Entry 1 - Introduction
Chronicler - Jeremiah Alexander Giles the 3rd
Date - 21 December, 16XX
These are the logs for which I, Jeremiah Alexander Giles the 3rd, have been entrusted by the Hunter's Guild to take note and chronicle the events of any Guild regulatory hunt. As this is going on record, all chronicled hunts are to be viewed by guild representatives to asses the valor of any hunter currently in conract for hunt. Any misdemeanor or trouble caused will be noted on said chronicling.
Aside from all that, I may add that unlike my associates who find comfort in the balloons patrolling the hunting grounds, I myself prefer to take a more direct route to get the full knowledge of the hunt. As being a hunter once myself, I realize that the only true fire way of getting one's knowledge, is through direct confrontation.
Well, as expected for a new chronicler. A gathering quest. As pressumed, it is my job to make sure this ragb tag of hunters pla by the book. When I say "By the Book", I'm referring to the Guild's set guidelines for any quest taken. I know this almost far too well.
My name is Jeremiah Alexander Giles the 3rd. I am heir to a very small, and poor, family. We have no history, nor do we have connection with any royatly or lords or ladies. Not even a jester do we relate to. With me, my family seemed utterly bleak and pointless. I chose differently.
I chose what most chose in our time. Hunting. In my years of the art, I found a particular fondness to the exact movement and natures of a beast. I myself am a pacifist. After my first kill, which was quite traumatic, I chouse to instead focusn on non-lethal methods. Traps, flash grenades, tranqualizer bombs. I would not dirty my hand.
I had partaken in the sword and shield class of weapons. It was weak. It was strong. It was an art I took a love in. I would barely touch the thing, however. I toom whatever capture quest I could, and I would succeed without fail. However, this was only because of the hunters I had grown attatched too. They were all dead now. How I missed them.
After their deaths, I decided to retire. I was in my mid fourties. A beautiful wife, three children. It was the perfect time. But I couldn't get away. I chose my current occupation because of how close to the hunt I would get. The thrill, the danger. I have yet to be assigned a party of hunters to chronicle, but with whatever will come my way, I will be able to profit my family.
We live in Minegarde Town. It is nice. Calm. My work will surely take me away, but the time I spend here will be most greatful. My employers will surely send me to one of the many outposts within the region. Dondruma. Loc Loc. Even Mezoporta, one of the largest outposts in the land. However, if there were any area I would love to visit, it would be the Kokoto area.
Kokoto and I share a certain history, I remember a fool hardy hunter coming into town as our new "savior". Epsilon was his name. Killed by the Rathalos that plagued us. Two other hunters lived within the village. I forgot whatever happened to them. Oh well.
Aside from all my banter, I am confident in my employment within the guild's chronicling service. To take further precautions, unlike what my associates would, I've chosen to, when I get the chance, converse with the hunters. Asses their skills from what I see and know of them. I have also chosen to bring guild appropriated gear to eansure my own survival.
A final note goes out to a young friend of mine; Taking a high rolling chance in an all out game of life and death can either win big or lose large.