The recently formed hunter cell has gathered in the great hall, ready to select a monster from the bestiary book to go and hunt for fun and profit.  Should they succeed, the tales of their victory will titilate the high society membership of Ashwood Abbey, and earn them promotions and ritch rewards, not to mention the incredible pleasure of the hunt itself.  Should they fail, they'll at least be garunteed an exciting and horrible death.  And isn't that much better than just sitting around waiting for the grim reaper to catch up to you?<br/><br/>Amelia Gallant, one of the caretakers of the clubhouse, waits patiently by the book, interested in hearing the discussion of which monster to go after, and offering advice.  She's a good looking woman in her late 30s, wearing a fur coat with a short black dress, smoking a cigerette and looking fabulous in her long, curly black hair.  If it weren't for the scars on her arms and legs, she'd look just like a 1930s sex symbol come to life.<br/><br/>Some honky tonk jazz plays on a record player on the far end of the hall, while flickering candles provide an amber glow to the proceedings.  A clever individual might notice that carefully placed lighting helps to give clear illumination, and that the sound of rain pattering against the ground is a result of well hidden speakers.  Either way, Mr. Slappy certainly does look pretty menacing up there.  They even left his pants on this time.