smooth to the touch.

Béatrice Maunet lost her light and name in the bone-lined halls of the Catacombs of Paris after finding her boy's decomposing remains there. She crossed the Atlantic to Louisiana, hoping to absolve herself from remorse and hear her son's voice again.

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The bells of Notre-Dame de Paris rang in screaming agony through the night as the City of Light slept silently, marking the passing hours. The city had been soaked in rain for five days, and Béatrice Maunet was drenched and exhausted. She had searched each street and alley, yet her son Henri was nowhere to be found. The only place left to search was the world underground. Desperation brought her to the entrance of the Catacombs of Paris. A faint hope sparked in her heart as she read the warning out loud: “Arrête! C'est ici l'empire de la mort.” [Stop! This is the empire of Death.] Knowing Henri was a courageous boy, she delved into the dark halls.

After thousands of steps into the abyss, in the world of the living, days turned to nights, but in the halls of the dead, time came to a standstill. She memorized the feel of each bone and skull, every crack and fracture that made them unique. Darkness governed her mind and soul, and the bone-walls whispered countless stories of agony and death. She walked and walked until in a dark, uncharted hall she felt the familiar touch of her boy’s face. She followed the bones back and emerged with him in her arms – lifeless and decomposing.

Béatrice cleaned her boy’s remains carefully, giving him his last bath. Her mind clouded by remorse, she hoped to find closure in the Catacombs, where it all had begun. Each midnight she offered his bones to the walls, treating them with the respect and great precision of an artist, wishing they would accept her precious boy. But the walls had gone silent, and as years passed, she lost her will and name to become the Bone Mason - the phantom of the great Catacombs - so dubbed by those who witnessed her enter the abyss whenever the bells tolled twelve. And as time killed the last spark of hope, a mysterious letter pointed at Louisiana, where she could find other lost souls. Throughout her journey across the Atlantic, she tenderly caressed the satchel she’d crafted. No one believed the story behind the satchel, but Béatrice found comfort in the familiar touch of its cover, rumored to be bound in her boy’s own skin.

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Arsenal

“Fissure” Romero 77 Hatchet
Each bone Béatrice Maunet touched in the Catacombs of Paris left a mark on her mind. She adorned this Romero 77 Hatchet with the same tools she used to make room for her boy’s remains in the bone walls, before she started chasing his ghost in the Bayou.

“Fresh Marrow” Uppercut
Béatrice Maunet still remembers the smell of rotting marrow vividly. This Uppercut was named after she brought it to the Bayou to fend off dangers by expelling the fresh marrow from her enemies’ bones.

“Scarfskin Satchel” First Aid Kit
Some believed that this First Aid Kit was adorned with the decomposing skin of Béatrice Maunet’s son. Though the stories were considered groundless, hope rekindled in her heart whenever she caressed the cover that felt familiar to the touch.

A comet fell from the sky. The Great Peshtigo Fire raged in its wake, and a boy watched bodies burn in unnatural wildfire. He grew, learned flame’s language – catalogued its desire for forests and flesh. Now he seeks the strange Inferno raging in the south.

Reginald Villemont dropped to all fours when hunting feral swine, sniffing scat, and diving runes and mysticisms from tracks. He flayed wild pig throats with his teeth as he delved deeper into the bayou, finding a source of salvation and obliteration alike: the Butcher.

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Arsenal

“Murmurblade” Throwing Axes
Pulled from the mouth of the Murmurstone by the Butcher’s Cleaver and rusted by his own sacred blood, these Throwing Axes serve as both a whip to purify his mind and an aspergillum to purify his enemies.

“Swine Shrike” Springfield 1866 Bayonet
Ceremonial, revered–this Springfield 1866 Bayonet was used to create the sacramental vessel known as the "Split Piglet". When gored by this rifle, a Hunter’s cries become indistinguishable from pig-kind. They squeal. They never stop squealing.

Primal in his fury and sparse with his words, his name oft falling from the lips of those facing death. Cain’s sacrifices mount high as he rattles through the godless bayou, burdened by the bones of his grief.

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The bones of the dead litter the bayou, picked clean, piled high into thickets and briars, pallid in the glow of the fires set by hunters. It’s easy to get lost amongst them, and easier to fall prey to the lurkers who lost themselves there long ago. First amongst these lost souls is Cain, who’s said to have made the greatest sacrifice, and pays his penance with primal fury.

Cain lost the man he once was long ago. But the memories of that man wait in the dark, horrors that feast on his desiccated mind at night. Cain carries Nightmare not to ward them off, but to keep them coming, their pull towards death the only reminder of all that has been lost. The Bone Briar keeps Cain oriented on his journey, lest he becomes lost in the labyrinth he’s built of the dead

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Arsenal

“Nightmare” Vandal 73C Striker
Once a companion in the flesh, now but bone adorning stock and guard, but trusted companion still. This Vandal 73C Striker is a lurking horror ready to strike in the night, both bone and blade cruel reminders of all that has been lost.

“Bone Briar” Specter 1882 Bayonet
Bones of the dead piled high into briars. Cain carries in this Specter 1882 Bayonet what remains of his brother, the first sin that plunged him inescapably into that deep, thorny tangle.

“Bone Rattler” New Army
Some skeletons remember their deaths. They recall the impact after a fall, a knife puncturing skin, or lead shattering bone. This New Army is inlaid with bones stolen from the Hunter Cain, ones that remember a last stand with no way out but a coffin.

Fifth roils alive and precious inside Captain Laffite. His arteries have transformed into marsh ways and canals for a kind of life only drowned captains can know. He inhales curses. Spits out gunpower smoke. When a ship sinks, he's there to guide it home.

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Crabs came for him first. They pinched off the softest flesh and chewed with diseased mandibles. He rolled on razor shells as an urchin lapped up bile with the spines of its mouth. All beings of low tide trawled the marsh to join in the dismemberment. Above him the sky was pure, deep water, and the fate of all drowned men flooded mud-ripe into his lungs.

Time did not exist for Burman Laffite in the Land of the Dead, and his torment stretched forever. Memories surfaced, sank, and surfaced again while a scarab behemoth gnawed his spine:

Tossed overboard as a baby. A steamboat’s searchlight swiping over his infant, lice-ridden flesh. A boyhood spent on docks, knee deep in fish guts, beaten at every saloon in New Orleans. Civil War. Hiding under a flag from Rebels. Horses beheaded by cannonballs. The Union Navy. An explosion, abandoning the Housatonic. Reveling in a failed succession. Failed marriage. Failed fatherhood. And finally, a failed steamboat captain. Cursed upon the deadest of seafloors.

Inside his lungs a kingdom of mud festered. It kept him alive as crustacean goliaths swallowed his parts and regurgitated them once more. The Delphine’s spirit mocked him on the wind.

“How dare you abandon me,” the wind said.

Captain Laffite vowed an apology but found no tongue with which to speak.

He began his life as salvage, and as salvage it would end. A forsaken soul wandered across him. They picked his head off a starfish, lubricated his nervous system with oil and sewed it back into place. Captain Laffite’s mind fractured through his decayed organs, either making him alive ten times over or not alive at all.

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Arsenal

“Scuttled Glory” Terminus
The United States roams Captain Laffite’s mind as a divine shipwreck. It shambles along waterways with ten thousand propellors and ten thousand flags trail from its masts. He’s torn those banners. He’s wrapped them around this Terminus pulled from some ship’s hallowed stowage.

“Knuckle Shunt” Scottfield Brawler
Hellscapes of wrecked warships are strewn across the Land of the Dead. Pipes and plumbing from the machines spread as bramble and leaking briars, concealing scarce materials. Captain Laffite has retrofitted a pipe cutter to this Scottfield Brawler to navigate such passes.

“Hagfish Bronze” Choke Bombs
Once the thurible of a seaborne bishop, Captain Laffite scavenged parts for this Choke Bomb from the wreckage of a Victorian pleasure craft. It was used to ward off terrors from the lowest tide the Land of the Dead has to offer.

A butcher, clandestine arms dealer, and hobby apothecarist, Jason Trevors is a brutal Hunter, and known for being coldly logical and just unhinged enough that his opponents never know what to expect.
A vital asset to the Hunter cause, Trevors could import any firearm from the world over without import tax, provided it fit into a carcass.

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When the New Year dawns in the East, demons enter our world to prey upon flesh and mind. It is on that day when the morning is adorned by talismans, the dragon’s dance begins in the afternoon, and the night sky blazes with red fireworks to ward off the demons. Many would resort to ancient practices in which they find hope; the Hunters in China, however, find hope in both tradition and steel. They have been fighting the demons relentlessly with the weapons they have blessed with legends, and their efforts haven’t gone unnoticed in the West.

Once desperation took hold in Louisiana, Jason Trevors didn’t wait another second to seize the opportunity. He paid the price, made the deals, and the Azure Arsenal began its travels towards him across ocean and land. Crafted and perfected by the veteran Hunters of China, each of these weapons are believed to possess a great power. They are now waiting to be claimed by those who are willing to pierce the heart of corruption with lead and steel blessed under the azure sky.

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Arsenal

“Flat Iron” Romero 77 Alamo
The Carcass Gunrunner brought in many fine and exotic weapons, but for himself alone he tinkered with this Romero 77 Alamo. Rebuilt from shop parts, the shotgun has become his preferred recourse in difficulties with smugglers in his employ.

“Flesh Pleater” Dusters
Repurposed from the same iron hand press that his mother used and marked with the family name, these Dusters are favored by the Carcass Gunrunner, who takes a sentimental sort of pleasure in using them to pleat the face of any enemy in his way.

Rains and reptiles marched west, flooding and trampling villages. Chasing them were flashes of red feathers and dauntless arms that buckled the will of the fiercest alligators. Cardinal Rain tracked the rot guiding the beasts and seeks to strangle it at the source.

William Carter was a sharpshooter, and the inventor of many a curious new attraction for the Wild West Shows he starred in. Ever the showman, he fictionalized most of his life story, and though no one knows his true origins two things are clear: he’s a fearsome shot with an extravagant sense of humor – and adventure.

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Arsenal

“Bear’s Leg” Vandal 73C Bullseye
This Vandal 73C Bullseye played center stage in Carter’s show. He dazzled the crowd, cocking it with extravagant spins, the stage lights glinting on the pearlescent lens and gold-inlay bear.

“Carter’s Quickshot” Specter 1882 Shorty
Gifted to the sharpshooter William Carter, this personalized Specter 1882 Shorty is ideal for pulling off fast shooting sequences to dazzle spectators and intimidate foes.

“Burn Out” Terminus Shorty
Always ready to take on a challenge, William Carter was Eddie Davies´ favorite customer. This Terminus Shorty took the brunt of when things went too far: plinking, double or nothing, and the only target left being a bundle of dynamite.

Burying the human that was born, something burrowed out from the soil. Not an apparition nor an imitation, but a barbed and malevolent new avatar of Corruption. But her path was not a straight one, for a more Primal metamorphosis awaited her.

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Arsenal

“Creeping Night” Centennial Shorty Silencer
The sun is fated to die, and the Moon’s days have long been numbered. This Centennial Shorty Silencer awaits their end to become what it was built to be: herald of the final dusk, the eternal night of The Centipede.

“Fatal Scurry” New Army Swift
Creatures of a lesser kind scurry with panic in the presence of a predator. This New Army Swift sends Hunters scrambling just the same with the bite of its bullets, allowing Centipede to drop them like flies over the rotting mud.

“Gnawing Ire” Marathon
This Marathon invigorates Centipede with the power to dissolve her enemies. Its bullets devour anything from flesh to metal, gnawing away at what once was in order to change it into something new–something bitten and chewed, begging for dirt once again.

“Piercing Edge” Mako 1895 Claw
At one point, Centipede was somebody else completely, devoted to the Demented Pact until Felis awakened her Primal instincts. This Mako 1895 Claw was there for her from the beginning, delivering a piercing death regardless of Pact.

“Pincer Strike” Hand Crossbow
To match the power of a Target is a mighty feat, but to grow beyond them demands unbounded conviction. Centipede’s skill with this Hand Crossbow has granted such certainty; a mandible with which to skewer and devour her prey.

The Bayou sky shifted, and the North Pole's shifted to match. Ashen snow heralded the Coal Bearer's journey southward, for heavy is the head that wears the crown, but heavier is the sack on the back of the man who judges good from bad.

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Arsenal

“Blitzen’s Boost” Stamina Shot
Tree sap is a treat for the Coal Bearer’s reindeer during warm summers. This Stamina Shot mixes the divine sap with a reindeer’s stolen adrenaline, giving the blood a boost so jolly it almost feels like magic.

“Defiled Ornament” Weapon Charm
Carved in remembrance of old friends, Coal Bearer’s heart is heavy as he polishes this to perfection every winter solstice. But it’s always dirty again by the next winter, tainted by the memory of the blood he spilled.

“Fierce Garland” Martini-Henry
Out to punish those embroiled in the bayou’s most wicked deeds, Coal Bearer draped this Martini Henry with emerald linen like garland over a Christmas tree. It aims with enough cheer to show the naughtiest Hunters how things are done in the North Pole.

As Alaz’s reputation grew, her past became a bloody fairytale, her present soaked in blood and mud. She chases a future molded by hatred and vengeance; a future she promised to herself and her lost sisters.

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Alaz’s garments, once bright, patterned, and colorful, now dulled by mud and blood. The stains of which form new filigrees, new intricate inscriptions of death. So too are her stories. Drenched in bloodshed, unrecognizable from their first times told. But they all start the same: a merchant who set sail from an unfamiliar land, sisters bound by twisted fate forced to follow him. The sails limped, the trade winds failed to blow, and the merchant revealed the evil within him. Trapped on still waters, each day of the voyage was marked by new horrors. Alaz witnessed her sisters wither in pain, finding peace only in the cold embrace of the sea. She promised to avenge their misery and unleash the storm.

At the Port of New Orleans, the rich greeted them as they disembarked. A mansion they had dubbed the Sultan’s Palace had been prepared. Food and drinks were plenty, enough to satisfy any gluttonous desire, and melodies from Alaz's homeland joined the rich music in the streets of New Orleans. Debauchery deafened ears and blinded eyes.

It was not long until the wind howled, the port waters boiled, and Alaz prepared herself to greet the merchant in his chamber once again, but with Pride’s Death in her hand. She carefully tore at muscle and flesh, taking his pride, and leaving him bleeding out on his bed. Her dress bloodied, she joined the guests in the main hall to grant them a quick death with the merchant’s precious rifle, Shahmaran.

When the storm died out in the morning, a river of blood gushed out the Sultan’s Palace into the storm-swept streets. The citizens of New Orleans discovered the bodies piled in the hall. And when puzzled minds started asking questions, Alaz had already spent her first bounty on a weapon she dubbed Sister’s Anguish.

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Arsenal

“Sister’s Anguish” Hand Crossbow
When Alaz earned her first coin as a free woman, she bought this Hand Crossbow. Adorned with mementos of her fallen sisters, Alaz wields it with their enduring strength.

“Shahmaran” Sparks
The inscription on this Sparks imbues only a worthy wielder with the strength of its namesake, an ancient myth. No wonder it called to Alaz and fell into her hands. 

“Pride’s Death” Heavy Knife
The Merchant's Heavy Knife, embedded with the coins of his travels, was just the thing Alaz needed to put the man in his place. Hours of anguish and torture later, the former concubine had her prize.

The flames of November 5th taught the self-proclaimed heir of the Gunpowder Plot not to speak out against unjust rule, but the fires of war taught him silence was untenable. Taking up his forefather’s crusade, The Conspirator reforges himself in the furnace of the bayou.

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Rumors began to spread through the decks of Britain’s Atlantic fleet: a traitor was in their midst. The two ships that sank near Cape Verde did not go down by accident—and the perpetrator must have been among the survivors who were rounded up for interrogation. Three walked the plank, found guilty of conspiracy, but it didn’t stop another ship from sinking that same night. A frenzy spread amongst the soldiers, and the officers executed all remaining survivors of the sunken ships. With the crisis averted, calm spread through the fleet once again—until fire and oil burst forth from the head ship in an explosion that razed the armada.

A dozen ships were scuppered, but the culprit was ultimately found: a single humble officer. With naught but his service rifle, revolver, and a penchant for gunpowder’s destruction, he had decimated the fleet. Such a heinous crime demanded he be made an example of and humiliated, lest other would-be rebels take inspiration. On trial, the man proclaimed himself to be Francis Fawkes, heir to Guy Fawkes and dedicated to his ancestor’s mission.

He was sentenced to burning at the stake. On November 5th, The Conspirator was paraded in the streets and burned atop a historic bonfire: bound, masked, and dressed as an effigy to be mocked by what remained of the Navy. The flames of consequence melted his skin and welded the mask to his visage. In total agony, childhood memories flooded his mind in a fever dream: a sickly father’s pained groans, a vagrant mother’s bitter tears, and a frail grandmother’s lullaby—wondering about life if history had been different. Spiteful, The Conspirator lived long enough for the fire to burn through his restraints. Survivors of his wrath say he descended with eerie, royal poise. Spectators fled and homes burned as The Conspirator searched for water. To this day, those streets remain rubble and ash.

Pleased with his work, and with intentions to someday finish the Gunpowder Plot’s mission, The Conspirator fled. Hearing of good money and good use for his spite-fueled talents, he made his way to the bayou, continuing a lifelong crusade.

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Arsenal

“Crown Cinders” Martini-Henry
This Martini-Henry was standard issue, and The Conspirator carried it across the seas. A mark of pride in his actions, it was burned during its retrieval on that fateful Bonfire Night.

“Royal Sabotage” Scottfield
The Conspirator proved a few well-placed shots can sink warships. Now, this humble Scottfield Revolver is a dependable weapon in slaying even supernatural foes, adorned with a legacy of raging fire.

“Forefather’s Fury” Vitality Shot
The Conspirator made this Vitality Shot by mixing a balm he concocted for his own burns with the healing science he found in Louisiana. It provides a rare moment of relief from his constant pains.

Bile
The Corruption is an empiric's dream, and Maxwell Creed works alongside his fellow experimenter to cut the tongues from enemy Hunters, hoping to absorb whispers of their secrets. After all, what better way is there to understand a disease than to become a part of it?

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Brood
She sacrificed her morals dissecting the Bubonic heart of infection, losing herself in the madness and blight--blood knows her name, and she knows its taste. Now, Emma Davies joins an old colleague in the Hunt to conduct the ghoulish, Corrupted experiments of her dreams.

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Arsenal

“Deadly Cure” Officer Carbine
Brood and Bile knew even before the bayou that some diseases can’t be cured. This Officer Carbine still doles out a particularly strong dose of medicine to those infected with the nastiest disease yet: the Hunt and it’s ever-feeding cycle of Corruption.

“Doctor’s Snare” Poison Trip Mine
The pair of Corvids have no doctorate. They have no single qualification between them. But they are inescapably cunning and shrewd, once convincing a vigorous sheriff who hunted them that he was plague-ridden. His appointment began and ended by stepping on this Poison Trip Mine.

“Silent Sting” Bornheim No. 3 Silencer
Bile and Brood’s special interests span a wider range within the Hunt. This Bornheim No. 3 Silencer allows them to collect samples quickly and quietly when they’re in need of flesh from enemy Hunters, its delivery as exquisite as its design.

The Cowl made his mark by learning how to thrust his blade in just the right place to create the most chaos. But the Assassin's swarms showed him a new way with no leaders, only followers. Now he seeks to supplant the Target and become a truer instrument of the Corruption.

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The Cowl is a mantle chosen by a man who knew how quickly order could become chaos with just the thrust of a blade. Once called Horatio, as a child he would confuse the pheromones of an ant colony and watch them march in a spiral until death. Or sit with a hand outstretched and a lamp lit, waiting for bugs to settle on his palm. He bottled them, studied them, and confided in them, for he had no one else.

Horatio learned his insects were closer to humankind than others liked to think. He noticed that we both arrange ourselves into groups with leaders and common goals, sometimes for betterment, sometimes not. Like his father, Horatio went to an Officer Academy, where, surrounded by hierarchies, his obsession with undoing them only grew. The queen of a hive is worth the lives of a thousand workers.

Horatio’s philosophy did not go unnoticed, and eventually he was dishonorably discharged. Though Horatio had nothing, his only pity was for his bugs—they depended on each other so much that they were vulnerable when alone. So, he developed what he knew, and made his living by thrusting his blade in just the right place to leverage the most destruction. His work brought him to the bayou: another moth, another flame.

Horatio found others like him, wracked by Corruption. His first Hunt, he came face-to-face—or lack thereof—with the Assassin, who slashed his chest open in a single stroke. Left for dead with beetles enveloping him, he had a revelation: the swarm of creatures shrouding him may have had no leader, but they were all driven by a base instinct towards their greater purpose. It was from that plight that The Cowl would emerge, swearing to ascend to his highest potential.

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Arsenal

“Rib Burster” Krag Bayonet
A lifetime ago, The Cowl was assigned this Krag Bayonet rifle during his military service. Though dishonorably discharged, The Cowl kept the reliable weapon—both as a constant reminder of how far he’s come, and how far he has left to go.

“Eye Taker” Hunting Bow
The near silent strum of The Cowl’s Hunting Bow precipitates the grunts and gurgles of unceremonious death. It is the moment where all truths are laid bare, and even those with their third-eye open wide can see their futures rapidly dissipate.

“Swarm Cutter” Throwing Knives
For each week The Cowl recovered from his encounter with the Assassin, he channeled his pain into the sharpening of these Throwing Knives, training so his aim was as true as his foe's, ensuring his chance for ascension.

As a child, Maeve Flynn buried her family, and from their rotten flesh grew the crops that allowed her to grow vigorous and sturdy. Honoring their sacrifice, she vowed to appease the corrupted soil with blood, be it her enemies’ or her own.

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Maeve Flynn was born alongside the first fruits of a plentiful harvest that let her family feast and rejoice for many days and nights. But in the coming years, their land grew ill, and soon they all followed. Siblings and cousins, aunts and uncles: Maeve helped her mother give them all back to the earth, burying them with their favorite possessions in hand. When Maeve buried her mother, there were no treasures left to harvest, so she placed dried seeds on her cold fingers and prayed they brought her mother bounty in a world beyond.

Harvest season came again, and from the decaying flesh of her kin, the crops grew fuller and richer than ever before. A ravenous Maeve fed and gorged, and when her gaunt body could take no more, she shared it with the birds, the rabbits, and the deer.

Maeve kept to herself, and it would be many years before she met another person. When she did, they were people no longer. Disgusted by the greed of the rotting who refused to give back what was no longer theirs, she turned her tools into weapons and left her home behind. Following the scent of death to the Bayou, she readied herself for a different kind of harvest.

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Arsenal

“Bountiful” Berthier 1892
Maeve Flynn was resigned to die amidst the carnage she wrought until Nika Felis presented her with a different path. This Berthier 1892 was gifted to mark her initiation into the Hunt, and from fortune to purpose, it has provided Maeve with plenty.

“First Fruits” Hunting Bow
The first fruits of the harvest taste different, dripping with anticipation and promise. The day Maeve Flynn shot her first deer with this bow, her uncles said she was a natural. Now, whenever her arrow fails to land, she prays her flesh doesn’t taste like disappointment.

“The Scion” Knuckle Knife
From the bones of the animals and the trees, Maeve Flynn carved herself claws. Each makeshift knuckle knife buried in the hearts of the rotten is an offering to the earth.

Though she does not speak of her past, her name speaks volumes of both her talents - and her fate. Though her journey to America with Zhong Kui was made the more perilous by bans on Chinese immigration, Louisiana Hunters were grateful for the duo's arrival, if not also intimidated in the field.

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Dead Blessing is the dark inversion of a symbol of good luck and one bet away from the promise of a peaceful end.

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Arsenal

“Blood Orchid” Machete
A deadly machete-like Dao blade with a red cloth hung from its hilt - both to bring luck and to confuse the eye of the enemy as the blade swings towards their heart.

Of all the terrible things to wash up in the bayou, Frank Glib was one of the worst. A teller of sailor´s yarns, oft not to be believed, it soon became clear that he truly was no stranger to bloodshed, that his life on the water had overflown with death, and there was a reason he had outlived many crews.

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Arsenal

“Poseidon’s Whisper” Nagant M1895 Silencer
Imbued with the spirit of the sea and capable of neutralizing enemies in gentle silence, this Nagant M1895 Silencer was dishonorable stolen from its true captain by Frank Glib, the Deckhand. Its elegant design and potent abilities mirror the power of the god it was forged in honor of.

“Trident’s Teeth” Sparks
In a sea of monsters, the Deckhand needed a reliable firearm that hit hard. This Sparks does just that, reminding anyone unfortunate enough to be on the end of its sights that they too are mere mortals.

Henry Trapp is a good man at a cost: When the bad in him builds up, he dons the devil´s mask to release his dark urges. All turned a blind eye because of the good Henry did, but when the Hunt began, for the sake of the innocent, they sent him to it.

Remus Frisk never thought twice when killing packs of wolves, and he never paid a price for those massacres - until he came to the Bayou to hunt his last wolf - and this time, it was one from his own pack.

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Arsenal

“Knotted Spine” Knuckle Knife
Remus Frisk's Knuckle Knife has a singular purpose; a beating heart it is destined to rip from a prodigal chest. But until meeting its fate, it will spear and break all that stand in its path.

Delphine Terrebonne grew up in the heat of her grandfather's rage at his tribe's displacement from Louisiana. An artist with leather, bone, and shell, Delphine returned to her ancestral home to find work, instead finding a corruption against which she vowed to fight with axe, blade, and bow.

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Arsenal

“Faultless” Conversion
Once an heirloom of the Akune family, this Conversion has taken its share of knocks. On her return, The Exile sought it out, finding it the perfect tool to right wrongs.

“Wayfinder” Hunting Bow
Quiet as a chill gust of wind heralding a hurricane,the snap of this bow´s string ushers in the inescapable destruction of The Exile, finding her way home.

Kevin Linus endured pain after unimaginable pain for the sake of The Moon and Louisiana. He fought with all his being, thinking death would be his final reward. But fate had a greater plan, and a greater calling.

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Arsenal

“Antosha” Conversion Chain Pistol
When the Moon chose Kevin as her champion, she gave this Conversion Chain Pistol to him to protect his heart and body from the corruption. Though deadly as a serpent’s venom, Kevin used it to honor life, hoping it’d never end up in murderous hands.

Alligators on the rim of the bayou were found mutilated, with runes carved into their spines and teeth. The Fang Shearer gathered these remnants, charted their inscriptions against the stars. He now hunts the legend they foretold, yearning still to know its meaning.

Accomplices to the devil, stealers of souls, and an ill omen – cats have long been associated with dark magic, and Nika Felis bears the skull of one feline adversary on her head as a warning to others that she has capabilities as powerful – and as dangerous. Rumored to be a shapeshifter, and a colleague of Doctor John.

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Q&A with Felis
HUNTER WANTED
*Good Pay for Good Work
(For Bravery, For the Moon)

SEEKING a capable naturalist with skills in wildlife tracking & preservation to maintain the bayous of the Great State of Louisiana. Talents in tracking, permaculture, carcass processing, and manipulations of witchcrafts are greatly desired.

Pen your answers to the following queries and return to the Pledge Box by the Crematorium Chimneys. Be discreet— if we see you, we will shoot.

—Job Posting Torn and Glued to the Following Page:

Q: What name are you called by?
A: Felis, Nika Felis

Q: Do you hold any preference for weapons?
A: A Berthier Mle 1892—but I gave it away. Gifts are blessings, and blessing dwindle slowly down here. That rifle wipes away the darkness, one spark of light at a time.

Q: Are you accustomed to great pain? How much pain can you tolerate?
A: The amount of pain that comes form a mother lion protecting her cubs. Ten claws, thirty fangs, and the kind of scream that strikes your heart with a dagger that only wild animals can wield.

Q: If betrayal were not a sin—would you betray your family, a friend, a lover?
A: I only betray death.

Q: If you passed away, walked the lands beyond life, and then managed to find your way back to the living, what is the first thing you would do?
A: Sing. Then go back to sleep.

Q: Do you practice arcane rituals or hold superstitions beyond those that religions holds?
A: Have you have seen a caterpillar turn to a moth? Have you dreamt of what liquid flows between the two? What desires and wishes take form hidden behind a cocoon? That is what my rituals do: tear the cocoon.

Q: Can you offer us a final thought?
A: I would offer you a prayer instead.

When the dirt seals itself, break not the ground
When the moon shines its light, cast not a shadow
When a beast takes a life, it draws weakness form the earth
And makes of it a strength, a closed jaw, a reason to see the sun rise.

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Arsenal

“Grace and Grit” Romero 77 Shorty
Once an ornate piece of engraved art, this Romero 77 Shorty was worn to near dysfunction from time and battle–until Nika Felis replaced its stock and fore-end with pieces of crafted femur. Now, it stands at the ready once more, a marvel of grace and grit.

“Nocturnal Lament” LeMat Carbine
When the dust settled and she was the last one standing, Nika Felis took this LeMat Carbine from the body of the Hunter who almost killed her with it, impressed with the balance of its bold presence and lovely design. She would make better use of it, anyway.

Maux nearly drowned in the storm of '93. Beneath the inland whitecaps, the saber snout of gar fish kissed her, showed her vision of reptile birthing pits and extinct rituals. Reborn, Gar carries the will of those many teeth onto land.

No one can recall Nehemiah Hexum’s face before he put the mask on. However, Hunters know the faces of his victims all too well. In each twisted and open mouth, they can hear the echo of the cry that once lived there.

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The mask was sitting on his porch when Nehemiah Hexum opened the door.
It was weathered wood, bone-white with age, and its face was a twisted leer. Someone had clearly thrown it against Nehemiah’s house, but he couldn’t say who or why. Curious, he bent down to pick it up, and the urge to put it on suddenly filled his mind. He hesitated a moment, then slipped it over his head.
Nehemiah lived alone on the edge of the bayou. A widower, he kept to himself and defended his land from trespassers—Hunters and Corrupted alike. It turned out that was a good thing. No sooner had he put on the mask than his mind was filled with bloody visions. He saw his hands dripping red, saw the bodies on the ground in front of him. Shaken, he took the mask off and considered hurling it into the swamp. But something stayed his hand, and he took it inside with him.
He set it down on a table and left it there. Night after night, he stared at it. Sometimes, he got the feeling it was staring back.
And then one night, he put it on again. This time, he didn’t take it off when the visions came. This time, he took down his trusty Bornheim, a rifle, and at the last second, a knife.
Then he went out hunting in the dark to look for someone to share those visions with, up close and personal.

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Arsenal

“Hush” Frontier 73C Silencer
When Ghost Face takes a life, all goes silent. The world quiets. Birds cease their songs and trees mute their rustling. Even the blood in his body pumps soundlessly through his veins as he pulls the trigger of this Frontier 73C Silencer.

“Whisper” Bornheim No.3 Silencer
All Hunters hear whispers when tracking prey. Wind blows over rocks and murmurs rise from infected mouths. But few Hunters know what it means to wield a whisper like Ghost Face does when this Bornheim No.3 Silencer is held in his hands.

“Life Taker” Knife
This Knife knew many lives before arriving in Ghost Face’s possession. It slit a duke’s throat in a medieval castle. Drunk peasants saw its glint before their guts spilled out. Now it’s found the perfect life where there is always more flesh to bite.

Grotesque: Shank
Framed for a murder too gruesome to describe in print, James Master was chained in a pit until he forgot the crime. Eventually, he even forgot that he was innocent. Felis pulled him out of that pit, setting a lunatic loose on the Corruption.

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Grotesque: Gouge
Freed from his prison after a decade, James Master still could not remove his restrains–nor did he wish to. Rotten scraps of flesh were his diet for a decade, so he hunted to satisfy that appetite for death and decay.

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Arsenal

“Barbed Absolution” Vetterli 71 Cyclone
James Master can’t remember the forged letter and frenzied mob that started his descent into a cycle of eternal suffering. He also can’t remember when the wood and metal shone on this Vetterli 71 Cyclone. It bears the marks of guilt, false and eternal.

“Rattling Rage” Conversion Chain Pistol
Built from the remnants of the prison that once held James Master, it is no longer a tool of any justice. Instead, this Conversion Chain Pistol quenches Master’s beastly cravings, the foremost among them being cruel retribution.

“Rusted Frenzy” Dusters
To shoot and kill is a grand satisfaction for Grotesque. Yet it cannot quell his heart’s desire to see his own anguish staring back at him in the eyes of another. These Dusters are the perfect tool for a painful, intimate kill.

The century closed in around the wild west, taming it beyond recognition. The frontier on which the lawless gunslinger May Belle cut her teeth shrank, and her former accomplices turned against her. In the Bayou she found a new home, but her past always threatened to catch up – until one day it did.

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There are those unsuited to a law-abiding life. Those who had a code of ethics that ran contrary to the general consensus, who sought out thrill over security, and solved their disputes with their own mettle. The lawless frontier once offered opportunities abound for such people, but no longer. Crisscrossed with railways and checkerboarded with towns, wilderness only flourished in preserves, and the long arm of the law flexed its muscles.

The Gunslinger, an outlaw by the name of May Belle and presumed dead in her home state, was one of the few to narrowly escape the law’s clutches. A final jailbreak, indebted to Felon’s Six as she dubbed it, set her on a path back East, to scope out any means of earning a living through lead. With The Accomplice, reliable as ever, she found what she sought deep in the Bayou, on the frontier between our world and another.

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Arsenal

“Felon’s Six” Scottfield
Snatched from a holster from between jail cell bars, this Scottfield was turned against its reckless owner and facilitated The Gunslinger’s final prison break. Without it, she never would have made it back east.

“The Accomplice” Ranger 73 Aperture
Witness to innumerable robberies and party to some three dozen murders, this Ranger 73 Aperture accompanied The Gunslinger from the first time she stepped outside the law to her last.

In Holy Communion, Mary Burgess had her first taste of blood. In defense of her convent, her second. And in the Bayou, her third, where she - disgraced and excommunicated - dedicated her righteous fury to spilling the unholy blood of the corrupted, in hopes of fighting her way back to the light.

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Arsenal

“Revelation” Quad Derringer
Within the tattered Bible she carries at her side, you will not find testament to God, but to violence - and a hollow compartment where Mary Burgess keeps the Quad Derringer that both saved her life and resulted in her excommunication.

“Lucidus” Vetterli 71 Silencer
Each shot from this Vetterli 71 Silencer creeps towards its victim, whispering the Lord’s words and carrying his light – at least so hoped Mary Burgess when she stepped onto a dark path crawling with serpents and illuminated by sickly moonlight

Harvest: Day
Born from the seed of autumn’s taste for darkness, Harvest rises from wormy fields of rotten gourds to feast on daylight. His hunger for souls is insatiable, and his penchant for suffering marks the coming of a most dreadful season of reaping.

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Harvest: Dusk
As pumpkins are smashed and blood spills upon soil, Harvest brings about a killing dusk. Hauntings burden the minds of troubled Hunters. They shoot and slit and stab and set fires while whispering in tongues. Each ghost they harvest digs his roots deeper.

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Harvest: Midnight
Midnight descends upon every Hunter as a castle of rotting tendrils and pulsing pits of pumpkin guts. All who resist his season are blinded by an orange, fuming moon. The light from their souls glows helplessly as October’s great carved mouth swallows them whole.

Feared by outlaws and lawman alike in New York, Jack Marwick considered corruption a tool when solving mysteries. He came to Louisiana to put his skills to work but discovered a new kind of corruption even he cannot exploit.

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Arsenal

“Jury” Scottfield Swift
Bane to all manner of creatures, this pistol was forged of silver and friendship. There was one back Hawkshaw Jack was loathe to stab, but he was sure there would never be a need.

“Dark Insight” Ranger 73 Aperture
When Hawkshaw Jack peered through the scope of this Ranger 73 Aperture and spotted the same New York lawman who’d gifted it to him shaking hands with the state’s most notorious bandit, the gutting betrayal gave him the courage he needed to pull the trigger twice.

Hayalî can be persuaded, on occasion, to spin stories out of light and darkness. These plays feature two men of opposing temperaments: one canny and the other haughty. Hayalî is a master of opposing forces, hunting by enchanting then punishing, puppeteering his foes to their final act.

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In the waning night, when shadows dance in firelight, if the dark is devoid of leering eyes, the Shadow Puppeteer can be convinced to do his show. Out comes a threadbare cloth, and the witty Karagöz and haughty Hacivat are introduced. Although Hayalî's translation from Turkish is not quite perfect, even the most solemn Hunter can be made to laugh or cry at the jostling between Karagöz and Hacivat.

Hayalî's life is veiled in tales and riddles—consequences of a mind split in two. Some details are agreed upon. He had once been something of a heroic soldier, apparently known to the Ottoman Sultan himself. Days spent campaigning; nights spent keeping spirits high with his father's shadow plays. Something happened that caused him to flee to America. There, he turned away from bloodshed and tried to make his living by joining travelling shows, despoiled carnivals, and dreaded circuses. This was either not enough, or all too much, and soon he found himself again hunting in the shadows, directing his quarry to its death.

If Hayalî's plays run too long, they become something else altogether in the space between light and darkness. Karagöz and Hacivat’s janky movements become fluid, their speech projects as if they had lungs, their bodies take on depth, and the threadbare cloth breathes with life.

Only then will Karagöz and Hacivat tell a story unheard of in their homeland. The two friends, now something more, suffer misfortune: Hacivat is confined to a cage, either a dark cell or ornate room of the Kafes. Karagöz hatches a plan. The two stage a bloody fight, and both faces are mauled beyond recognition. Making amends, they bandage their wounds, and one leaves confinement while the other stays. Both depart saying Karagöz’s familiar words: May my transgressions be forgiven.

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Arsenal

“Karagöz” Springfield 1866
Karagöz, Hayalî's Springfield 1866, carries out his will in the most direct manner: the impulse to deliver death is manifested immediately in a bright flash, giving range to his darkest desires.

“Hacivat” Scottfield Swift
Hacivat, Hayalî's Scottfield Swift, serves him with decorum. A good friend for when level-headedness is required. For times when killing must be done quickly but with elegance, personally but with sophistication.

“Lamba” Alert Trip Mines
In Turkish: “Lamp” ?
Lamba, Hayalî's Alert Trip Mine, is made from his uncle's gas lamp that first enchanted him as a child, making joy from shadow. The treasured heirloom was smashed, and Hayalî pieced it into a crude weapon, a story akin to his own.

We fear what we cannot see, and hide from what horrors we do. Face serrated by scars, hands calloused by the swing of the axe, and mind warped by violence both witnessed and committed, The Headsman donned the executioner's robe and hood both to terrify and to hide.

Answering a call from the last Elias, a man of many names emerges from crimson shadows. He too has faced Corruptions and covens older than mankind. New Orleans has been reckless in containing the outbreak, but he will end Corruption's spread.

Prideful to a fault, Marsha Colm--the Hornback-- ingratiated herself to The Reptilian, turning hard won hides into precious dollars. Her flair for dress was balanced with ruthlessness, granting her success with certain clientele - and uses far beyond stitching.

Most exposed to the Bayou's corruption turn mercifully quickly, while an unlucky few live to witness their own slow demise. Some succumb to insanity and festering sores, while other - one such Bennett Hudson - suffer a necrosis that spreads like gangrene and offers no comfort in death.

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Arsenal

“Bloodshot” Hand Crossbow
Seven times wrapped ‘round the arm and seven times wrapped ‘round the bow: in ritual, Bennett Hudson tried to bind body and bow to this world, even as both turned towards darker targets, drawing him deeper into corrupted territory.

“Malady” Poison Bomb
Bilious and oozing with tarry malfeasance, this poison bomb´s sickly cloud is thought to spread the same contagion that courses through The Infected´s veins.

Orphaned by winter, Iron Bark was raised by wolves as one of their own. But the pack moved on, and with an unending winter came a shortage of food, warmth, and hope. So Iron Bark sacrified their old family to claim all three.

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Crawling through snow and maggots, slipping on blood and ice. It was their first winter and their first memory, ending with the warm, feral breath of a young, hungry wolf. But the wolf took pity on the meager snack and brought it home to raise.

Pups shared their warmth eagerly, and elders shared their food generously. Old and young alike tried and failed to teach the child to hunt, but still the babe grew strong through infancy. One night, the wolf-child vanished, worrying the pack for four days. On the fifth day, the child returned, hauling the corpses of a dozen greedy woodsmen back to the den one by one. This fed the pack’s bellies and spirits for weeks, yet the respect it earned lasted less than a season. The elder wolves died, and the young pups were left to find their own territory and form their own packs. Thus, not even an adolescent, the child was once again an orphan.

Villagers came looking for the wolf-child's head, their bullets and fire ravaging the forest. They chased the child far, far from home over the course of many seasons—seasons of fear which stripped the flesh from the wolf-child's bones. Desperate and feral, they tore open the throat of the first creature they found and feasted ravenously. Their senses slowly returned and greeted them with a familiar scent: this was one of their old wolf brethren. A howl pierced the wind, warning of a hunt. The wolf-man ran fast on the strength of a hearty meal.

Weakened in heart but strong in flesh, the wolf-man retreated to the mountains, still hounded on all sides by their old, unyielding family. Atop the highest mountain peak, there was nowhere left to run. The wolf-man could die here, burdened with the guilt of betrayal, or they could free themselves from shame with tooth and blood. And so it was that Iron Bark descended from the mountaintop, belly full and skin warmed by furs they did not have on the ascent.

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Arsenal

“Bonecutter” Rival 78
Smithed of death and wood, Iron Bark wields this brutal, beautiful instrument. Without a pack to watch their back, this stolen Caldwell Rival 78 has filled that void with lead, fury, and blood.

“Hunter’s Guide” LeMat
A once-humble sidearm looted form the woodsmen slaughtered by Iron Bark. This LeMat Revolver is a solitary token of remembrance; refined and repurposed to slay all that threatens their survival.

“Traitor’s Tooth” Knuckle Knife
Horn of ram and jaw of wolf, the Knuckle Knife is the tool of someone both predator and prey. What they share in common is the instinct to claw, charge, and bite any creature that would threaten their survival.

Missing description

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Arsenal

“Empty Cairn” Mosin-Nagant Bayonet
John Voelkel cursed himself piercing a black heart, desperate to reach the twins. His Mosin-Nagant Bayonet still bears the markings made to complete the ritual.

“Thunderstroke” Rival 78
A gun for all manner of hunting, with a blast that shakes the leaves from the trees. This Rival 78 was an heirloom of new Hunters, handed out repeatedly by John Victor until one recruit finally survived long enough to make it her own.

Justin Pierce worked the streets of Philadelphia as a cop, tackling the worst criminals the city had. But one of them was “connected” and got him fired. Adrift, he wandered until he fell into the Hunt, where he could unleash his righteous fury.

Kendoka survived decades of shobu death matches, where each victory stained his record ever more red. His skill earned him the role of bodyguard for a cruel warlord. When opportunity arose, Kendoka impaled him on a bamboo shinai and fled with his trove of weaponry.

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Arsenal

“Honor’s Gift” Conversion
Peacock feathers were laid on the dead after ancient battles to grant solace beyond death. Likewise, this Conversion is ornamented with a regal bird’s image to honor those struck down in a new age, where bullets make sure no one rests in peace.

“Shogun’s Roar” Slate
In the dying days of the Tokugawa Shogunate, this Slate was ornamented, piece by piece, by Kendoka. The decorations came from the arms and armor of the many disgraced samurai who entered the fighting pits with him and were all struck down by his shinai.

“Hot Springs Sake” Stamina Shot
Supposedly, ancient warriors would inject themselves with steaming water from hot springs before battle, a ritual that would heat their blood and fuel their courage. This Stamina Shot is housed in a relic of that forgotten time.

“Tengu Trap” Concertina Trip Mines
Trapping a legend is no easy feat. The designer of this Concertina Trip Mine held nothing back in their quest to ensnare a Tengu. Anyone caught in its blast of exploding barbwire experiences a pain meant to subdue a shapeshifting deity.

The Kid
Turner Abaddon, Jr. was the youngest of eight: a runt with a chip on his shoulder, and everything to prove. Quick to pick a fight, and just as quick to run off - until his skill with dual pistols earned him his place among the Hunters.

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The Drowned Kid
since the events of “Tide of Desolation”
Once a troublemaker with everything to prove, The Drowned Kid was murdered and reforged with the debris of a thousand shipwrecks. His mind is as frantic as all drowning men’s, and hes’s set on not only proving his worth, but punishing those who refuse to acknowledge it.

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The Abaddon boy was a troublemaker. Pickpocket from the time he was five years old, and no surprise coming from a family like that. A moonshine family. A gambling family. Weren’t nobody attended one of their poker games that went home with anything left in their pocket.

Turner was the youngest of the eight, and a runt at that. Had a chip on his shoulder, and something to prove. Quick to pick a fight, and just as quick to run off - that is until he got so good at shooting that people started whispering he’d made some kind of dark deal.

Was a shame what happened to his siblings though. Ember and Ash, they were called. Figures, seeing as they burned up inside the shack the ten of them lived packed into. All the others made it out. God marked them for the fire with names like that. Turner named his pistols after them. Said every shot was to remind him of them. Keep their memory alive. But I heard it was Turner who started the fire in the first place. Memory, guilt, loyalty. They’re funny things out here in the Bayou. Have a way of getting all twisted up into something sinister.

Turner still acts like he has a lot to prove, but these days, he has the skill to prove it, especially with those two Caldwell Conversion Pistols at his sides. Wouldn’t recommend partnering up with him, but wouldn’t recommend underestimating him either. Not anymore. The runt come back to roost.

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Arsenal

“Ember” Conversion
A memorial to his fallen sister - who perished in a fire - this Conversion pistol is as precise and deadly as its namesake.

“Ash” Conversion
A memorial to his eldest brother - who perished in a fire - this Conversion pistol has gotten Turner out of trouble as many times as its namesake.

“Ash Bound” Choke Bombs
The swamplands shimmer with fires set by those who want to burn it all down. The Drowned Kid uses these Choke Bombs to extinguish the bayou’s flames into nothing more than ash, reminding them of where they came from, and where all of us go to return.

“The Gillnet” Sparks Pistol
While marinating in the horrors of the Land of the Dead, The Drowned Kid thought he’d never see the bayou again. He found this Sparks Pistol floating in the fray, offering him a new way to catch anyone who comes for him by the gills.

Kenneth Jupe's love for horses turned into a morbid obsession as he dissected his beloved Butterscotch in fascination. When there was nothing left of her, and no money for another, Jupe ran to the bayou where he could dismember to his heart's desire.

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Arsenal

“Equine Heart” Sticky Bomb
In desperation to dissect the Targets of the bayou, this Sticky Bomb was stained and rusted with the blood of Kill Buyer as he assembled it. Though haphazard and malformed, it is exactly as he envisioned.

Much like the legend whose name she uses, Llorona earned her fearsome reputation by drowning her victims and haunting her enemies. Like a shade, she is fast and subtle, with both gun and knife.

An insatiable bloodthirst possessed Leonel Frisk since he first caught its scent. His sanguine dreams and hunger for violence brought him to the Bayou, where he searches for new prey, and fresh blood to spill.

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Beasts skinned to flesh and bone, the stench of boiling innards, and the rusty smell of blood dripping from the veins cut clean were the first images burned into Leonel Frisk’s young mind, and they awoke something terrible in him: An unnatural affinity for violence. Son to revered wolf hunters in Kansas, he watched his mother and father stalk, hunt, and gut the beasts in front of his infant eyes. With each prey brought to the slaughterhouse they called home, the red haze grew and clouded his mind with sanguine dreams. When he held his first small game in crimson hands under the silvery light of the full moon, wolves howled as if to celebrate his rite of passage, unaware of the unholy bloodthirst burning in his heart, and ignorant of the bloodshed he’d bring upon them.

It was the wolves – not his father – who taught Frisk how to hunt. Envious of their savage nature and hunting prowess, Frisk wanted to prove his worth by taking down the alpha wolf with the Caldwell Pax his father gave him. Successful, he adorned himself with the alpha’s skin, and his Caldwell with the fang ripped bloody from its maw and tried to stab his own father in the heart. He would become the mightiest predator in his territory.

But in spite of besting the forest’s alpha, he could not best his father, and so Frisk disappeared in the night, taking only his father’s Caldwell and a Hunting Bow. His bloodlust led him to Louisiana, where he continued hunting, ignorant of the shadows tracking his every move; shadows Hunters in the Bayou would later come to know as Dire Wolf and Luna Wolf; shadows he had once called mother and father. Like a lone wolf, he listened to his instincts and left one pack for another, forgetting his human nature and his father’s words: “A wolf that leaves its pack becomes a threat.

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Arsenal

“Ripper” Pax Claw
Meant to be an heirloom, this Pax Claw was modified by Leonel Frisk to rip and tear open the soft necks of forest game – but instead was used by the son against the father in the ultimate act of betrayal.

“Stalker’s Snarl” Hunting Bow
“A predator’s best ally is silence,” thought Leonel Frisk when he crafted this Hunting Bow. Each shot silent as a wolf prowling, it now accompanies him in the Bayou and whispers the death’s song to his prey with each arrow.

“Rawhide” Dusters
Leonel Frisk’s thirst could only be quenched with the rusty taste of blood and the sound of broken bones and cracked skulls. These Dusters ensure each hit fulfills dreams with new and more grotesque scenes of violence.

Through she preferred the fairer sex, Lulu Bassett got by taking men to her bed. When she learned that she could make a better living taking men to their graves, she decided to put her charms and instincts to use in the Hunt.

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Arsenal

“Alley Cat” Bornheim No. 3
The back alleys can be dangerous, but Lulu navigates them with ease. This accessible but powerful Bornheim No. 3 is a homage to the cats that helped clean up her mess after a job gone wrong.

“The Marquis” Knife
Passed down to Lulu from her mentor and madam, The Marquis, like the women who have wielded it, is beautiful, sharp, agile, and deadly; exactly the tool needed to slip between the ribs of an over-eager John.

A merciless wolf hunter, Felicia Frisk came to Louisiana following her son´s footsteps, where she sought closure - but she only found the moonlight turned crimson with blood, and a mournful howl echoing in the Bayou.

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Arsenal

“Mother’s Howl” Krag
If firearms could tell tales of punctured flesh and shattered bone, this Krag would boast of how Luna Wolf used it to put down countless targets from clear across the bayou. The claw marks and strips of torn pelt that adorn it nurture the holder’s feral side.

The ghost in the glow, Luz Mala was saved by the bad lights that flickered on the plains of Patagonia. Everything she knew destroyed, those same lights guided her towards her fate. Now, she is the damnation of those who are tempted to stray towards the light.

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Riders and shepherds on the great rangelands of Patagonia know not to follow la Luz Mala, the bad lights, when they flicker in the night. The wise warn the curious against being lured by the dancing phosphoresce. But the foolhardy are tempted by stories that la Luz Mala lead to riches and treasures. When those that are want to stray do, the luckiest find old bones and broken pots under the lights. The rest find their graves.

The bad lights are strongest on days where rainfall is a distant memory, when canteens swill with dregs, and the earth cracks and gasps. On such a day, years ago, a girl was sent for water. She ignored her elder's advice and strayed towards the lights. She walked until it fell dark, and then further until it became bright. Lost, she spent days on the plain, sucking the moisture out of roots, until a plume of smoke ushered her homewards. At the base of the plume, she only found a massacre. After she buried her family, she saw the lights again on the horizon and set off after them, her despair mingled with a newfound veneration.

The ranchers who committed the massacre also knew the legends of la Luz Mala, but did not fear them. They believed them to be some kind of natural luminescence, nothing more. But as the years wore on, and their hair greyed, when they saw the lights, they became more and more uneasy, as if the lights were looking back at them. Once their uneasiness set in, it soon blossomed into outright terror. Whenever the lights appeared, one of their number would turn up dead. The ranchers began to believe the stories that they were the spirits of the unquiet dead. Some chased the lights, daring them to fight. Others fled, new lights blinking into their path from the depths of the darkened plain.

The girl spent too long as the ghost in the glow. She could no longer distinguish herself from la Luz Mala, and though her vengeance was sated, the lights still guided her on. The legend of the bad lights spread, and soon even the bayou was said to flicker with the threat of Luz Mala.

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Arsenal

“Del Ojo” Vetterli 71 Deadeye
In Spanish: “Of the Eye”
The further Luz Mala went north, the harder the lights became to spy in the dark, a skill of the eye. Del Ojo is how she named her Vetterli 71 Deadeye, taken – with trophies – from another who trod a dark path.

“Raíz Mala” Conversion Chain Pistol
In Spanish: “Evil root”
The arid plains that saved Luz Mala as she wandered only nourished her with roots. The roots twined round this Caldwell Conversion Chain Pistol serve as a reminder of salvation in damnation.

“Premio Del Tonto” Choke Bombs
In Spanish: “Fool's Prize”
Those who dig where Luz Mala are seen should be wary of poison gases at the source. This Choke Bomb carries the same, and death follows shortly in their wake.

Legends say that if you go to the greenhouse outside of Lawson, you´ll catch a glimpse of her: a haunted figure drifting around tending to the flowers and plants. But don´t let her catch you, otherwise you might end up as food for her flora.

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While she has already been deemed a legend and myth, Maye "Mama" Florent is very much real. After becoming a widow for the second time in 1890, she vowed to never marry again. Soon after, the 45-year-old was rumored to have many gentlemen callers coming to her home, but never the same one twice. It wasn't until she suddenly left home that people realized her terrible secret:  Those same gentlemen callers coming to her home were being killed. She would keep the heads as keepsakes and grind up the rest of the bodies to use as fertilizer in her garden.

In 1894 Mama moved to Louisiana, where she learned about the Hunt. She immediately did her best to learn gunplay and joined the fight when she realized there were no laws in the Bayou. And so came the warning: Don't get caught by Mama Maye if you don't want to end up as a flower in her Garden.

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Arsenal

“Tooth Blossom” Weapon Charm
Many curiosities and wonders find a home in Mama Maye’s garden. The teeth in this Weapon Charm were pruned from a man trapped in the plank of a sunken steamboat. His cries have long since stopped, but his teeth keep growing.

The daughter of immigrants, Marian Lee was bullied until she snapped and picked off her tormentors. Deciding she liked killing, she took up work as a bounty hunter. One of her contracts fled to the bayou, where she learned about the Hunt and swapped careers.

Phoebe Brewer, the first Louisianan woman to become a US Marshall, faced a terrible choice when she became a Hunter: to renounce a lifetime’s work. But, there was only one way into the AHA's inner circle, and only one way to fight the evil lurking there. It lost her an eye, her sobriety, and her public image, but her unknown legacy of fighting evil at its strongest was a price worth paying.

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Arsenal

“Long Hand” Martini-Henry
Marshall Brewer's personal firearm, this rifle has a long history of shortening the lives of those outside the law.

“Deputy” New Army
It never bothered Marshall Brewer that she wasn't afforded a deputy. She had fought for her position alone and she would face the world alone, her trusted pistol at the ready.

“Wasted Honor” Weapon Charm
At every turn, Marshall Phoebe Brewer was reminded of her disgrace. The badge on her chest was a sham, an old metal token made to scare the ignorant without upsetting lawmen. This here is the badge she sacrificed to join the Hunt.

The Miko tended her family's shrine long after it fell to ruin. Even when destroyed, the ringing of its bell never ceased. She followed its melody to Louisana where she aims her bow to strike the thousand mouths that give it a voice.

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Chisato Ryoko pressed her ear to the shrine bell to hear it sing of omens to come: plagues of beetles and frogs, crippling winters, a priest breaking their foot between cobbled stones. She clung to the bell the night the shrine burned, her family run off, the priests pushed from cliffs. But Ryoko remained. She alone witnessed the ronin who appeared and cut down each desecrator.

The ronin pulled Ryoko from the temple bell, pressed her ear to a sword, and abandoned her. She could hear a melody in the blade—it sang louder than the bell.

Ryoko cared for the shrine’s ruin, polishing the cinder ribs of torii gates, but the saber’s hum turned more brutal—hypnotic, even—until one day she left to silence whatever made it sing.

Entranced, she endured three trials:

She crossed a lake frozen with a thousand peering birds. A single glance would lock her soul inside their stilled wings.

She navigated ravines of a thousand bones, crawling with a thirst for things beyond water.

At last, that which made the blade sing appeared—a crane with a corruption of cicadas spooled from its infested, wounded lungs. The crane lanced her jaw with its bill and prayed.

“Rejoice, for each new hole is one more place for light to shine through.”

Ryoko broke the crane’s neck. The trees fell silent, and the trance ended. She ventured to the edge of the sea and listened to her blade once more. A new song hummed from the other side of the sunrise, where the water turned black and the hearts of damned men begged for holes and light.

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Arsenal

“Ochita Mozu” Hunting Bow
In Japanese: “Fallen Shrike”
This hama yumi was to never leave The Miko’s family shrine. It has been cleansed by shooting a single arrow through the eyes of five birds: one raicho for each step into the shrine she took to reclaim the hunting bow.
In Japanese buddism: A hama yumi is a sacred bow, for Shinto rituals of purification, named after the legend of an “Evil-Destroying Bow”.
In Japan, a raicho is bird native to cold mountainous regions. Known in europe as a rock ptarmigan.

“Utsusemi” Katana
In Japanese: “cicada shell” or “empty self”
A blade that pierces the heart of a liar is said to sing for eternity. The Miko places her ear to this Katana to hear Corruption’s choir resound from far east, from the swamps, from the beetles humming in flesh.

“Shinbatsu” Throwing Knives
In Japanese: “Divine punishment”
The eyelets of these throwing knives were used to string shimenawa rope to protect The Miko as her shrine burned. When they sink into the chest of a hunter, she still strings them to fulfill their unheard prayers.
In Japanese buddism: The shimenawa is a traditional rope used for Shinto practices. It serves as a boundary between the sacred and the profane, symbolizing a divine presence and protection from negative energies.

The sole survivor of the asylum massacre at Jackson, Henry Monroe fled from the perpetrators keen to eliminate evidence of their crime. The horrors he witnessed in the asylum left him changed beyond recognition – and reluctantly committed to survive by any means necessary – the monsters of the Bayou a trifle compared to what he experienced at Huff’s hands.

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Henry Monroe was committed first to the asylum to his detriment, then to escape by whatever means necessary. The first attempt ended in Monroe gaining the attention of Huff himself, but it was not totally in vain, a shard of window – Pane – scavenged from the floor would become Monroe’s signature of sorts. His real escape came during a moment of chaos and confusion, when the warden’s infamous Romero – Lock and Key – became his possession. Destitute in the bayou, hunting was his only recourse, and belied a new commitment: to survive and to spite those who’d caused his suffering.

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Arsenal

“Pane” Knife
Improvised from a broken asylum window during his first escape attempt, and bloody aid to the second, Monroe would often stare at Pane´s glass surface, certain he could see the faces of its victims in its reflection.

“Lock and Key” Romero 77
This Romero abetted Monroe´s escape from the asylum, and when he sought release from the torment of his memories, failed to fire. This committed Monroe to a new purpose: survival. Monroe has kept it in pristine condition since.

Jacob Arawn set out to slay the Black Dog of Hell, but has become a figure near synonymous with the hound he hunted. Now he continues his crusade, with decades of surviving harsh lands and eyes that have seen indescribable terrors, turning him into a mythical foe.

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Tales of a fearsome black dog permeate every corner of Wales, Scotland, and England. Occasionally a protector of the land, it is more commonly an omen and bringer of death, as was the case in the Welsh town of Portmadoc. Thus, a party of six set out with one motive: slay the black hound that haunted their moors. All six ignored mockery, counsel, and pleas before disappearing into the moors’ eternal mist. The town waited until morning for their return. Believers waited a week. Families waited a month. But when the seasons changed, all gave up hope.

Over a year later the youngest of the party, seventeen-year-old Jacob Arawn, returned. Bruised and bloody, he was alone – but carried a dog’s head twice the size of any other, its eyes still burning red with liquid fire. Jacob never recounted the same story twice, but there was one detail that remained consistent: his party travelled into the Underworld to find the beast, and he was the only one who escaped.

Soon, Jacob was flooded with letters from towns living in fear of their own dark Hellhounds. Tired, haggard, and with yet unhealed wounds, Jacob was indignant to hear of more monstrous hounds. He didn’t hesitate to journey to moors far afield, where his life was consumed by the never-ending quest to banish all of Hell’s hounds from the isle.

Eventually, rumors of The Black Dog neared extinction. In their stead, travelers and taverns told tales of The Moorhound: a Hunter who sails on the mist, strikes with the lightning, and protects his sacred moors from trespassers. Children and adults alike now feared The Moorhound, the very man who sought to rid them of the dogs that prowled through their nightmares.

Perhaps perturbed by this betrayal, Jacob now sets sail for a new land, where he may leave his myth behind and continue his fight against the Underworld and its new packs of Hellhounds. Or perhaps he cares nothing of the myths and, more than half a century after leaving Portmadoc, the bayou offers the only thing he knows: a Hunt.

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Arsenal

“Maw of Darkness” Romero 77
Jacob carried his late father’s shotgun into the Underworld, and it was the only thing to return with him to Portmadoc. Since then, it has never left his side – clutched to his chest as he sleeps upon moss. This shotgun has slain more beasts than Jacob can count, and no human nor devil can stop it from killing countless more.

“Hell’s Dewclaw” Pax
A memento from a castle he freed from the terror of Mauthe Doog, this Pax is cherished by The Moorhound. However, it’s also resented by the surrounding countrymen, who now fear that the shadows hold a madman wielding a gun of the finest quality.

“Snarling Dawn” Flare Pistol
Mist lies thick upon the moors of Albion. This flare pistol cuts through cloud cover and reveals The Moorhound’s prey. Though it betrays his position, seeing the light of Snarling Dawn means it’s already too late for you.

Thomas Bridge was one of many Mountain Men to open up the American frontier. He turned his back on civilization after escaping a burning mill sieged by five hundred insurrectionists. Since, he can only sleep under a night sky and counts trapping, scouting and bounty hunting as his trades. An association with an unholy trinity almost ended his hunting career, although if anyone was to survive their company, it was Bridge.

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Arsenal

“Bear’s Tooth” Mosin-Nagant
Deep below the moss of the forest floor, you'll find the cracked bones of a bear killed by Thomas Bridge, its skin still on his shoulders, and its tooth now flashing on this gun. Now, this Mosin-Nagant channels the bear's vicious ferocity into every shot.

“Eulogy” Slate
The shotgun of a man Thomas Bridge had called by two names: "Dearest" and "Bastard". This weapon remains the only fitting memory of a nemesis and lover from a life Bridge has long since left.

Brought unwittingly into the secret war of the Hunt, Jeffrey Forsyth was forced to leave his old life as an enforcer of the law behind and take up a new, higher calling.

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Among the Mounted Police, Sergeant Jeffrey Forsyth had a reputation for being a strict enforcer of the law.

One stormy night he heard of a half-crazed trapper raving about bandits brutalizing local camps in the territory. He was commanded to wait for the rest of his unit, but a whisper in the back of his head told Forsyth this could not wait. He rode out against orders and alone.

After a long night’s ride, he picked up a trail of blood and gore leading to a gruesome scene. Around an altar of corpses, three hideous figures stood, calling on something called The Sculptor. Without hesitation he opened fire, levering his rifle and fighting back both revulsion and terror.

When his troop found Forsyth, he knelt alone amidst the carnage, dumbstruck and shaking. Lacking any explanation, his comrades put him in chains for his safety, and theirs.

Days later a stranger came to his cell. “Tell me everything you saw. Tell me as if your life depends on it.”

Though he had never met the man before the voice was familiar from the whispers in his head nights before. Forsyth regained his wits and complied, sparing no details.

That night, Forsyth was awakened by gunfire, and the jangle of keys. “Come on, unless you want to hang,” the stranger said.

Jeffrey did not need to be told twice. When they stopped to make camp, John Victor introduced himself by name and without warning jabbed Forsyth with a heavy needle. Overwhelmed by the inoculation, Forsyth could only listen as John Victor spoke of the secret war that he was being drafted into.

Knowing he could never go back to his life before, Forsyth agreed to Hunt. This was his new justice, his new purpose and warrant.

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Arsenal

“Tarnished Record” Centennial
This Centennial served Forsyth well, enabling him to mete out his brand of justice as he saw fit. Taken up against Demented Hunters far from home, it proved to be a steadying constant in the strange new world he was thrust into.

“Crimson Fist” Scottfield Brawler
Forsyth’s brand of justice meant sometimes getting his hands dirty, which made the Scottfield Model 3 Brawler the perfect tool. Balanced for hand to hand strikes as well as tuned for range combat, it drew blood the color of a Mountie’s jacket when put to use.

“Royal Standard” Ammo Box
This Ammo Box and others the troop received were always of a finer make than their meals, and always more plentiful. The bullets found within were a powerful argument in Forsyth’s hands, and helped him earn his reputation as a stern enforcer of the law.

Nadia Orville is a member of the doomsday cult, Night of the Hunter, and founder Isaac Powell's right-hand fighter. An Orphan with nothing to lose, she's a brute in a fight, made all the more frightening by the occult symbols drawn on her clothing in the blood of her victims.

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Arsenal

“Night Terrors” Ranger 73 Talon
Nadia Orville is a brutish and merciless fighter. Unable to shake a lingering feeling of guilt over her actions as a Hunter, she etched her confession into the stock of this Winfield in penance.

“Blasted Heath” Romero 77 Talon
Nadia Orville's weapon of choice. Sanctified with sacrilege. Its bark lost, this has cut through many tempests.

“Dire Divination” Weapon Charm
No amount of foresight could have predicted Corruption’s unprecedented path. Shaken by this failure, Nadia Orville sought out new methods of prophecy to divine what the future held. Doomsday may have failed to arrive, but Nadia had found new eyes of which to see it.

An expert rootworker with a knack for conjuring, Esther Sinclaire sought out the inoculation to stand by her dear Weird Sister’s side. She seeks forbidden, otherworldly knowledge through the bounty hunt, assisting her seasoned partner as they face unspeakable evils together.

Originally initiated into the Hunt by a small group of militiamen, Isaac Powell was changed by a vision of the impending end of the world and Second Coming. He founded Night of the Hunter, a Blood Cult whose members believe the blood of the creatures they hunt is holy, and adorn themselves with it in the believe that it will save them from death in this world, and buy themselves redemption in the next.

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Arsenal

“The Eschaton” Mosin-Nagant
Property of Isaac Powell, leader of Night of the Hunter. Carved into this Mosin-Nagant's body and stock are symbols charting the final days leading up to the end of times, their countdown soon to start.

“Baptismal Blood” Mosin-Nagant Avtomat
This Mosin-Nagant Avtomat is presented to Acolytes of the Night for their final initiation rite. If they pass or fail, they add either their enemies' blood, or their bone.

A student of mythology and a master of the Five Forms, Chen Lan answered the call for aid from the American Hunter’s Association, eager to gain knowledge that might aid the fight on her home turf. She keeps silent about the details of her journey from the Fujian province to New Orleans, though her skill with a gun and fondness for violence speaks volumes about the red trail she cut from East to West.

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Many think the monster is only a legend. Many think the fight is only a symbol. But each Spring, Nian marks the turning of the year by coming out to hunt, devouring livestock and shredding human flesh between its murderous teeth. Spring is approaching again, and as local Hunters will tell you, Nian is no symbol; Nian is a symptom – of the Sculptor’s influence – and an enemy against which many Chinese Hunters cut their teeth and learn their trade.

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Arsenal

“Dragon’s Song” Blank Fire Decoys
When the crackling of burning bamboo is not enough to scare off Nian (or worse), a handful of decoys should do the trick – and this lucky set will work on both brethren and beast in the Bayou.

“Fire Monkey” Fusees
According to the zodiac, 1896 was the year of the Fire Monkey, and these fusees were named for the year of their debut in the Bayou.

When Mary Ochenkov lost her beloved Petr at her own hands, the guilt destroyed her will to live. Mr. Chary used the shell she became to create something terrific, and from deep in Kingsnake Mine came the desperate screams of something terrifying and new.

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Arsenal

“Ochenkov’s Heart” New Army
Mr.Chary knew that Mary would do anything for her husband´s sake, making her a perfect test subject. This New Army is everything about Mary´s Husband that she held dear: Stalwart, distinguished, and wieldy.

“Zeal” Vitality Shot
A faint hope brought Mary Ochenkov to Mr.Chary - a hope that died slowly and stopped beating, with the beating of her husband´s heart. Her blood, tainted by Mr. Chary, was used to brew this Vitality Shot.

Damien Yedaiah buried his past beneath his countless scars, pain helping him to silence his demons. But as his body collapsed and his mind gave way, he found salvation in the blood and pain of others.

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Like a hound experiencing their first taste of fresh meat, Damien Yedaiah became obsessed with pain when the sweet touch of his whip granted him the salvation and forgiveness that he sought for years. In its warm embrace, pain helped Damien fight his remorse and shatter his memories – a blessing bestowed by the Lord himself. But as the years passed, his scars – testimonies to his imperious devotion – grew. Festering wounds stretched across his body like vast mountains, burying his nerves deep beneath thick layers of scab and scar, and one day, his body became numb, and pain, his guide to salvation, abandoned him.
Each jolt of pain had been marked by sweat, blood, and his inharmonious moans that had kept his demons at bay, but that night his whip travelled in the air for nothing. A candle’s light, too weak to even illuminate the wax underneath, flickered once, then twice, as the whip rose and fell, ripping off skin and flesh, but delivering no pain but disappointment. Shadows danced with the flickering light as if to celebrate their arrival, and the demons, screaming louder than ever, greeted Damien mockingly.

An anguished moan echoed in his sanctum, a crypt cloistered beneath the St. Francis Seraph Church, and Damien trembled in desperation as his demons resurfaced. Possessed by a need for the scape of pain, he did what he had to do to silence them, wrapping the parts of his body untouched by the whip with barbed wire. But it wasn’t enough. Desperate, he skinned his own face and hid it behind a cloth bag dipped in salt. But the ecstasy was temporary. The candle’s light died, and with it, hope. He stood in the dark surrounded by his past as memories flashed before his eyes: his wife, chest cut open, face shredded, and hands tied with her own intestines – her eyes fixed on him, as if begging for mercy that is never to come. Behind her, his son, limbs severed from joints, each nailed on a big cross and crudely sewn together, forming a sculpture of flesh, and Damien holding the shotgun he later dubbed Delirium, as a reminder of his sins.

And through the frenzy of images, a voice spoke of peace, the promise too tempting to resist. With The Scourge in his hand, still dripping his own blood, he took his first step into the AHA branch in Louisiana, and the voices, now harmonious, welcomed him to the Hunt.

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Arsenal

“Delirium” Rival 78
Deep in the crypts beneath the St. Francis Seraph Church, Damien Yedaiah sought the sweet embrace of agony - solace from and punishment for what he had done to his own family with this Rival 78. Once his demons returned though, he had no other choice but to unearth Delirium once again.

“The Scourge” Officer Brawler
When his body resisted pain, Damien Yedaiah resorted to unconventional methods to keep his demons at bay. He adorned this Officer Brawler’s handle with barbed wires so he could enjoy the same pain he used to bring to his victims.

“False Sacrament” Regeneration Shot
Damien Yedaiah knew only one method to attain peace: Pain. But his need was too great for his body to withstand, and he concocted this Regeneration Shot to keep his body intact, so his mind could savor the sweet escape of self flagellation.

“Witch Scratcher” Weapon Charm
The Penitent’s taste for pain is something that every Hunter should fear. He fashioned this Charm from pieces of the bloodthirsty whip that gave him his scars, binding it with barbed wire as a promise to himself that he’ll never stop paying his suffering forward.

Perchta: Dusk
In midwinter, the days are short, and it is the dusk and dark that rules over the dawn and light. Perchta only grows more feverous as the days shorten, for in the dark her truest form takes hold, and the light cowers from her fury.

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Perchta: Dawn
The myths of midwinter recall a time of reckoning: gifts for the good, retribution for the bad. The reckoners, few and far between, have been softened by time. But not Perchta, from ancient alpine valleys, where punishments are dealt with a blade at dusk, and trees gifted with rotten garlands at dawn.

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Old stories and grim fairytales speak of midwinter reckonings that reward the good and punish the bad. Foulest amongst this pantheon is the creature known as Frau Perchta, unsoftened like others of her ilk by the passing of time. A thing made of fur and tusk, fang and terror, who, in form of a woman, slits the abdomen to pull out the innards. A beast that changes from dusk to dawn.

Those that stand against corruption, from forgotten valleys to glacial peaks, are made of harder stuff. Stories reached Louisiana of one – one who’d lost themselves amongst the blood in the snow, and who had donned the mantle of Frau Perchta, inhabited the children's tale meant to terrify.

The daughter of a peasant high in the mountains, all that remains of that life are half-forgotten memories of taking the cattle to graze. In midwinter, a father returning home at dusk, a silver coin promised to a good daughter wasted on drink, a hand raised to a protesting mother. A hand raised one too many times. When the sun rose at dawn, a corpse was found with its abdomen slit in two, entrails feasted on by beasts.

From Louisiana, Perchta was sent for, and only silence answered. Those who had whispered of Perchta were called fools, and those that believed were laughed out of town. But in the depths of winter, when dawn broke in the bayou, garlands of innards were found strung on trees. The bad faced retribution every dusk. An old story was taking on new chapters, and the hunt was growing wilder by the day.

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Arsenal

“Midwinter Tusk” Martini-Henry
Runed with lost symbols of power, the teeth inlaid into this Martini-Henry IC1 belong to no living beast. It's said that at the lightest touch they evoke overpowering illusions of blizzards, avalanches, and children lost to a blanketing white. Ancient memories and inescapable prophecies.

“Unkempt” LeMat
Old stories tell of the terror Perchta would instill on those who’d been bad. Whoever wears the mask of Perchta today deals her punishments out with this LeMat Mark II revolver, using both barrels on the particularly deserving.

“The Avalanche” Frag Bomb
When Perchta comes, this Frag Bomb thunders with the force of an avalanche, decimating those in its wake.

“Dawn’s Offering” Weapon Charm
Some believe that the rising sun brings refuge from the darkness, but Perchta: Dawn understands that evil loves hiding in plain sight. This Charm acts as an offering which helps guide one’s aim to the foes who deserve it most.

“Dusk’s Third Eye” Weapon Charm
There are some things even Dark Sight cannot reveal. Perchta: Dusk created this Charm as a reminder to follow her instincts in the field, when the mind is too easily blinded by the promise of a pending kill.

Gus Leroux: A former lawyer with a penchant for violence, this theatrical Hunter covers his scarred visage with a mask - not because he is ashamed of the injuries beneath, but because it terrifies his opponents.

The Plague Doctor, it's rumored, lost his mind fighting a resurgent outbreak of the Black Plague abroad. A burning rage took hold of him and drove him to the old ways: first to masks, ambergris, and laudanum, then to cabalistic ritual and macabre science. Convinced that New Orleans represents a new evolution of the pestilence, he arrived to treat it with fire, lead, and his own array of ministrations.

Never blind to life’s injustices, Ira Ozols trod a dark path towards powers that would let her glimpse what was to come. To make judgements based on the past, and the future. On realizing her goal, she lost sight of the present, but became renowned for prescience.

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Ira Ozols was never blind to the injustice of her life, though she no longer speaks of why. Whatever happened, she was driven to find order, to find a way to balance the odds. The rabbit hole she followed led deeper and deeper into a shadowy sect of the AHA that sought to keep the world’s unpalatable truths covered. As she passed from success to success, the sect assigned her to straighten out one of their wayward sons, Isaac Powell.

Powell, now The Night Seer, impressed Ozols with his vision of a world turned upside down. She grew jealous of his foresight and saw the way to achieve the justice she craved: a way to balance the rightness of actions by both their past and future effects.

Ozols gained the Night Seer’s trust, and he confided in her the ritual he had undertaken. She repeated it, and as the power coursed through her, it left her blind to the present, but with a powerful and uncanny sense of what was to come.

But seeing the Night Seer’s path, more vividly than he himself had ever managed, shocked Ozols. She shredded her white robes and dyed them black. The symbols of power she’d once daubed in blood, she bleached again with the light from the corrupted moon, enriching her affinity for Dark Sight. She tied the scraps around her weapons, sure reminders to keep her path true.

Relying on her heightened perception, familiarity with Dark Sight, and uncanny foresight, Ozols now pursues the Night of the Hunter and any who would work towards their goals. In turn, the Night Seer feels the threat of there being one with greater power than himself, and knows that his prophecy will not come true if another has witnessed it. Now, they are locked in a dark duel, each moving two steps ahead of the other.

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Arsenal

“The Forewarning” Vetterli 71 Deadeye
Wrapped in the remnants of a once white robe, marked with symbols of truesight, this Vetterli 71 Deadeye will find its target in the dark, despite earthly expectation.

“Moon Bleached” Hand Crossbow
The favored tool of one who prefers subterfuge and subtlety, this Hand Crossbow is a stalwart companion that, with the pluck of its string, does not disturb the dark.

“The Blindside” Scottfield Spitfire
Once belonging to Isaac Powell, this Scottfield Spitfire was not the only thing stolen in the dead of the night. A staunch reminder to not be too trusting, and insurance if that lesson is forgotten.

“Talisman” Springfield M1892 Krag
Ira Ozols placed talismans, one by one, on this Springfield M1892 Krag after leaving Kingsnake mine. Doing so she both acknowledged and ushered in the weapon´s fate: To unleash hell and justice on Chary´s lot.

Candice Rouille left New York with her badge, her mentor, and an unbreakable will to uncover the truth in Louisiana. All three would be taken from her, and rather than leave the Bayou alone, she forged a new path of blood and bone.

---

Arsenal

“Judge” Scottfield
Candice Rouille, a gifted Hunter and better detective, earned enough money to commission a pair of ornate, beautiful pistols. A mark of partnership that would one day be stained with blood.

Stories about her mother’s heroism as a Union spy during the Civil War were Sarah Burton’s only inheritance. So after the funeral, she donned her mother’s uniform, setting out to live up to that example, and avenge the cruel circumstances of her mother’s death. In the Bayou, Burton found what she sought - and her only chance for atonement.

---

Many come to the Bayou to forget their past. But Sarah Burton came to confront it, bringing along a Caldwell, a Sparks LRR, and a hunger for revenge.

Burton’s mother had risked life and limb during the Civil War to pass information to the Union. After the war, her deeds were recognized and celebrated, and she received a uniform symbolic of that final victory. Through her death, that uniform was passed down to her daughter – alongside a dark legacy, mottled with betrayal, cruelty, and treachery.

The flowers still fresh on her mother’s grave, Burton set out for Louisiana, where she vowed to destroy those who had had a hand in her mother’s death. Through her handiwork with The Harbinger and The Reckoning, Burton became notorious in the bayou, allowing rumors to circulate that she was a veteran herself, ageless, reincarnated to channel a restless spirit of revenge.

---

Arsenal

“The Harbinger” Pax
This Caldwell Pax changed hands twice before arriving in New Orleans. Once in the dead of the night, when it was turned against its owner in a midnight scuffle; later at the break of dawn, when it was pried from the hands of a corpse. In the Bayou, the sound of its familiar crack in the distance was a harbinger of merciless retribution.

“The Reckoning” Sparks
Sarah Burton arrived in the Bayou with five bullets. Five bullets engraved with five names, each a promise to fulfill her oath and take revenge on those who had ended her mother's life. Burton's Sparks LLR carries the bullets destined to restore justice to the Burton family.

The Prodigal Son knows there's a bullet out there with his name on it—he just prefers to keep it close. While others fear being brought to reckoning, he welcomes it; any chance to make amends for a life of misdeeds.

---

The reckoning for Sarah Burton came in the shape of a man clad in an old uniform, his face hidden behind an iron mask. He was more than a Prodigal Son—he was a brother to a sister.
On the day he returned, the Prodigal Daughter had slipped up and found herself staring down the barrel of a gun. Her assailant pulled back the hammer and paused; there was someone else emerging from the ashen fog. The assailant barely had time to register the doppelganger before catching two shots in the chest and being blasted apart by a third.
Sarah’s savior wore a mask, but she would recognize him anywhere. Richard “Rick” Burton: her twin. He had followed his mother’s footsteps in a way that Sarah never could, and enlisted as soon as he was of age. It wasn't long after that when an official letter arrived to say he'd been lost in a brave charge, and was now buried in the Black Hills. Sarah always blamed that letter for setting off the series of events that led to their mother's death. The day she passed, Sarah engraved 'Richard' on a bullet.
Rick knew he didn’t deserve to be greeted with open arms, but he had amends to make. In the years since he’d left, he lived as a dead man. He had no papers and did dirty work, the type of work that needed an iron mask. The skills he picked up along the way would make him a deadly ally in the Hunt.
The Prodigal Son knew there was a bullet out there with his name on it—he figured it best to keep it close.

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Arsenal

“Soldier’s Brother” Drilling
This Drilling became something like a brother to The Prodigal Son, its three barrels always backing him up. Like him, this gun keeps mum, unless the conversation turns to killing.

“Brave Charge” Scottfield Swift
The Prodigal Son was issued this Scottfield Model 3 Swift on enlisting. It stayed in service with him long after his apparent death; both a reminder of the mistakes he'd made, and a means to never make them again.

“Breach Blast” Dynamite Stick
While The Prodigal Son was doing others’ dirty work, he needed to go many places he wasn't welcome. Now he carries this Dynamite Stick should the need arise again.

The Rat
There are two kinds of people in the world, those living on the right side of the law, and those living on the wrong. Tona Ramirez was the second kind from birth. When she buried her father in an unmarked grave on the border, she took her inheritance: his nickname and a story of a man robbed of fortune. The Rat seeks that fortune now, and that search is what brought her to Louisiana.

---

The Drowned Rat
since the events of “Tide of Desolation”
Lifeless and decaying, the Rat sank forever. At forever's end, a ritual was performed: the hearts of a hundred sailors set aflame. Incantations uttered to rot flesh in reverse. She awoke cursed with a mind fractured between worlds, charged with saving only one of them.

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Arsenal

“Depth Marker” Waxed Dynamite Stick
The Rat was killed with a dynamite bundle in hand, shot in the back by a man overtaken by ravenous greed. When she returned, Drowned and frowning, she brought back this Waxed Dynamite Stick to blow him away into the depths from which she came.

Claeg Grey’s memory was leaving him. As his mind drifted and became blank, there was one thing that brought him back: Taking someone’s life. Desperate to keep him alive, Claeg’s family sent him to DeSalle where he could freely reap death.

---

Claeg Grey donned the mask and robe not for himself, but for the sake of his family. The first time Claeg realized something was wrong was when he went out on an errand for his wife Emma. He kissed her goodbye and mounted his horse to ride into town, but when he blinked once again, he was five miles away from home and his horse lay bleeding from its throat. He walked all the way back home covered in blood to meet the panicked tears of his wife, children, and friends.

From then on, it took Claeg every fiber of his being to concentrate even on the smallest task. Doing work on the farm became insurmountable labor, and his children wept in the corners when he mixed up their names and faces. Emma took him to countless doctors who couldn’t give a name to his ailment, but any person of the cloth they met all said the same thing: A demon was slowly taking over Claeg’s body, and he was in dire need of salvation. “The demon is only sated after sacrifice!” The good Christians would wail. “Stop him before it’s too late.”

But the time to stop Claeg never came. And when he awoke one day to his friend’s blood upon his throwing axe, his wails of anguish echoed through the town. It was death that brought Claeg back to life, and so Emma brought him to the man in DeSalle who they knew dealt in death.
And death he dealt. Waking to become himself only when blood caked his hands, and his prey took their last breath. Countless has to die so that he, in a sense, wouldn’t. So that he remembered the reason he lived this torturous existence. So that he could remember the laughs of his children and the touch of his wife. So that no demon could take his place.

Claeg Grey donned the mask and robe not for himself, but for the sake of his family. So that no one would know his true self. So that his loved ones could finally find peace once more. And so that he could find clarity in freely administering death.

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Arsenal

“Memento Mori” Centennial
Every bullet has weight and meaning in the chamber of this Centennial, and somehow Claeg still knows the importance of each. Though shooting it brings relief, it also brings loss of life, and despair.

“Quietus” Specter 1882 Shorty
After a month or so of success in the Hunt, Emma encouraged Claeg by gifting him a Specter 1882 Shorty that she felt fit his new image: Tarnished but powerful. Sullied yet divine.

“The Scythe” Throwing Axe
Claeg’s childhood friend Jim Mathis stayed by his side even as the Reaper’s memories began to fade. He was devastated when he realized he was using a Throwing Axe to reap his friend’s throat instead of crops.

The Redneck
William Moses, proud proprietor of Moses Poultry, is anything but chicken. The AHA, hunting a range long declared corrupted, came across him holed up in the farm and armed to the teeth. He was then and there inducted into the hunters, having resisted the Sculptor for a record time. It’s disputed whether that’s down to his sheer stupidity or sheer stubbornness.

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The Redneck’s Daughter
Born in a barn and madder than a wet hen ever since, Millie Moses always wanted to be like her dear ol' daddy, fighting Corruption to protect their family farm. Now, she's old enough to join the fun… and she's got some serious bones to pick.

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Pappy Redneck
Rumor has it that Vernon Moses sat in the same rocking chair for thirty years with nothing on his tongue but moonshine and curses. But the false rumors have nothing on this staunch patriarch, who's collected more bouties than you and your momma combined.

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Arsenal

“Brookes’ Burner” Fire Bomb
William Moses, The Redneck, was driven off his farm with little more than his guns and hat. That "little more" included a bottle of his favorite drink. He's fashioned a Fire Bomb of it to save for a sentimental occasion.

“Obituary” LeMat Carbine
Through William Moses didn't quite understand it, the symbols on the LeMat Carbine he carried were a detailed reminder for all who faced the man and the gun: Death is inevitable.

“Corn Cob Bowl” Weapon Charm
William Moses doesn’t believe anyone’s poppycock theories about how he can resist Corruption. He ain’t stupid and he sure as hell ain’t stubborn! No, Moses claims the real secret is a heart smoke of his pipe–after every sunrise, sunset, and Bounty Hunt.

“Hoot and Holler” Big Dynamite Bundle
As a kid, Millie Moses loved watching her daddy set off homemade fireworks on the farm’s outskirts every July. As an adult, she experiences that same hootin’ delight every time she lobs one of these Big Dynamite Bundles on the Hunt.

“Kinfolk’s Clutch” Terminus
Millie Moses learned how to handle a shotgun from her Gramps. This Terminus reminds her of the good ol’ days on the farm, when he’d lob a dead chicken into the air and cluck without mercy until she rightly blew it apart.

“Shootist’s Joy” Crossbow Deadeye
Pappy Redneck bought this Crossbow Deadeye from William Carter for a jug of Swamp Tears. He passes long October nights shooting at owls with it, believing them to be “devil chickens” hellbent on cursing his poultry. But no matter how many die, more keep coming.

After having drunk too much whiskey one night, Jonathan Redshirt accepted a bet from his companions: to enter the bayou with a target on his back.
If he made it out alive, the bet went, he'd be given the deeds to some land out west. Daredevil or fool? Only his tombstone will tell.

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Arsenal

“The Overcall” Dynamite Stick
After word of Johnathan Redshirt’s bet made its way through the bayou, he found himself targeted by enemy Hunters who sought the fame of besting him. He likes to call their bluff by chucking this Dynamite Stick into the path of an overconfident push.

When the alligators fled the Bayou, desperation and greed turned former-gator hunter Keith Cowen’s mind, the skin of his coat a testament to his persistence, his skill, and his treachery.

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The Bayou teemed with alligators once, their skins plentiful bounty for hunters like Keith Cowen. Apprenticed to the cruel and ambitious alligator hunter Frank Gravel, Cowen earned his keep on the flesh and hide of that primordial prey. Together the two men relished their prosperity, leaving mountains of scale and bone in their wake. But that was before the corruption. That was before something far more threatening, and far more primeval, drove most of the gators away from the swamps, and left Gravel and Cowen high and dry.

As the alligators began to disappear, desperation took hold. Broke and without prospects, they eventually tracked down an alligator – one of the few that dared remain. As Gravel punched Tooth to Tail through scale, fat, and flesh, a mist of greed shrouded Cowen’s mind. He plunged Avarice’s blade into Gravel’s throat and watched him bleed out across the gator's carcass. As their blood seeped into the mud, Cowen donned the beast’s skin: a mantle of victory and betrayal. A perfect match for the American Hunter’s Association, the Bayou’s monstrous inhabitants now feed Cowen’s cold-blooded murderlust.

---

Q&A with The Reptilian
Recruitment Trial Results for the [REDACTED] [REDACTED]

Pledge’s Name: Keith Cowen

Area Captured in: Lockbay Docks
Pre-Interrogation Hazing: Left Alone & Tied up with Two Prison Grunts
Means of Escape: Chewed Through Rope Ties

Q: What firearms do you find yourself privy to?
A: Any that don’t give me trouble when I aim, so I only have to shoot once.
Q: How much injury can you tolerate? The nature of our mission will expose you to a great array of dangers and discomforts.
A: Took an eel bath once. You know, them Water Devil kind? There were a whole gaggle of ‘em in a bathtub I found down by the mine. Ended up eating a few.

Q: Under what circumstances would you betray a brother, a sister, or a friend? We’d like you know the limits of your morality.
A: I’d betray you for stepping on a twig, or breathing on me. A note: pledge attempted to bite the interviewer.

Q: What’s the first sin you’d commit if we brought you back from being dead?
A: Look for tracks. Tracks of anything – deer-kind, gator-kind, person-kind. Then I’d gut them to see if their insides matched whatever I’d seen in the dead world.

Q: What does the concept of “grieving” mean to you?
A: Means about as much to me as creatures eating each other at the bottom of the bayou.

Q: If you had the choice to kill a monster or a person, which would you choose?
A: Whoever one is gon’ be the most violent– so person, probably.

Q: Any last words, prayers, other musings:
A: I wonder what kind of sound you’d make if you was skinned alive. I wonder if that’d make you and yer folk scared enough to leave me be. I wonder what rare kind of person sees me and thinks to themself– this here be a friend.

Trial Results: Passed
Pact Offer: Declined by Pledge
Additional Note: Pledge stabbed [REDACTED] in the eye with a pen

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Arsenal

“Avarice” Romero 77 Talon
This Romero 77 Talon witnessed Keith Cowen give into greed and murder his mentor in cold blood, the weapon’s thirst for blood a mirror to any Hunter who carries it

“Tooth to Tail” Bomb Lance
Having once pierced the fatty flesh of the monsters of the sea, this harpoon-turned-Bomb Lance found its way to land in Louisiana, and into the hands of Keith Cowen, where it became an instrument of death and deceit.

“Monongahela Bruiser” Dusters
The Reptilian never said how he gained these Dusters, bound by Felis from a cat's mandible. They proved vital to his Ward in tracking him down. The memories of a lost friend , or a trophy from a vanquished foe?

Harold Black's Journal, a collection of anatomical sketches, scientific observations and psychological evaluations, constitute, most of what the AHA know about their enemy. Black received little success until later in life, when a chance assignment sent it spiraling down a different path. His hodgepodge education, acquired on many walks of life, gave him the unique ability to see connections no one else could, and see reason where others only saw madness.

The Revenant
John Robertson wanted to be remarkable: to be a hero or, failing that to die one. In the end, he failed at both: unceremoniously shot through the heart during a poker game, he found himself at that crossroads, though he would prove to be one of the few to choose the road back to life, guided by the chanting of the Night Speaker.

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Bad Hand
Bad at faro and worse at poker, John Robertson was determined to find glory and gold at a card table. But he was fated to become the Revenant, and he lived as he died - making the best of a bad hand.

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Arsenal

“Snake Eyes” Uppercut
Bad luck befell this Uppercut's owner, but death was just the beginning, and in the end, the winning hand. Since that fateful night, this revolver has brought true death to many more.

As a young man, Reverend Ishim Gird came to the bayou to save the souls of the innocents. As the infection took hold, he witnessed his congregation tear each other apart in Healing-Waters Church. Barely escaping with his life, he vowed to rid the swamp of it's denizens.

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Arsenal

“Altar Boy” Lebel 1886
A fine ornamental Lebel 1886 rifle, belonging to Reverend Ishim Gird. Never intended for action, Gird keeps it as clean as the day he plucked it from his mantel to kill the first of his congregation to get through the barricade.

“Sanguis Christi” Weak Vitality Shot
So certain is Reverend Gird of Jesus' power, that he dilutes his Vitality Shots with holy water. He swore of its power to his followers and was met with this ornate, valuable syringe in horror of his holy bayou crusade.

Inuta Bakin had barely sworn his oath of allegiance before the Tokugawa shogunate was disposed. Without a master, he has wandered further than most Ronin, seeking the power to take revenge. Something of a traditionalist, he dresses and fights in a style stretching back centuries, but still effective: his leering Oni mask has been the last sight of many to fall in the bayou.

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Arsenal

“The Tanto” Knife
The Ronin has worn this blade since the day of his oath. During his travels across land and sea, it has been a loyal companion - as keen for fresh blood as its carrier.


“Seinan Sharpshooter” Springfield 1866
The Ronin briefly fought with the last samurai during the Seinan War, pledging himself to Saigō Takamori. There, he gained notoriety for his deadly use of his Springfield 1866, one of the most advanced weapons on the field.

“Ancestor’s Wrath” Katana
Pristinely preserved, this is the Katana of a lineage both noble and opulent, but also lost. Harbored by a ronin who still reveres the broken dynasty, it carries both the power and curse that was their undoing.

“Omamori” Weapon Charm
Symbols of protection are rare in lands being ravaged by Corruption. In trying times, Ronin affixes this Charm to his weapon to transform it into something new–an instrument of vengeance instead of mere defense, a promise to its holder that they shall triumph.

The Scaled Ward was wary of his mentor--he knew his gravest sin, but would bide his time to repeat it. Yet when The Reptilian went on, he would follow his trail, all toward the greatest sin yet.

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Arsenal

“Ferryman’s Oar” Berthier 1892
Foul things lurk in stagnant waters. The Scaled Ward took a coin from each killed, and embedded them into his Berthier 1892. His preparation for death, all to afford the ferryman's toll.

“Somber Gale” Scottfield Precision
The Scaled Ward was out on his own when his parents died in the storm of '93. This Scottfield Precision points into the wind and fires with his rage. If bullets could stop a storm, it's from this barrel they'd be fired.

Theater twisted this proud performer into a freak show. Now, after a bloody emancipation, he feels at home amidst the monsters of the Bayou, where he can kill for coin instead of begging and pleading for it with a song and a dance.

---

Scaramuccia’s trinity mask intimidates any audience, but the many faces behind the mask are quick to perform the fool, the friend, or the villain. Whichever he senses will put a room at ease, or compel it to serve his will. The three-faced mask always conceals which way he looks, confusing predator and prey alike until his next move.

It’s a mask that has only been seen once before: worn by a gifted harlequin, who was the leading act of a renowned three-man troupe. The troupe’s director kept the harlequin caged between shows, spreading rumors of grotesque disfigurement and urging people to join the audience for a glimpse beneath the mask. The third of the troupe was the bard, who drew people in with songs of sorrow and sympathy for the harlequin’s disfigurement, before entrancing that same crowd with accompaniments to the troupe’s one-man shows. Many who came to see the plays clamored for a chance to peek at the harlequin’s face, trying to confirm the irresistibly horrifying descriptions the rumors spoke of. But no such chance came, and none could ever find what lair the troupe held the harlequin in between shows.

With the show’s success, the director’s clothing grew more lavish and the bard’s guitar more ornate, yet the harlequin’s single costume tore new holes every day. Poverty only added to both the spectacle and pity for the alleged freak, and a freak show proved to draw a greater paying audience than theatre. Then at the peak of the show’s success, the director, bard, and harlequin all vanished without trace. Some weeks later, two bodies were found in the canal stripped of their clothes and with faces too grotesque to identify.

Now, amongst the torment of the Bayou, the troupe’s sole survivor christens himself “Scaramuccia”. On the hunt, his finely crafted demeanor shifts and relaxes: relishing not the hunt, but the accursed swamps themselves. Perhaps peeling away the mask would reveal a face less akin to his fellow hunters, and more like what he hunts.

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Arsenal

“Opera Glasses” Frontier 73C Marksman
Spying; seeing without being seen and knowing without being known. Such is the shared nature of theatre and hunting alike. And this graceful, precise Frontier 73C Marksman separates the two with the pull of a trigger.

“Macchinista” Sparks Pistol
In Italian: “Machinist”
A prop and relic from successful street theatre days, this Sparks Pistol has been taken apart and put back together as an elegant weapon -- one that’s put to good use burying old memories.

“Spaccagambe” Concertina Trip Mine
In Italian: “Legbreaker”
The stage is set, and it is set with malice. For attack or defense, this powerfully haphazard Concertina Trip Mine is a tool of ownership over many battlefields, and none more so than the mind.

Caught stealing from Golden Acres, Jeremy Albano was beaten, stuffed into a scarecrow's outfit, and left bound in the field-where he witnessed his assailants become painstakingly Corrupted, ripping each other to shreds. Believing it unholy justice, Albano vowed himself to the Sculptor's will.

Midian
Midian always knew his pain was meaningless. “Abomination” he was called, so an abomination he became-one that thrived, and one that wielded might. Scrapbeak had shown this path, and he knew that betrayal lay at its end.

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Morrigan
Morrigan finally knew herself from the moment her reflection stared back from the Beak's eyes. The wealth and riches she sought could be hers -power could be hers. No more hunger, pain, or seclusion, not if she was willing to take, keep, and bleed.

---

The word Scrapbeak was christened by a final, agonizing breath. It was a desperate plea to save others from the beast's trap, but instead, it inspired curiosity.

A daring trio followed Scrapbeak’s lure, but did not find fear—they saw only power. Awestruck, they sacrificed the beast’s own servant before swearing their fealty. In the sunken, hungered eyes of that power, however, they were nothing. Thus, the trio quickly grew malcontented. No sacrifice—of others or the self—could make a change, leading all three to walk different paths:

One sharpened their sickle and set their eyes on Scrapbeak.

One looked beyond Scrapbeak, seeking favor with greater powers.

One loaded her pistol with two bullets and pruned the trio.

Cruel, conniving, and cowardly, the surviving acolyte was not satisfied with a nest unto herself. She had made the pledge to power only to find herself powerless, so she began amassing her own followers. After all, New Orleans had no shortage of sniveling ants vying to subjugate others.

Yet the foolish acolyte never imagined her followers could be more traitorous than she. Two disciples found love for the blackest parts of each other’s souls, and picked through the ranks with surgical precision, collecting what they wanted from carcasses until their talons stabbed the spine of the acolyte herself. She was ill-suited to honor Scrapbeak, aspiring to power that she was too fearful to take. The lovers’ bodies were temples, houses for the veneration of that which made Scrapbeak, in whose name the couple were fearful of nothing, not even their master.

A master that would change with the tides, but their love for each other and their lust for unnatural power were unshakable.

For together they had overthrown all who stood in their way, and together they plotted the demise of the one they worshiped. Desperate as they were to cling to power, they would either be supplanted by more traitors, or their dreams of becoming Gods would be fulfilled. Morrigan and Midian—bound in body, soul, and damnation.

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Arsenal

“Wing’s Wake” Slate Riposte
Each lover holds a Slate Riposte stained with the blood of the other. The bladed beak was used to stab other servants of Scrapbeak in the back, and the shotguns are now wielded to both protect and betray.

“Heart’s Dowry” Haymaker
A game played by this pair is to each give their prized Haymaker as a gift to new acquaintances. Though unusual for any Hunter to part with vital firearms, neither has yet failed to pry it from an acquaintance’s death grip.

“Cagebreaker” Sticky Bomb
To defeat beasts larger, stronger, and fiercer than their brood, the fiery force of this Sticky Bomb has been crucial to Morrigan and Midian. It is devilry in human hands—hands lost deep in crimson darkness.

The time of the Viking is ancient history, filled with myth. Sea Wolf knew the power of those myths, so he used them to make himself and his sister into legends. For glory, gold, and pleasure does he massacre men and monsters.

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Arsenal

“Heathen’s Ruin” Berthier 1892 Marksman
A prize shared between competing siblings, this Berthier 1892 Marksman was stolen by a sister and shaped by a brother. Ownership was fought over until the brother made a second rifle; the two carbines were often pointed at each other on the Hunt.

The injustice of war caused Sergeant Caleb Bridgewater to seek a different fight when word from home reached him of what was happening in the Bayou. Forced to desert, he’s proud now to fight the only war he believes in.

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Sergeant Caleb Bridgewater felt he was nothing before the uniform; striding out through the badlands with his brothers in arms made him the man he is today. It was not just the inescapable violence that got the better of his nerves, but orders given that didn’t align with his own moral compass. Honor became an old feeling, lost amongst the urgent need to avenge fallen friends, desperation in protecting the vulnerable, and realizing that their aspirations were misguided: that they were enforcing an idea of order in a wild land that never asked for it.

Though Sergeant Bridgewater’s performance made him a shining example to others, his postings passed in a haze as he lost himself. He heard what happened to his friends who were discharged, that they were left to struggle with their personal legacies of war. When word reached him of home, and of what had happened in the Bayou, it rattled him back to reality. Letters told of unspeakable horrors and an existential threat to the United States. He urged his men to return to Louisiana, to fight what seemed to be a good fight – a fight he believed it was the nation’s duty to undertake. In the end, he walked alone, still wearing the uniform, believing he had chosen the most important war.

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Arsenal

“Honor Above” New Army
Sgt. Bridgewater was surprised to be assigned a new New Army – his regiment often got the bottom of the barrel. But Bridgewater’s performance in the field was unrivalled, and that came with some recognition.

“Standard Issue” Specter 1882
While the Specter 1882 was standard issue, Sgt. Bridgewater set himself apart with an impressively cool head even when the fighting was close and fierce.

“Arlington Grave” Machete
This blade is older than Sgt. Bridgewater himself, and it saved his life on more than one occasion. A testament to his own brand of loyalty, he wields it like a furious Machete, carrying unto his own end.

Shade: Drifter
Jefferson Shiloh made his name playing the stalwart hero on stage, but he made precious little coin. When the Infection claimed his crewmates, he exchanged props for guns and brought his stage persona to life on the Hunt, where it finally earned a killing.

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Shade: High Noon
Stage actor Jefferson Shiloh had one role above all others that he relished performing: a gunslinger, betrayed, slain, and resurrected to court vengeance. Once he turned his sights to the Corruption, Shiloh brought that role to life, turning the legend into a far grislier truth.

During the early days of the infection, Sheriff Wayne Hardin was instrumental in halting the rapid spread of the infection.
However, the inmates he recruited to be Hunters proved unreliable, and as events spiraled out of control, he found himself putting many of them back under arrest.

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Q&A with Sheriff Hardin
Fit for Duty Evaluation

Defendant

Birth name: Wayne Hardin
Rank: Sheriff
Incident for Review: Inferno
Actions in Question: Immolation of twenty-two persons and inhuman execution of a dozen innocents
Conducted by: Marshall Brewer on Special Order of the Governor

Q: Good evening, Sheriff. Let’s start with an easy one: what’s your favorite firearm?

A: Whichever one I have slung over my hip. And I haven’t been able to use a gun in the last week, I’ve had to make do with just a pitchfork an a knife.

Q: After you wake from a nightmare, how do you feel?

A: The hell kind of question is that? I’ve been up six days straight keeping these infernos under control. Everywhere you look is a nightmare. Given how much flame I’ve had to deal with, I’d be afraid to heat up a can of beans at this point.

Q: Would you commit crimes against the state in the pursuit of wealth, fame, or survival?

A: Listen here. I’m sworn to protect the state of Louisiana and its inhabitants – living inhabitants, I might add. That’s what this about, right? All those *things* I let burn at the grain silo? They weren’t living anymore, and the ones that seemed barely living got the finest shot of bourbon I could find and–

Q: We heard, Sheriff. You got the iffy ones drunk and let ‘em wander the fields until they turned…abnormal…and then you shot them– and not with a pitchfork.

A: Sure, how forgetful of me. You can change my favorite firearm answer to the Winfield M1873 I pulled off a burning saddle horse.

Q: If you died, and you very well may soon, then came back to us living, what task would you set to?

A: I’m not the type to leave a job unfinished. If I die, I’ll do it all the way, and clean up this godforsaken mess down to the very bowels of the earth. If I manage that much, maybe I’ll bring the Devil back up here to throw a tea party.

Q: Further thoughts, creeds, or other wonderings before we arrest you?

A: Sure thing. Not to bother your stenographer too much or anything, but I think I want to change my answer again. About my favorite firearm. Because one of your escorts here has a whole loaded, unclipped Caldwell on his belt, and I’ve just about taken a fancy to it.

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Arsenal

“Brass Flower” LeMat
The preferred side arm of Sheriff Hardin, this was known to pack a punch when the chips were down.

“Peacemaker” Pax Trueshot
Sheriff Hardin fancies himself the epitome of a lawman–one who would do anything to keep order in his territory. This Pax Trueshot allows him to keep a firm grip on his responsibilities. Neutralizing a threat is the most surefire path to peace.

“The Noose” Vetterli 71
The last remnant of law and order, Sheriff Hardin is spread thin, yet still receives luxuries from those who admire his fine work. That's how Hardin tells the story of this Vetterli 71 Karabiner, though alley rumors give a much more gruesome account.

Shame, sickness, and undeath plagued Nafisa Elhami for digging up Pharaohs of old and leading foreigners to their treasure. She followed those foreigners to the Hunt, where numbness is her curse and her only reprieve is granting others the death she craves.

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Arsenal

“Blood of the Nile” Antidote Shot
In the tombs of Pharaohs, ashes of something poisonous lingered beyond the veil. The Land of the Dead held purchase there, and its dust was carried upon bandages from the Nile to the Corrupted Hunt. This Antidote Shot makes the power flow into Hunters’ veins.

“The Eighth Plague” Hive Bomb
Claimed to be a sample of the plagues wrought upon Egypt, this Hive Bomb rains fury upon its victims. Though no account of the plagues has ever mentioned the Corrupted wasps in this bomb, it is not a contradiction that troubles Hunters being thus assailed.

“Vulture’s Wing” Hunting Bow
Thousands of years after being sculpted, strung, and shot in honor of the Goddess Nekhbet, this relic has been polished and restrung as a Hunting Bow. But Nekhbet’s power lingers, guiding the arrows of this bow to shoot straight and true.

A walking dead man they call Silver Spur, Ezekiel Stringfellow has hunted his fellow man all his life. Cursed by illness to wander, he followed a vision to the Hunt, where his keen eye and steady hand have made him a formidable foe.

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Ezekiel Stringfellow was a bounty hunter by trade, and a good one. He had the wiry strength of a sidewinder and he never, ever let his target get away. Once Stringfellow was on the trail, his man was as good as captured—or dead.

Truth be told, he preferred the latter, as dead men didn’t talk, and he was a solitary and silent man by nature. Even if his target surrendered, Stringfellow would like as not shoot him. The lesser bounty for bring proof of a corpse didn’t matter to him. Pure and simple, he enjoyed the hunt.
Life changed for Stringfellow in the spring of 1891. After coming down with a hacking cough, he went to see a sawbones for a cure. The doctor had bad news. He’d managed to contract tuberculosis, and the best he could do to preserve his life would be to find a sanitarium in the mountains where the clean air would do him good.

Stringfellow rejected the diagnosis, but after a coughing fit gave away his position to a band of train robbers he was tracking, he was shot up and left for dead. As he lay there, bleeding and feverish, he had visions of a fear-shadowed mountain, with inhuman things moving through the woods on its slopes.
Eventually he was found by a friendly local, who nursed him back to something approximating health. Stringfellow repaid the man by stealing his horse and heading for the Rockies. He searched high and low for the mountain of his vision. There, too, he found the monstrous shapes he had dreamed of, and it was an easy transition to start hunting them for Bounties instead of—or in addition to—men.

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Arsenal

“Yawning Grave” Mako 1895
Death claims its victims from afar with this Mako 1895 Carbine. The distinctive click of its lever action is one of the last sounds its victims will hear, and one can almost see the fleshless grin of the skeleton carved into the stock grow wider…

“Dry Bones” Uppercut Precision
Not for the weak of heart or the weak of grip, the Caldwell Conversion Uppercut Precision recoils like an angry snake when fired. When asked if the bone worked into its making was human or animal, the gunsmith just smiled.

“Grave Robber” Weak Vitality Shot
Long favored by Hunters with physical infirmities, this Weak Vitality Shot alleviates momentary pain and revitalizes the Hunter who takes it. What’s in it remains a subject of much fearful debate.

One dreary winter's night Timothy Stone bore witness to three strange apparitions, each bearing portents of his past, present, and future. Whether real or an invention of his warped mind, the experience convinced Stone to pledge his life to the AHA, where he would be known for being slow to his wallet but quick to his rifle. Ever the accountant, his ledger now contains a reckoning of the souls he has removed from his Earth.

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Arsenal

“Splintered Crook” Weapon Charm
Timothy Stone carried his old partner’s walking stick without an ounce of sentiment. It was a valuable silver carving, and as soon as he joined the Hunt, Stone snapped the head off the old cane. It made transporting the asset far simpler.

The son of Frank Gravel, Killian vowed vengeance on his murderer, The Reptilian. He took up his father's mantle and pursued his quarry to dark shores-where they found a prize big enough to put the past to rest.

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Arsenal

“Killian’s Chance” Officer Brawler
The Skinned abandoned his father's profession and worked the rivers. This Nagant M1895 Officer Brawler bore his initial, Killian, a prize of that time. That life ended when he chose vengeance, with dusters bolted onto a once prized possession.

“Marred Murex” Weapon Charm
Ancient seashells bear ridges carved by waters of shifting shorelines. As The Skinned sunk into bloodlust, he could hear the stirring blood of The Reptilian in this shell, so he strung it from his weapon to guide his aim.

“Nola’s Screw” Bomb Lance
The Skinned's quest for vengeance left more than death in his wake. His boat. Nola, was sunk to the bottom of the bayou, its screw carved into a blade for this Bomb Lance.

Skull Taker is fueled by a primal pride. The trophies in his collection were all taken while his prey still drew breath. The runes carved into his mask are meant to draw the most savage and feral game to his hunting grounds.

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Skulls have been kept as trophies since cavemen first learned to raise clubs. They’re the true mark of a hunter’s worth and carry more weight than any spoken account of slaughtered prey. It’s for this reason that hunters fell silent whenever Skull Taker walked into a lodge. He carried skulls that showed a lifetime dedicated to the art of killing beasts, some so rare most of the world had forgotten them. The bones themselves told these tales. The talon on his waist spoke to a week of scaling frigid peaks to slit the throat of a giant eagle. The saber-teeth on his back chronicled a legend—Skull Taker piercing the endling of a species with a primitive spear on a storm-swept plain.
After scouring the world for ever-rarer prey, Skull Taker fell into despair. No more myths were left for him to hunt. His kills turned ritualistic, more dangerous. He tracked narwhals, sheared their horns and used them to impale polar bears. He ripped anacondas in half above ceremonial bonfires. He gutted wolves, hauled the carcasses up mountains, laid them in pentagrams to summon greater prey.
Each occult killing gave him visions which led him south. There he found tracks of creatures that were tremendous. The air around them was poisoned with the stench of evil and spoiled meat. Fishermen spoke of haunting screams and screeches that filled the night. Skull Taker stalked the outcasts who entered these grounds. He overheard stories about a prehistoric alligator that roiled with tar and lightning. There were mutterings of a spider large enough to kill buffalo and demons that summoned fire.
Eventually, Skull Taker trapped one of these Hunters. He stole the ritual injection that gave him access to a never-ending source of prey. A festering paradise he could call home awaited him.

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Arsenal

“Hidden Strike” Krag Sniper
Fear seeps into bones and curses any who might take them as a trinket. The greater the panic before death, the greater the curse. With this Krag Sniper, Skull Taker doesn’t let a moment of fear leach into his prey.

“Liar’s Bite” Sparks Pistol
Some Hunters brag about downing a Target. They embellish tales of shootouts and besting monsters. If they have no trophy or proof, Skull Taker puts a bullet where their lie came from with this Sparks Pistol.

“Snake in the Grass” Bear Trap
“The daydreamer’s demise comes with their head in the clouds and their foot on a snake.” Skull Taker fashioned this Bear Trap to punish Hunters who are too busy tallying their bounties to notice their surroundings.

Visions forged by agony and suffering came true when Sofia’s family were murdered by four strangers. Blinded by an insatiable thirst for vengeance, she made a blood pact with Death and is now in pursuit to herald the Four’s last breaths.

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Marked by death at birth, Sofia thought her visions a blessing until the day they led four dark figures to her family home. Flames consumed everything they touched, and as she watched, the horizon turned a yellow-red, familiar faces melted like wax, twisted in agony, and four gunshots echoed in the night, each followed by the cry of a familiar voice of a family member crossing through the veil.

When the last ember died, Sofia performed an old blood ritual, seeking guidance from Death. In that final vision, she saw bloated corpses, an old wooden gate, and a woman presiding over a cemetery blanketed with marigolds; her face blank and smooth, and her bony finger pointed at northeast.

Sofia followed the signs in pursuit of the Four. Death is ever-present in the Bayou, stalking any foolish enough to tread among its corrupted inhabitants. And so Sofia – said to be messenger and herald to that dark and ever-present Reaper – inevitably found her way to Louisiana, where she could be close to the source of her visions, and attempt to satiate her desire for vengeance. The American Hunter’s Association did not think twice to initiate her, and she now leads the dead – and the living – in the Bayou to their final sleep with the barrel of the Weeping Marigold and the blades of Eye for an Eye at her side, always searching.

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Arsenal

“Eye for an Eye” Throwing Knives
When flames consumed Sofia’s past, nothing but charred bones and these Throwing Knives remained among the ashes. Tempered by fire and an unholy grudge, each blade eagerly longs to help quench Sofia’s thirst for vengeance.

“Weeping Marigold” Vetterli 71 Marksman
This Vetterli 71 Marksman accompanied Sofia in her journey from beyond the southern border to the Bayou. Now it guides its wielder’s prey, much like its namesake, to where they belong: the Land of the Dead.

“Silent Repose” Crossbow
There are gulfs of sound beyond and ear’s comprehension: Death’s maidens lolling on the sea floor, eyelids squelching deep below mud. Sofia’s crossbow is an amplifier for these sounds. It gives their silent chorus velocity. All hail the hole it leaves in a Hunter’s throat.

“Bullet Coffin” Ammo Box
This Ammo Box once held sugar skulls for the Day of the Dead. But the candyman’s village withered from famine until only he was left. Dying, he took this keepsake to his goddaughter Sofia. Now she fills it with bullets to remember him by.

An expert strategist and sniper of otherworldly skill, Xiao Feng left Fujian province with his hunting partner, Chen Lan, crossing the globe in a sweep of bloody encounters over land and sea. Rumors of the duo’s deadly skill preceded their arrival in New Orleans, and they were welcomed into the fold of the AHA with reverence befitting the highest nobility.

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Arsenal

“Sniper’s Gift” Officer Carbine Deadeye
Before beginning the treacherous journey from Fujian to Louisiana, Xiao Feng’s Father – a fellow Hunter – gifted him this Officer Carbine Deadeye – a symbol of the success he would achieve when he put to use in the bayou.

A knife thrower's assistant, Amelie Rimrose snapped after years of abusive treatment at his hands. For her new act, she strapped her boss to the board and demonstrated her skills, awakening a taste for blood that only hunting bigger and fiercer game could sate.

Behind the saloon counter, Eddie Davies learned to read people as clearly as a bottle label, Left without patrons to serve and a thirst to beat impossible odds, he's betting on boldness and guile to make it through the Bayou.

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Arsenal

“The Redmartin” Ranger 73
The infamous Doc Redmartin joked he was not so different from a barkeeper, but while he cared for the body, Eddie Davies tended to the soul. Pretty words were meaningless when he couldn´t afford his tab, and Eddie went home with a new Ranger 73.

“The Last Word” Knife
Eddie Davies was no stranger to the signs of a quarrel becoming a brawl. When his patrons couldn´t see reason, his sharpest arguments came in the shape of a knife - or a broken bottle - to the gut.

Anonymity serves many purposes, but some ambitions require a forceful hand. Emerging from the clouds of statecraft, the Statesman claims Tokens for the masters he serves, spreading their will amongst Hunters far and wide.

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Arsenal

“Birthright” Bornheim No. 3
The Statesman claimed this Bornheim No. 3 from the corpse of a foolish man who had no idea how to use it properly. Now it executes with righteous precision, as naturally as someone’s birthright, taking down anyone who stands in the way of his intentions.

“Debate’s End” Mako 1895
The Statesman is a man of manners–if he’s feeling generous. Other times, he’d much rather use this Mako 1895 to put an early end to a frustrating conversation, especially when time is short and the list of wanted bounties is long.

“Filibuster” Frontier 73C Silencer
Sometimes, people speak out of turn, unaware of how short The Statesman’s fuse can be. He uses this Frontier 73C Silencer to quietly neutralize such babblers, as he has no time to listen to ramblings of those who think they know better than him.

“Final Constitution” Weak Antidote Shot
The Statesman is sadly familiar with the perils of poison; there are many who are threatened by the constitution of his power. This Weak Antidote Shot acts as insurance against those who’d try to kill him in such a cowardly way.

“New Heirloom” Mako 1895 Aperture
This Mako 1895 Aperture was handed down to an oil heir who got a little too overzealous in a land dispute. He never expected to be shot dead from across the river by his own gun, which became a new heirloom for The Statesman.

“Noble Execution” Marathon Swift
Some kills hold more importance than others. The Statesman knows this well, and saves this Marathon Swift for times when balance must be brought with a noble death–or a need to reload bullets quickly for whatever may happen after.

Dust settles on the graves of the unwary, and the trail will eventually lead you to your death. This is the mantra of Red Descot, murmured through mountain passes, dry gullies, and blasted prairie. It was a lonesome journey, headed nowhere and running from everything. That was until the call to Hunt came: the call for all Red's grit and anguish to serve a higher purpose.

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Arsenal

“Ten Paces” Scottfield
The wandering of the outlaw Red Descot on occasion led him to small towns, where differences were put aside with ten slow paces and one quick draw.

Unwilling to relocate from their tribal lands, François Broussard’s family fled to the margins of the swamplands, scaring trespassers off with eerie skill, stealth, and visage. Having thrived in a habitat shunned for its in-hospitability, the family became Hunters by necessity – and successes by merciless practice.

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Small and delicate, a choir of pastel purple bunched, fist-like, shading the hidden blades of its subtle, woody thorn. So-named is the Verbena blade, a subtle but steadfast companion for those who stalk the Bayou with stealth. Like the Teche Wraith: that insidious trickster, that Bayou Puck, that outlaw. With theatrical flair he bests his enemies, his Springfield never far from his hand, and a laugh never far from his lips – in spite of all that has befallen his family, and in spite of the corruption that walls them in on every side.

Now, the threat of a greater shadow at hand, one he has fought – and bested – before, the Teche Wraith shines out from the shadows, striking at its dark heart. Shadow takes shadow, dawn takes night, camouflaged and protected by the very same energy that fuels that unspeakable being.

Light my shadow, dark my days. Light my shadow, dark my days, dark my days, dark my days…

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Arsenal

“Wraith’s Hand” Springfield 1866 Striker
The Wraith´s Hand is a Springfield 1866 Striker that has accompanied the Teche Wraith on many exploits. Lethal both at range and close up, it is ideal for those who strike from the shadows.

“Verbena” Knife
Small and unassuming, but deadly: this small knife leaves bloody blossoms and blooming wounds in its wake.

The third son of a third son, Nahotabi was endowed with notable strength, a brazen manner, and preternatural skill in hand-to-hand combat. By day, a dedicated, curious, and quiet librarian; by night, a silent and deadly terror with pistol or blade.

Thirteen ships sailed, thirteen ships drowned, and thirteen times this sailor has returned from the depths. On that thirteenth ship he threw himself overboard with his crewmates, only to rise again, their voices wailing eternally. He walks without sleeping, seeking both revenge and death.

Daddy left Tonya Wegman behind for her own good when he went a-Hunting. But Daddy was old, and he vanished into the swamps. After too many unanswered letters, she went looking for him and quickly proved herself a better Hunter than he ever was.

Buckshot
Robert Hogen, known as Buckshot, is a mountain man of unparalleled skill, he can trap any man or beast alive. Always taciturn, he allows his traps and his guns to do the talking for him. May heaven have mercy on anyone who tries to take from him, or those he holds close.

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Snare
A peerless survivalist and tracker, Laura Merrill, known as Snare, can follow the slightest clue to her prey. Merciless, she strikes swiftly with a raptor's fury. Confident she can take down anything the wilderness throws at her, she is committed to survival in the face of the fiercest odds.

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The most powerful memory Robert Hogen and Laura Merrill share is one of smoke. 

Cousins whose families lived together in a ramshackle homestead in the Rockies, they awoke one night to fire and chaos. Merrill stumbled out the door to find Hogen crouched in terror as a screaming figure wreathed in flames shambled off into the woods. They could only watch as fire devoured everything and everyone they knew. 

Trusting no one but each other, they did what they could to establish themselves on the ruins of the homestead. Their efforts seemed doomed to fail. 

The pair were starving when mountain man Thomas Bridge stumbled across their encampment. Taking pity, he stayed with them, fed them, and showed them how to survive in the wild.  

The pair were quick learners, thriving under Bridge’s instruction. He also introduced them to the local Indigenous trappers. When their skill surpassed his, he decided they were ready to survive on their own. They awoke one morning with him gone. 

At first, they thrived, bringing in massive harvests of furs. But other trappers sought to steal the secrets of their rich hunting grounds. Rich men from back east claimed the lands of the forest, sending armed desperados to chase the Trappers out. 

The pair fought back. Still, it almost came as a relief when they got a telegram from Bridge on a trip into town to sell their wares. He had gone to Louisiana to hunt a new kind of prey and needed guns at his back he could trust. In addition, he might have uncovered clues to what happened that fiery night long ago. 

Cashing in what they had caught, the pair set out for the south. They did not know what they would be facing, but they would heed their adoptive father’s call.

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Arsenal

“Open Season” Springfield 1866 Marksman
Gifted by the Mountain Man, this Springfield 1866 Marksman was a lifeline for the Trappers. A long time ago it helped them get back on their feet, and now serves them reliably season after season.

“Trail Marker” Uppercut Precision
The Trappers’ lands were known only to themselves. This Uppercut Precision made short work of interlopers, leaving them as markers for others who would follow a trail of death.

“Hart’s Hope” Regeneration Shot
To an experienced trapper, berries, roots, and leaves are all manner of balms, salves, and remedies. This Regeneration Shot is made to turn the fortunes of those preyed on, to give them hope to shoot back.

Wim Jansen went West to bleed the land dry, but in the end was victim to the frontier’s relentless brutality. Falsely labeled a turncoat after his regiment’s ambush, he wears the title proudly now, captivated by the meridian of blood, mind set only on violence and revenge.

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The sun sets slow westward, blanketing the sky red and drawing the shadows out long on the meridian. Where the land hollows and dries, where undergrowth turns to scrub and dust, linger and traipse the remnants of bloodshed. There are those broken by engines of war and industry in the East, turned to something not quite resembling the human that once was. Faulty mechanisms still ticking, without purpose, working away at redundant tasks.

The Turncoat was one such tool of industry and war. Once broken in, Wim Jansen was given new purpose: guns to kill with and a regiment to kill for. All were sent West to bleed the land dry. But the bloodshed coagulated in Red Cask Gulch, where Jansen lost his colors. The only survivor of an ambush that claimed the lives of his men, Jansen was saved by a flash flood that washed the killing floor downstream, purifying the gulch of slaughter.

Rising from the mud two days later with only the Dolch pair Crossfire and Ambush, an Ammo Box he named for the Gulch, and the tags of his fallen friends, Jansen set off across the plain seeking revenge – only to find himself dubbed a turncoat and a traitor in his absence. After his vengeance was sated, the name stuck, but The Turncoat was already caught on the meridian of blood, and set off along it in pursuit of more violence.

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Arsenal

“Crossfire & Ambush” Dolch 96 Pair
Washed down the gulch in a bracken flash flood, the only weapons The Turncoat could find were a pair of Dolch 96s. Naming them Crossfire and Ambush, they accompanied him ever since, adorned with mementos of his fallen friends.

“Red Cask” Ammo Box
After The Massacre at Red Cask Gulch, The Turncoat carried his few remaining possessions in an old Ammo Box he found there. Now used for ammunition again, its name remains testament to that bloody past, vehicle for that dearly sought revenge.

The horrors of the bayou were no match for Umpire’s Bane, who faced the challenges of the Hunt like every contract was the championship game. The gruesome trophies that now lined his shelf were different than shining brass, but harder earned and more skillfully acquired.

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Arsenal

“Jackal’s Snare” Terminus
Umpire’s Bane snared his rival, a two-toothed pitcher named The Jackal, with a hunting trap hidden on the mound. Then he looses a coyote onto the field to finish the job. He’s incorporated the trap into this Terminus to make it a trophy.

“Sinner’s Hope” Weapon Charm
The occult plays a part in many players’ pregame rituals. Umpire’s Bane hit snakes instead of balls at practice to drench his bat in blood. Sin is always the surest path to victory, and this skull stays tied to his bat to ensure it.

Brutally torn from his old life, Teddy Figueroa forged a new identity after a night of bloody vengeance in the Sonoran Desert. Now known only as Vaquero, he searches for the one man who escaped him, not caring who--or what--gets in his way.

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Arsenal

“Death’s Grin” LeMat Carbine
Easily identifiable by the grinning skull on the stock and the ornate silver decorations it bears, this LeMat Carbine carries with it the shadows of a long-ago slaughter–and it is eager to share them.

“Dying Breath” First Aid Kit
With so much life-saving power in such a small package, this well-traveled First Aid Kit has made the difference between this life and the next for many a grateful Hunter.

“Intricate Demise” Pax Trueshot
Precise in its lethality, this Pax Trueshot has taken more lives than can be counted. Lovingly crafted to make beautiful murders, it is a gunsmith’s masterpiece. To stare down its barrel is to see you own death coming for you.

The Viper: Onset
A body count nearing the hundreds, yet no inkling of a name, face, or even gender. Westerners call this Persian assassin “Viper,” for they’re silent and cunning like the slithering creature, with a poisonous signature move. When they sparked Chary’s interest, their life was bound – or doomed – to change irrevocably.

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The Viper: Rise
The Sinners offered money and favors, but what persuaded the Viper to heed Chary’s call was his promise that their snake Delara would thrive as a result. The Serpent Moon gave Delara renewed strength and the Viper a foreign feeling of hope.

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The Viper: Surge
When the dust settled, the work was done: Delara was safe. The Viper cut allegiance to the man who had risked their lives and tried to move on, but the sting of betrayal remained sharp, driving them to fight – for once, of their own volition.

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The Viper: Frenzy
The Viper uncovered secrets no mortal should know, and instead of succumbing to madness, rose anew. No longer relegated to the shadows, they now follow their own whim. With boundless power and new-found purpose, the Viper stepped further into the Bayou.

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Arsenal

“Slither” Ranger 73 Swift
As a child, sold to a stranger for a few coins, the Viper learned the age-old ways of the assassin. Though most pupils perished before long, the Viper endured, and was given this Ranger 73 Swift to mark the beginning of their solitary journey.

“Snake Oil Ward” Antidote Shot
Delara’s venom provided an inebriating respite whether administered by needle or fang. In order to preserve its antivenom properties, The Viper learned to use it to create this Antidote Shot, a balance between healing and harm, promising relief after a biting sting.

“Snakeshot” Sparks Pistol
The Viper never admitted Delara was dying, instead silently memorializing her in the engravings on this Sparks Pistol. A snake shot demands close range, and an intimacy with death that the Viper craved.

A village of fifty-five set out to slay a mythical doe: ten feet tall with pure white antlers. All returned empty-handed, for a stranger - The Waldmann - carried the prize. He now wears the antlers on his back wherever he goes, for the red stains are not of deer's blood.

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Arsenal

“Loaded Arbor” Frag Bomb
The Waldmann painstakingly fashioned this Frag Bomb using pieces from his old kit of woodworking tools. The final product showed a level of brutality which could only be matched by the level of craftsmanship.

“Myth Killer” Crossbow
The Waldmann knew that killing the legendary doe would take a weapon that was quiet but powerful. Once the deed was done, he adorned this Crossbow with the animal’s pelt, to remind himself of what it was capable of when every second–and sound–counted.

“Tainted Resin” New Army
While The Waldmann was fighting to stay alive in the deep and wicked heart of the woods, this trusted New Army served him well when rate of fire was the difference between life and death.

The Wayfarer rode to Louisiana to face the monsters there, earning her keep along the way. Her tales of exploit and adventure have earned her acclaim, but what few know is that every word is true.

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Arsenal

“The Waxwing” First Aid Kit
Three times, the call of a Waxwing bird alerted the Wayfarer to danger on her journey south. Out of gratitude, she stitched its symbol into her First Aid Kit, to forever ward off death.

The Wayward Helmsman has seen water in all its forms: Surging through coral. Sitting calm in flooded holds. Pouring in squalls over dead men at sea. When he arrived in Louisiana, he drowned his true name and replaced it with a lust for treasure.

Inspired by the healing powers of Voodoo King Doctor John, Cora Beukes became a Voodoo practitioner and was initiated into John's inner circle of devout Hunters.

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The Weird Sister is one of The Bone Doctor’s most faithful followers. Once called Cora Beukes, her visage has been obscured by the markings and talismans that guarantee her safe travel through this world and the next.

Hulda Kronick had little interest in her brother's scheming, but she happily fulfilled her given role in pursuit of honor. Though she held deep respect for fellow warriors, often challenging other Hunters to duels, she was plagued by a far greater, less noble bloodlust.

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Arsenal

“Loki’s Gift” Waxed Dynamite Stick
Many Gods of Asgard are known to grant gifts to their loyal followers. This Waxed Dynamite Stick is unique for two reasons; its explosive power is granted to those who are arrogant before the Gods, and it is likely to betray those who receive them.

Descended from a long line of witch hunters, Circe Elias was raised ready to fight the unknown. When word got to the New York branch of the AHA about Louisiana, Circe knew she needed to go put her lineage and training to work.

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When she was just a little girl, Circe’s grandmother sat her down and told her the history of the Elias family. She told Circe that while many innocent lives were taken in Salem, there was such a thing as a witch. They would parade around in the skins of women and haunt entire towns. They would attract young girls to their side so that when their costumes became too loose with age, they always had something new to slip into. Circe’s grandmother told her that it was the job of the Elias family to find these witches and end them, snuff out every single one until there was nothing but rumor and ash left.

And so, Circe grew into a fine hunter of witches, ripping them out of the skins of their victims and setting them ablaze so they could return to hell. When the witches were gone, or at least in hiding, someone came to the Elias clan to ask them to join a new cause. While the terror was being controlled in New York, Louisiana’s plague was reaching a fever pitch and they needed an Elias for the cause. Her sense of duty and pride in the family name compelled Circe to head to New Orleans and join the Hunt thinking she would be back quickly and praying that her family would be safe until she returned.

For three months Circe Elias took a Berthier improved with the trophies of witches into the bayou and hunted a new type of monster. For three months she wrote back home to check on her family and tell them of all the sights she’d seen. She wrote of the apothecary she visited everyday with old women who would fill her kit with salves and bandages. And most importantly, she wrote that soon she would be coming back home to bring her little sister Thula to New Orleans. Though the witches had disappeared, this new threat was just as important, and the swamps were the perfect place to train.

When Circe finally arrived back home in Salem, she learned an awful truth: The Witches had not disappeared and, worse yet, they had come to her family for revenge. She rushed in only to see the pieces of her mother, father, and brothers. Thula was the only one left, barely alive and skin all gone. Thula only had enough life left to return the Nagant Circe had given her to protect herself and to warn her older sister. The last of the witches had taken Thula’s skin and gone to Louisiana to find Circe.

As Thula took her last breath Circe decided: She’d go back to New Orleans to stay. She’ll continue to hunt the new monsters and wait for the old ones to show up in her sister’s skin. Then she’ll show them pain so unimaginable that her family will smile down at her from heaven.

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Arsenal

“Witch Trial” Berthier 1892 Deadeye
The Elias family made their money hunting witches in Massachusetts. This Berthier Mle 1892 is said to be modified with remnants of the witches they could not burn.

“Sister’s Keeper” Officer
The night Circe left her family, she firmly placed this unfailing Officer in her little sister’s hand and told her to use it if she had to. When Circe came back to get her, it was still clutched in her cold, lifeless fingers.

“Rooted Apothecary” First Aid Kit
Expertly crafted by the medicine women of Louisiana, this First Aid Kit is said to be the best of both ancient and modern medicine.

Worm Bite treads where maggots set their mouths to work in Stillwater Bayou. Each soul he buries is gifted a single bullet. One flash of light. One last chance to strike the darkness in the place it calls home.

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Arsenal

“Pallbearer’s Crutch” Berthier 1892 Marksman
In Worm Bite’s dream there is a coffin, megalithic in size and propped up by weapons alone. He Sees Death standing before the tomb, always in a different form, always leaning on a rifle. This Berthier Mle 92 Marksman is fashioned to steal Death’s crutch away.

Descendant of an ancient line of demon quellers, the man who now calls himself Zhong Kui is associated with the five bats, representing the five fortunes: longevity, wealth, health, virtue and peaceful death. Yet these are not a Hunter's fortune - only death - and the four bats represent the curse - and blessing - of death that awaits Zhong and his companion.

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Zhong Kui is the descendant of long line of demon hunters, historically celebrated on the Chinese New Year as a banisher of malignant spirits.