Hunter-scholar (Camp Bronze Lake)
Hunter-scholar
- Gender
- Male ♂
- Race
- Roegadyn (Sea Wolves)
- Profession
- Hunter-scholar
- Zone
- Upper La Noscea (29.8,23.1)
“Oi, you! What's your business here? Best get out of here unless you're one of 'em adventurers huntin' elite marks.
— In-game description
Hunter-scholar is a Roegadyn found in Upper La Noscea.
Dialogue
What do yo do here?
The keeper of peace 'round these parts is what I am, young'un. I was huntin' when you were still mistakin' your pants for the privy. Any adventurer huntin' an elite mark is welcome to what I know. Ask away─I'll teach you about any mark you're keen on. Hunt well, and you'll be rewarded well. There's a bounty on them marks, payable in Allied Seals straight from the Eorzean Alliance. Now, don't you go thinkin' this is like huntin' regular marks. Elite marks are ranked─that's how dangerous these beasties get. I learn it like B for bloody, A for awful, S for “Save me, Llymlaen!” You'll need Her help findin' a rank S mark, too. Damn things are stealthy.
Tell me about the rank B elite mark. (Myradrosh)
The nectar-eaters of Eorzea are partial to blooms of different hues. Red flowers such as Oschon roselles and raincatchers are the preferred feed of colibri. Being one such bird, Myradrosh became so fixated on that hue that it now sups from the reddest flower of them all─the still-warm flesh of other birds, beasts, and men.
Tell me about the rank A elite mark. (Marberry)
Of the scores of thaumaturges lost questing for the Wanderer's Palace, Maruta Noruta was perhaps the least remarkable. Aside from the Lalafellin adventurer's singular yet unflattering hat, little of him is remembered. It is likely he would have been entirely forgot were it not for the fact that his hat resurfaced soon after, upon the head of a tonberry painting the shores of Bronze Lake with the blood of adventurers.
Tell me about the rank S elite mark. (Nandi)
Called the Critic by cowering locals, Nandi uses its petrifying gaze to turn passing creatures into works of art for its perverse pleasure alone. Ever has this catoblepas haunted the mountains of Vylbrand, yoked by the weight of its gross head, prodding the stone paths conjured by its downcast eyes. Nothin' so dangerous as a stillborn artist, they say. Don't you go temptin' the wretch with good material, if you know what I'm sayin'.