Ah, now this—this is a tale worth telling. Sit back, pour yourself a glass of something dark and rich, and listen well. For the Red City is not just a place. It is power. It is law. It is the unyielding heart of the DayWalkers, where the most elite among them dwell. It is the city where secrets thrive, legends are forged, the chosen are trained, and justice is swift. This is where the hunt begins.
The Red City: Where the Bounty Hunters Rule
The Red City does not whisper—it roars. It is a fortress sculpted from crimson gemstone, where towers rise like jagged rubies against the night sky, each gleaming with the fire of the DayWalkers who call it home. Streets of garnet, ruby, and gold weave through the city like veins, pulsing with an energy that only the immortal can truly understand. And at its center, where the heartbeat of power thrums strongest, reside the Bounty Hunters.
To the outside world, they are ruthless. To the DayWalkers, they are saviors. To those who have crossed the line, they are death itself.
No NightStalker dares set foot within the Red City. They know better. This is not their playground, not their hunting ground. It is a place where they become prey. It is the only city in all of 4EverMore where they hold no sway, no power, no hope of survival besides Eclipsora. The Red City belongs to the DayWalkers, and within its walls, the Bounty Hunters are higly respected.
The Bounty Hunters: Unchallenged, Unforgiving
To be a Bounty Hunter is to be the blade in the dark, the whisper of doom that follows those who think they can outrun justice. They are the hunters of the immortal world, those who track down the wicked, the betrayers, the ones who think they are untouchable. And they do not fail.
Draped in red, black, and gold, the Bounty Hunters stand apart from all others. Their colors symbolize their devotion—red for the blood they have spilled, black for the shadows they walk within, and gold for the unbreakable bond of their order. They answer to no one but themselves. Their law is their own and absolute. Their will, unshakable.
They are not mere warriors. They are something more. They are those who understand the delicate balance between darkness and light, and they ensure that neither tips too far. In this, the Red City is more than their home—it is their stronghold, their sanctuary, and their kingdom.
Their steeds, crimson as fresh blood, gallop through the streets, their hooves echoing like war drums in the night. These are not ordinary beasts. They are as fierce as their riders, as untamed and relentless. Only a true Bounty Hunter can master them, and only the worthy may ride.
A Sanctuary for the DayWalkers
The Red City is a refuge for all DayWalkers—whether they be Watchmen, Guardians, Warriors, or those who simply seek solace within the walls of their own kind. Here, they are free. Here, they do not hide. The golden gates stand as an unyielding promise: within, they are safe.
But do not mistake safety for peace. The Red City is alive, thrumming with the energy of warriors, magic-wielders, and those who have fought long and hard to carve out this kingdom. The air is thick with power, the streets humming with whispers of new hunts, new threats, new battles yet to be fought.
For the Bounty Hunters, rest is a fleeting thing. Even within the sanctuary of their home, the hunt never truly ends.
The Hunters and Their Prey
There is no limit to the quarry they pursue. Some crimes are written in blood, others in betrayal. But all will answer for their deeds. The Bounty Hunters do not discriminate when it comes to justice. They hunt all who deserve to be hunted.
- Fugitive Vampires: NightStalkers who have turned against their own, seeking forbidden power or fleeing the wrath of their own kind.
- Forbidden Creatures: Nightstalkers Dragons, shape-shifters, and other beings of untold power who threaten the balance of the realm.
- Traitors of the DayWalkers: Even among the immortal guardians, there are those who have turned their backs on their own.
For each, the Bounty Hunters have a method. Stealth. Tracking magic. Blades forged from celestial fire. No fugitive is too powerful, no enemy too cunning. They have ways of finding even the most elusive prey, and when the hunt begins, there is no escape.
The Kings of the Hunt: Lysander and Erik
Among them, two names are spoken with equal parts reverence and fear: Lysander and Erik.
Lysander, the King of Shadows, is more myth than man. Some say his sword was forged from the heart of a dying star, that its blade hums with a hunger of its own. Others whisper that his eyes—piercing, all-seeing—can strip away any lie, revealing truth in its rawest form. What is certain is this: when Lysander gives chase, there is no hope of evasion. His magic is light and darkness itself, slipping through the cracks of the world, dragging the guilty into the abyss.
Then there is Erik, husband to Seraphina Nightshade, a man who does not simply chase criminals—he understands them. He reads their movements, their fears, the very breath in their lungs. To him, tracking is not a skill. It is instinct. He does not merely find his prey. He knows them. And that is far, far worse.
Together, they lead the Bounty Hunters through the most perilous hunts of all.
Through the endless night, through the silent forests, through the veiled realms where secrets are currency and power shifts like the tide. They are relentless.
They are not the law they’re something far more dangerous, far more final. They don’t meddle in everyday squabbles, and when they arrive, it’s because the situation has escalated beyond redemption. And they will not rest until justice is served.
They don’t meddle in everyday squabbles, and when they appear, it’s because the situation has escalated beyond redemption.
They’re not mercanaries, but they are the whispered name in the dark, the last resort when all else has failed. Their presence alone sends a chill through even the most hardened immortals, not out of mindless fear, but out of respect—because if they’ve been called, it means someone has already crossed a line that cannot be undone.
They aren’t executioners, but they also aren’t merciful arbitrators. They are the force that keeps the delicate balance of power intact, the ones who clean up the messes no one else can.
Meanwhile The Red City stands, unyielding, bathed in its eternal crimson glow. The horses gallop. The shadows stretch long. And somewhere, in the distant reaches of the realm, a fugitive runs—knowing full well that the hunt has already begun and will not end well.
They will be found. They will be caught.
And in the Red City, the Bounty Hunters will make sure they never run again.
Welcome to the Red City. You either belong here… or you run. And if you run? Good luck.
