Post-war syndrome We have a new breed of exiles these days. Strange ones, bewildered ones. They run around the land with a somewhat haunted look in their eyes. If you stop them and try to talk, their eyes is always wandering, their body in motion still. You will not get many words out of these exiles, their mind is set on one thing, and one thing alone. Kill beasts their eyes say. Die foul critters their hands say.Train me! they yell to the trainers in the guild. They are everywhere. In the mountains, beaches, forests and caves. Waving and yelling a greeting as they pass you running. Ocassionally a short stop to exchange a few words, only to fly off in a hurry to fight that little rat that appeared. They hunt alone, almost always alone, wearing out shoe after shoe in the neverending hunt for critters. Always on route to a place, a hunting ground. Dodging beasts they cannot kill yet, while whacking at those they can. And when they are all bleeding and wounded, they will sometimes drop by town square for a quick heal. But dont´t think they are approachable there either. As you manage to form your question or greeting, they are already long gone. And I am one of them. If you meet me in the forest or near the lake, do try to greet me- please. Give me a blessing on the way. I know someday this obsession will wear off, and I will awake and be able to breath the fresh morning air in the meadow, while standing still. Until then, Greetings and farewell... A rat! Die foul beast! /action runs off into the forests Babajaga Vanimalda, the Fleet