These stories first appeared in Hunt's Book of Weapons, an in-game collection of found documents curated by an unknown researcher. They are replicated here in their original format. This means that many of the stories are not presented chronologically, or in one grouping, and it is left to the reader to put together the puzzle pieces and determine to what extent they contain fact, fiction, or fable.

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Hunting Bow

HUNTING BOW (See also, ARCHERY, BOW AND ARROW) is an instrument of hunting and ranged warfare intensively used for both purposes throughout the history of man. Although the size and shape can vary, a bow essentially consists of a precisely shaped stave that is bent when a string attached to its both ends is drawn back, producing enough tension to propel an arrow anywhere from fifteen to three hundred yards away.

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Anonymous (Ms. Nellie?)
Letter on rough paper, slightly worn

October 18, 1895

If you found this letter, you're probably curious about what you just found here buried in the dirt. Round three feet under the earth you will find the body of Francis LeRoux, the Peacock of the Bayou as they called him. I am the one that put him there and this letter acts as my confession, but I will not be taken in for the crime.

Mr. LeRoux was a man of many talents. Could charm a snake into eating his own tail if he had the time. His only flaw was that he got bored easily. Even with all the monsters in the world you could fight out in the bayou he wanted more. I suppose that's why he bought me, wanted a young colored girl to raise up and train just right. Can't say it was all bad since he clothed and fed me. Even taught me how to read and write, something my parents never got to do. But I wasn't ready for the hunt, and I honestly still don't think I am. You have to be a special kind of person to see what goes on out here and Mr. LeRoux was hellbent on making me into one.

After a few months I got the hang of it. Mr. LeRoux gave me all types of weapons to use against the demons in the swamp, but I liked the bows best. I liked the sound of the arrow going into something.

It sounded just as good going into him.

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Anonymous (Ms. Nellie?)
Letter on rough paper, slightly worn

October 18, 1895

I suppose it was only a matter of time until Mr. LeRoux got bored of me just like he did everything else. Could have been simple, could have just told me it was time to part ways and left it at that. Instead, he told me that he got us a job up in Stillwater that needed doing. When we got there, he got out of my sight just long enough to set down a bear trap for me to walk into.

Bastard took everything of value off me and made sure I had nothing to defend myself with before he walked away. I screamed after him, asked him why he was doing this to me, but he just tipped his hat at me before the Grunts appeared.

The only thing I had to fight off those monsters were my fists and an arrow that Mr. LeRoux didn't notice me holding. It felt like days going between getting my leg out of that trap and fighting off everything that was coming at me. But he taught me well. Taught me how to survive in this hell and so now seven more of the damned and most of my leg were dead in the swamp. I dragged myself into a little shack where I let the pain take me. I passed out, and when I came to the pain had mixed with anger and I made a vow to myself.

Francis LeRoux would pay for what he'd done.

Hunting Bow Poison Arrows

RN: The Peacock of the Bayou, Francis LeRoux. He sure stood out—you'd think that worked against his notoriety and success as a Hunter. So his name does crop up, here and there. He had a silver tongue, but surely turned out to be toxic to those close to him. Perhaps his bright dress was not anything like a peacock—rather like a snake, warning about his poison.

Hunting Bow Concertina Arrows

RN: It's not clear how many LeRoux got tangled up in his schemes. One thing that's for certain: getting caught in that briar was a near death sentence. They had a way of catching and snaring, wearing people down. Perhaps it was a cruel lack of irony that meant his showmanship was not his downfall.

Hunting Bow Frag Arrows

RN: Sometimes, some small action of insignificance has the consequence of blowing up somewhere down the line. The spark that ignites the powder. LeRoux, it seemed, did not ponder the trail of sparks he left behind him, sparks that turned into the blast of Ms. Nellie.

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