I wouldn't, as Uncle described, call myself a 'woodsman'- mostly because I get the mental picture of a lot of the other hunters around Ost- huge, barrel-chested, stinking like the animals they're after, and above all other charming features, stupid. I know that sounds harsh, but I'm sure you know the type- they rely on their muscle so much their brains have started to deflate.
Anyway, how I would describe what I do- I am a "Containment and Elimination Specialist", or to use a more common phrase, "bounty hunter". When things go bump in the night and the peasants flee in terror from something apparently all of them assume can breath fire (nearly always not the case, but try explaining that to a blithering gourd-farmer), they post a bounty on the nearest service board, and I pick it up. I then go to work applying my numerous, specialized skills (both of the practical outdoorsy type and the runecraft and elemental science I've developed thanks to Uncle) and bag the monster before it carries off any more sheep. I sell my services to whomever can pay and several who can barter and make a pretty good living for myself.
Other than that, I mostly help Uncle- he doesn't get out much, so he sends me off to get this or that for experiments. He's raised me like a son after my mother died when I was born. In case you're wondering, my father, whoever he is (and I don't particularly care) popped off and left me to starve alone in this drafty old lodge. I also practice falconry with my golden eagle, Liv- but more about her later.
Well I think that's enough for now- Uncle Igmar is bugging me to use the "Paradox-Space Script Viewer". I think he means this thing.
