The south of Calpheon was generally known as a place of great danger for travelers. Unless one was a game hunter or a logger, most tended to avoid the towns of Trent and Behr. To the east lay Hex Marie and her undead minons. To the west, a mix of humanoid races so diverse and so close together, that one could place a wager on what creature it would be that killed a particular person on any given trip. By comparison, the stretch between two southern settlements going along the south side of the mountain was tame. The only exceptions came from the local gargoyle population, and when the Cyclops decided to climb down from the mysterious lands to the south and cure the boredom of fighting each other, by making meals of the Crio or smashing wagons to bits to use as clubs in their primitive arms race. Normally, the settlements could ban together with rifle, bow, and steel to deal with any cyclops that ranged too close or caused too much of a problem, but on this occasion, it would seem that a particularly nasty specimen had waged a one creature war and came up victorious against local efforts three times. When times grew dire, and these rare, extreme circumstances prevented daily routines for long enough, outside sources were needed to help deal with the issue. It would just so happen that this time, Trent had sprung for one of the best. Edward Butcher by all accounts didn't strike one as a monster hunter. Most considered him the strikingly handsome sort, with chiseled features and a jaw line that seemed like it could take one of those cyclops clubs to it and never break. It would be the step back from those alluring eyes where the muscular frame and height presented a more formidable aspect to deal with. From head to tie, the man wore a mix of boiled leather armor with light variations of steel beneath here and there. The full length coat of matching, un-boiled fit him just slightly short of tailor length. Though all was well maintained, it showed the signs of it's age in spots with both rub and patch marks from close calls. Each leaving the possibility for a tale more fantastic than the last. The hunter had arrived to little fanfare in the settlement the day prior. The formidable blade sheathed and held in his off hand as he walked about, while his rucksack hung loosely in the other. This had translated into a short meeting with the heads of the settlement and a prompt departure to get things done and return back to civilization. Not because he desired it, mind you, but for the fact that he had a pair of mouths depending on him to bring home enough coin to keep putting food on the table. These hunts were generally long stretches of quiet contemplation, followed by short bursts of intense action. It was during the quiet times that Edward turned his focus back towards those that were hoping and praying he would come home. Though Madison was too young to understand the mortal peril he put himself in every time he picked up the blade, his mother was the type to say prayers to anything that would listen upon his departure. It was for them he took every precaution to come home, for without him, he knew it would be the streets for them, rather than the relative comfort he liked to keep them. "This is a big son of a bitch.." He knelt down, letting his fingers trail through a large foot print even by Cyclops standards. Squatted down near the earth, sheathed sword still carried in hand, Edward sniffed, letting the back of his hand rub over his nose to try and clear away the pungent stench these creatures left behind. Eyes turned skyward towards the sun as it strayed in streams through the gaps. Feeling the spots of warmth touch his face, azure eyes closed in appreciation for even a touch of warmth in this otherwise dim place. When they opened once more, it was with renewed focus. It was time to get to work. Edward took a step deeper into the trees, taking him one step further from the rest of the world he longed to return to.