La forêt se sentait calme. La neige, bien que lourde, ne le ralentissait que légèrement alors qu'il poussait à travers les bois. C'était sympa d'être loin de la société. Il pourrait être qui il était, et ne pas avoir à esquiver des questions ou à inventer des mensonges et des excuses. William était une âme libre ici. La nature n'était cependant pas une place pour l'homme commun, et quelque chose qu'il venait apprendre très vite en tant que jeune chasseur. L'homme n'était pas toujours le prédateur supérieur, et cela était particulièrement évident lorsque des créations étaient impliquées. Ils avaient l'esprit d'un humain, avec l'instinct d'une bête combinée. Pour certains, ils étaient encore plus bêtes que l'homme..
William s'arrêta, et se pencha contre un arbre. Un court repos était prévu pour le chasseur qui faisait de la randonnée depuis un certain temps déjà. Il entra dans son manteau, et sortit une petite fiole métallique. Enlevant la casquette, il versa son contenu dans sa bouche, sentant la brûlure de whisky alors qu'il descendait dans sa gorge. Avec un soupir, il glisse sa fiole dans son manteau et continue vers l'avant. Il n'a pas fallu longtemps pour qu'il s'arrête. A côté de son pied, il semblait y avoir des indentations dans la neige. Le chasseur s'est agenouillé à côté d'eux, leur donnant un regard de plus près. C'était des pistes, mais pas n'importe quelle piste. Des traces de loup. Le chasseur gronda, levant les yeux sur les empreintes, et examina son environnement plus loin. Il était possible qu'ils puissent juste être de loups, mais des années de chasse étaient des bêtes l'avaient fait se méfier de douter de ses pires attentes.
Le chasseur marcha vers lui, suivant le sentier que ces traces de loup lui avaient laissé. Curieusement, il a scanné son environnement, et a gardé une main sur l'un de ses revolvers holstered juste au cas où. Il a traîné dans les bois, mais pas en silence. La chaîne de son bouclier s'enlisait encore avec chaque mouvement qu'il faisait, ses pieds se creusant à chaque pas à travers la neige. Finalement, il est arrivé à une clairière, s'arrêtant au bord des bois, où il a vu une maison. Il ne voyait pas grand-chose de son côté de la maison, mais les traces l'y avaient conduit. Il s'est agenouillé avec un grognement et a commencé à regarder la structure.
William "Captain" Hendrick
Age:36
Gender:Male
Sexual Preference:Hetero
Human or Werewolf: Human Hunter

Appearance: Standing tall at 6'1 with a very built figure, William has a well trimmed mustache, and keeps his dark brown hair short and neatly tucked under his hat. His face appears worn, almost as if it had aged faster than it should have. His tired looking eyes, which some mistook that as a sign that he's exhausted, are a pale green in color.
Strengths:
+Strong
+Fearless
+Good Swimmer
Weaknesses:
-Mentally Scarred
-Slow Runner
-Stubborn
Personality:William is rather level headed and understanding towards people and beasts alike. However, he can come off as distant at odd times, but still intend to mean well. On a good day, he's rather talkative with strangers, and somewhat sarcastic at times as well. He can be rather courageous, and willing to go out of his way to help others if he feels they need it. On a bad day however, you may find that William will generally keep to himself and his whiskey, and spend hours reflecting on his life.
History:William Hendrick comes from a proud line of werewolf hunters. His father was a hunter, and his father's father, and so on. Specialized weapons had been crafted by some of his ancestors to aid the family line in their task of protecting humans from werewolves and other terrible night creatures. Most of his childhood was about trying to live a normal life, and keeping his hunter background a secret. His father taught him how to defend himself, and all the different techniques necessary in surviving an encounter with a werewolf. William slew his first werewolf when we was nineteen. The experience was invigorating, but it was something he didn't quite enjoy. He met a girl, whom later became his wife and moved down to the coast, where he spent his free time sailing on his sailboat. This hobby of his gained him his self appointed nickname "Captain." Though his background was surely going to bring trouble to his decent life, and it did. His wife was slaughtered by an aggressive pack of werewolves that lived in the area. When he discovered this, he was devastated, and filled with rage. William tracked the beasts, systematically slaying the ones he could find. Though he would encounter a rare few, that feared him more than man feared them. The cowardly ones, those that weren't out for blood, he would lower his guns and spare their lives. Eventually William felt it best to move on, and he wandered across North America, only stopping where he saw there were clear signs of werewolf activity. A year has passed since his wife's death, and he finds himself now in the Colorado Mountains, in a town called Odessa where he rented himself a motel room to rest up and get off the road for a short while..
Other: Wielding dual .44 revolvers, loaded with silver bullets, William delivers punishment to the werewolves he encounters. His arsenal however does not stop there however. Forged many years ago is a family heirloom that his father passed onto him. A shield attached by a chain to a wrist mounted device, weighs heavily on his left arm, but has protected him from many devastating blows. With this device, he can trigger blades inside the shield to extend outward, and chuck his shield towards his prey, and retract it with the chain. Whenever this shield is with him, or resting on his back, there is a distinct sound of a chain rattling lightly with each step he takes.
Other than that, he enjoys sailing, drinking, and finding new ways to kill night creatures.