<img alt="" src="http://i.imgur.com/sT5O2tg.png" style="float:right; padding:6px;"/><span style="font-style: italic">"Run, Asher!"<br/><br/>His mother's dying words spurred him into action.  The image of her lurid murder still burning in his mind, Asher reeled and plunged into the gnarled trees.  Ignoring the clawing branches that angrily whipped at his face, he blindly forced his way through the dark foliage.  A pair of clawed hands grabbed him from behind, attempting to bring him to the ground.  Asher shoved back, struggling to dislodge their hold. He succeeded only in getting more branches to strike him in the face, the leaves blinding him moreso. The attacker attempted to haul him back, and he dug his boots into the ground, gaining purchase on gnarled tree roots.  He twisted and fought frantically, like a wild beast caught in a trap, until he somehow wriggled himself out of it.  Asher gasped, launching himself into the darkness of the thick forest without risking even a glance behind.</span><br/><br/>He woke in a sweat, as if he really had just relived that night.  It was the night he found the Clan.  Brothers and sisters sworn to routing the fetid creatures of the dark, namely vampires.  As luck would have it, or perhaps misfortune, Asher was found at just the right time.  He may have died that night, perhaps in much the same way as his mother.  He hadn't come out of that skirmish without a wound to show for it.  The bearskin linen fell away from his body as he emerged from his bedroll, revealing his bare chest.  A massive scar resided from middle of his chest, over his collarbones and ended on his back, distinctive tooth-shaped imprints scattered along it.<br/><br/>When the Clan found him, Asher was already half-dead, though his mother had suffered the worst of it.  The venom was advancing steadily to his heart.  He was immediately conscripted by the Clan, reversing the deadly venom into a powerful anti-toxin.  He was then given a choice: join them, or die.  Asher had no reason to refuse.  Killing the vampire responsible for his mother's death was all he could think about.  The reason the Clan was so adept at hunting vampires was because of their ability to sense them, and because of their powerful immune system shaped by an almost lethal dose of their own medicine.  Likewise, however, the vampires could sense them as well.  Being immune to their venom only prevented them from turning- the creatures were still very deadly.<br/><br/>It also made them very, very nocturnal.  Asher rose, stretched out his arms, and dropped to the ground for a round of push-ups, grunting with extra effort as his muscles trembled under his weight.  The Clan was very adamant about being ready for anything.  They always slept with a pair of hunting knives that, when struck together just right, would create a spark.  They were useful for not just killing vampires, but starting campfires or even just old fashioned rabbit hunting.  With his morning routine over with, he quickly dressed and made to scout the perimeter.  Asher stuffed the hunting knives into his bootstraps, then picked up his hunting bow and strung it around his torso.  Shouldering his quiver, the lad kicked some loose gravel over what was previously his camp, muffling the scent in case the wind picked up.<br/><br/>Normally they would hunt in teams of three.  After the previous night, however, he expected this to be a solo expedition.  They had followed some hushed rumours of a whole nest of vampires somewhere in the valley.  Problem was, that valley was covered in harsh woodland, and the trees were so dense it was easy to lose your way.  He'd lost contact with his other two hunters, Zaine and Rory, after encountering what he guessed was a patrol.  Asher wasn't certain if they were still alive.  For now, he was totally alone, and had no intentions of going after the nest by himself.  He needed to return to the Clan, and soon.  The forest was cold at night, he'd learned the hard way, and he could already feel himself coming down with fever.  In his weakened state, it would be a simple matter for even a single unmentionable to pick him off like a helpless goat.<br/><br/>"They couldn't stop you, Asher," he told himself, attempting to keep his vigor, "Not without a fight."<br/><br/>Slowly, he trudged on.  It was remarkably unfair how the wood he was currently trying to navigate was a steep uphill slope.  He found himself needing to stop every few minutes, wiping the sweat from his face.  He could still feel the blood dried on his scalp, his once platinum blonde locks taking on a muddy shade.  It wasn't his own.<br/><br/>Exhausted and overexerted, he knelt in front of a great oak tree, his staggered breaths emerging in icy clouds.  It was too damn cold.  Above, Asher heard a startled caw as a dark bird took flight.  It didn't bode well.  Something was coming.  With a start, he pulled his hunting knives and struck them into the trunk of the tree to haul himself to his feet.  He could feel them now.  Three of the monsters closing in on him, without a doubt locked on to his location.  His back pressed against the trunk, Asher readied himself for what might be his final stand.  If he was to die here, he wouldn't go quietly, that he would make damn sure of.