Physical Description: Height. Weight. Hair colour. The usual.
Age:
Relationship with Hildon: Are you a local? A visitor? Do you have any connections to the reservation?
Occupation: What did you do, before the snow came down?
Useful Supplies: Between one to three items likely to assist you in this suddenly-frigid town. If you're unsure of what counts, ask me. Sample items might be winter clothing, firearms and cross-country skis.
Backstory: What brings you to Hildon, if you're an out-of-towner? How long have you lived here if you're a local? Has anything interesting happened in your life so far?

For a town of less than 5,000 people, Hildon actually maintains quite a few different locations of note.

Haggarty's Clinic:
A need to rapidly treat winter sporting injuries has kept Haggarty's in business for close to thirty years. John Haggarty, the founder, still works there to this day, alongside his wife Melinda and his daughter Alice. Haggarty's is well equipped to handle almost anything that can happen on the slopes or the hiking trail, up to and including a bear attack, as rare as those are. The unusual cold has had them treating multiple cases of frostbite.

Exxon Station:
Gas and diesel. There was a convenience store here too, but it's been stripped barren by panic buying. You'd be lucky to find a lollipop here, let alone anything actually worth eating. Has a specialised area around the back for snowmobiles, which has astonished staff by seeing use in the middle of July.

Jeremy's Groceries:
Jeremy Shaw's own business, fifty-six years in the running. Despite being in his seventies, Jeremy still mans the cash register four days a week, although lately he's taken to hiring local teens to do a lot of the work for him. The store has been cleaned out- their delivery on the 22nd was cleaned out less than an hour after the delivery van pulled up. The only thing left to be bought here is coffee, which there is ample of because nobody who has spent any amount of time in Hildon is foolish enough to drink Jeremy's coffee.

Gentle Winter Bed and Breakfast:
Gentle Winter's now rather ironic name implies a smaller business than it really is. Originally a revolutionary war era stable, the place has been built up and renovated several times into its current state. The Gentle Winter is the only place for out-of-towners to stay within Hildon, and has twenty-nine rooms. Recently came under the ownership of Max and Emerald Beech. The Gentle Winter is honouring previously made bookings with their usual catering fair and dinners for the same price, but has stopped serving lunch and has dramatically increased the price for dinner for non-guests.

Hampshire Hiking, Skiing and Sporting:
The premiere sporting goods shop in Hildon, fully outfitted with all your summer sport needs! Hiking shoes! Moisture-wicking shirts! Sunglasses! Hiking poles! Unfortunately for everyone involved, it sold off all of its winter equipment in its end-of-season sale back in April. All that's left were a few ancient jackets and socks, which the staff took first dibs on. Any item that might have been remotely useful in the cold have also sold out almost immediately.

Hildon School
Exactly what it says on the tin. School's out for summer.

Sherriff’s Office:
Sherriff Tina Mercer and Deputy Walter Grey do their business here, in the sheriff’s office. Relatively unremarkable, with several offices, three cells, a cupboard-sized armoury and a fleet containing two ten-year-old trucks.

Ranger Station Sequoia:
Halfway between Hildon and the Little Lake Reservation squats Ranger Station Sequoia. The rangers haven't been seen for several days, but considering their training, experience and vehicles, they're likely the best equipped to weather the storm.

Little Lake Reservation:
A Wabanaki Confederacy reservation populated by Algonquian-speaking Native Americans. There is also a small Iroquois presence in the area, largely distinct from the Wabanaki groups: a sure way to annoy everyone is to conflate the two. The reservation was suffering tremendously even before the credit crunch, and in the global economic catastrophe that followed, only fell further. Although the recent disappearance of Nittawosew has caused the community to isolate itself further, few outsiders visiting were welcome prior.

Physical Description: Hattie seems like a lot of woman in a small package. No more than 5'5", lean and lively, with skin that has refused to wrinkle but learned to crease. Her expression makes it clear that she has had enough nonsense for one lifetime. Her hair was fly-away black, now with some fly-away grey. It flutters everywhere as she moves around purposefully, never still for long.

Age: 62

Relationship with Hildon: Hattie was born and raised in Hildon, daughter of a long-haul truck driver and a long-suffering mother. She went to college to become a nurse but ended up with an MRS degree, married to a doctor. She moved down south, down to the big city, and worked as a nurse and a wife. She turned out to be better at the first than the second.

No one in Hildon is sure what happened, but one day Hattie came back. She was using her birth name instead of her married name and she had a strip of pale skin around her ring finger. She also must have had a wicked divorce settlement, because she bought the house she grew up in, renovated it and installed a kennel. She owns the surrounding bit of woods and keeps to herself.

Now she's something of a recluse. She's technically retired, but constitutionally incapable of relaxing. She volunteers at the Haggarty Clinic during the peak season. She breeds hunting dogs, harvests maple trees on her property, and sews clothing out of deerskin to sell on Etsy. She buys tanned deerskins from the reservation and has a cordial relationship with several members.

Occupation: Hattie is a nurse. She's a bit out of practice but she can still handle first aid and she keeps all her certifications up-to-date. Most of her money seems to come from her ex-husband; either from a divorce settlement or blackmail, the rumors disagree. She makes a bit through her hobbies, but most of that gets funneled into new hobbies.

Useful Supplies:

Dogs. She has just sold off her latest litter of pups, so she only has four full-grown Brittanys. Good all-around bird dogs.

Snowshoes, poles and other snowgear for harvesting maple sap.

Basic medical supplies

Backstory: Hattie lived in Hildon until she was 19, moved away, and moved back when she was 50. She was a nurse in a big city hospital for 20 years and saw some serious crap in her time. She soldiered through a marriage with an unfaithful husband for an equal amount of time before finally decided to quit both. Her father died in a truck roll-over. Hattie moved her mother into a retirement home near the city until she died as well.

Physical Description: Miriam is light-skinned, about 5'4" tall, and weighs 120 lbs. Her hair runs down her back in an elegant brown curtain, and her eyes are hazel in tone. Her usual clothing includes fairly decorative shirts, stretchy jeans, and most of the time a thick puffy pink coat, especially with the decreasing temperature of the town.

Age: 23

Relationship with Hildon: Miriam is an out-of-towner, somebody who heard about Hildon's quiet, unassuming atmosphere, and visited the town to gain inspiration for her next book, for she is...

Occupation: A writer! More specifically, she is a semi-professional novellist with the one book under her belt to date: Holding Down the Light, an adventure novel about a woman gathering allies from across the lands to deal with a great threat, and in turn making those allies into unexpected friends. She hopes Hildon will help her gather more insight into small-town life, and thus grant an idea of how to base a tale within the borders of a similar town in her writing.

Useful Supplies: -Pepper spray, for self-defense
-Bersa Thunder 380CC, a concealed carry pistol with a magazine loaded and one spare, for when the pepper spray doesn't work or is simply unavailable
-Big puffy pink coat, kind of a personal effect she enjoys, but perhaps the only thing keeping her from freezing in current temperatures

Backstory: Miriam's life has been fairly plain - no overly-destructive family members or anything, but born in an area with a lot of interesting stories to tell. Her home city of San Francisco was highly multi-cultural, especially for the United States, and simply by looking around, one could find all sorts of people to talk with about all kinds of things! One of her favourite people was a homeless man named Joshua, who had tried and failed to write several books, falling on hard times until he was living under bridges. A tragedy, but Miriam made firm friends with him as a teenage girl, and with her help over many years managed to get him back into an apartment and back into writing, be it for himself or for an audience.

This proved something to her: anyone could succeed with the right support, and anyone could be brought back to their feet in the same way. Inspired to become a writer, both by her experiences with the populace and by Joshua's tale specifically, she authored her first book at 22, an adventure novel called Holding Down the Light, to reasonable enough success. Seeking further inspiration, she has come to the small town of Hildon to see what might inspire her next... the inspiration in question is probably not the sort she was expecting, however.

Physical Description: Standing at 5'6, Angela is of slightly above-average height for a female. She is proportional in weight as she works out on a regular basis and enjoys remaining toned. A short-haired brunette with same color eyes, Angela, in her own words, describes herself as unremarkable and she admittedly does not stand out in a crowd. She doesn't have any piercings nor tattoos...yet.

Age: 30

Relationship with Hildon: She’s a visitor tying up loose ends. Having previously been in Hildon a few times in the past when her late grandmother on her mother’s side was alive, Angela is now in town to pick up some belongings left behind by her uncle who moved away after his mother passed.

Occupation: Police Officer

Useful Supplies:
1. A thick, warm coat because goodness knows a Florida girl won’t survive without it.
2. Matches.
3. A multi-tool.

Backstory: Born and raised in Key West, Florida, Angela has never ventured too far from home save for the four years spent away at college. She was born an only child to Mary Winston, a pediatric nurse, and Robert Garcia, Chief of Police. Money was never an issue for the small family of three, but that didn’t mean they didn't have their demons lingering around.

Despite the fact that Angela was for the most part a good kid, she'd often get beat for her wrongdoings. The punishment would start out as yelling and scolding until her father would reach for a belt. Even though that was the extent of her punishments, she still hated him for it. Angela always dreamed of becoming a police officer and she told herself she wouldn't be anything like her father. When she met the age requirement, Angela applied, was put through the academy, and eventually she was on the road as a rookie. With her father being the Key West Chief of Police, Angela hasn't had it at all easy and has limited their interactions strictly to business matters.

Physical Description: Ben stands around 4'12 and thin.

Age: 17

Relationship with Hildon: Been a local since he and his family moving to Hildon years ago

Occupation: Student of Hildon School

Useful Supplies:
Flashlight
Skis Boots
Gray puffy jacket

Backstory: Ben Ruiz and his sister, Luna Ruiz, were born and raised in a small neighborhood around Texas with their mother and father and all four of them have a pretty normal life. With Luna being a good child to his parents and being a good student towards the teachers, it didn't take long for Ben to get into a bad crowd, you know, doing bad things, getting into detention, just being a bad kid and stuff.

That all changes however, when Ben and Luna's father and mother start to feel the neighborhood is getting too dangerous, so they think it is for the best if all of them move out of the neighborhood and find a safe and peaceful town, a town called Westcliffe. While Luna is ready to get out of that neighborhood, Ben however wasn't sure that neighborhood wasn't perfect but it was his home, he has friends and memories there, he wasn't ready to say goodbye to his old life.

Years after the Ruiz move into Hildon, Ben still acts like the bad kid back from his neighborhood, still walks in the bad crowd, still doing bad things like getting into fights, skipping class and getting into detention, he wants everyone in town to know that he is a troublemaker.

Physical Description:

Bruce stands at 5'10 and 175 lbs. His build is athletic but not bulky or super muscular. He has trimmed but slightly unkempt brown hair and a highly groomed beard that he takes a lot of pride in. His eyes are hazel and the left side of has several long scars across his cheek. He typically wears plain and warm clothing with some jewelry here and there. He has assorted tattoos down his arms and on his chest.

Age: 25
Relationship with Hildon:

Bruce was born in Hildon and went to school there before joining the army to go fight people he knew nothing about. If you'd ask him now, he'd say he couldn't even remember why he did it. When his contract was up he came back to Hildon, a different man than the one that left...

Occupation:

Officially? Bruce is listed as a tour guide. Which isn't untrue, he does give tours to people visiting the area. Only problem is Hildon isn't exactly a bustling center of commerce so Bruce turned his eye to...other methods of making money. Poaching, running and trading supplies for the black market all around New Hampshire and farther up the east coast, even working security for a few less than savory deals. His "business" takes him out of town quite a bit. He's only been back for two years but he's made a lot of connections and a decent amount of cash in that time. Which is why this blizzard is particularly vexing.

Useful Supplies:

Cold Weather Outfit: Being that a lot of his work takes him into the wilderness, Bruce is well acclimatized and wears a warm but mobile outfit. Nothing like the big, lumbering marshmallows that visit here.

Hatchet: A custom made hatchet that Bruce uses for a multitude of things. He never goes anywhere without it.

Backpack with first aid kit: Never know what kind of trouble you're gonna get into, especially if you're Bruce Baker, so best to be prepared.

Backstory:

Bruce was born on July 5th, 1984 in Hildon, NH. His father was a ranger and his mother a nurse at the local hospital. The two didn't exactly get along and Bruce grew up in an explosive family environment until they finally divorced when he was 13. During that time, he tried to get out of the house as much as possible. He ran with the other poor or neglected kids, a combination of natives, trailer trash, and miscreants. Though Bruce was smart, he always struggled in school and he would much rather skip classes and tear the town up than sit in Algebra 2. But around his junior year, he realized that if he didn't pass highschool on time, he would have a tough future. So he put his head down and grinded classes out and was able to graduate in 2001.

Then 9/11 happened.

Bruce felt the collective rage of America and wanted to do something about it. But more than that he wanted to get the hell out of Hildon. Though he graduated his GPA was low and he didn't want to think about how he was gonna get into college. So he enlisted in 2002 and was on a bird to Afghanistan by the end of the year. His story in the army was the same as the other thousands of soldiers who went into that part of the world, ignorant of people and culture and ignorant of their own leader's intentions but ready to kill nonetheless. The experience gave Bruce some needed perspective and when he was able to visit his Hildon on leave, he found he enjoyed the experience. But he wasn't ready to truly return home. Not yet. He deployed to Afghanistan twice. He returned early on his second deployment, after narrowly avoiding death by a grenade that still shredded up the left side of his face.

After that, he was ready to return to Hildon. Bruce rolled back into town in 2007, five years after he left. And Hildon was the same as ever. He supposed small towns never really changed...

Physical Description: At 157cm and 55kg with long, wavy black hair, Hanako Kurosawa would be entirely unremarkable were it not for her disposition and manner of dress. She wears a slightly oversized leather jacket with her band’s name and logo emblazoned on the front in white. Underneath are myriad tattoos acquired before her band’s breakup, and minor scars and burns from time spent working odd jobs before the band.
Age: 25

Relationship with Hildon: Almost none. Hanako has followed the trail of breadcrumbs about the whereabouts of her father to the town - and run out of leads. She has remained within the town for some time, trying to track down someone, anyone who can put her back on his tail.

Occupation: Unemployed. Formerly lead vocalist and additional guitarist of the underground metal band Flaming Hot Death Cocks until the band’s breakup, continued solo for a time.

Useful Supplies:

• Glock 20, plenty of spare ammunition
• 1000 Lumen tactical flashlight with swappable batteries.
• Stockpile of non-perishable foods within her van.
• A large military surplus backpack and thick warm clothes.

Less-Useful Supplies:

• Bass guitar and equipment.
• Personal massager
• A spare leather jacket.
• A small collection of American liquors.
• A pair of aviator sunglasses.
• A laptop with thousands of hours of music.

Backstory: Hanako Kurosawa was born in 1984 in Osaka, Japan. Her mother, Fumiko Kurosawa, was a student in her final year of college, and her father an unknown American tourist, whose name her mother never knew. Hanako never asked, nor received, specific details beyond that her ‘father’ had sabotaged the condom, before disappearing the next day. Barred from getting an abortion by strict, conservatively minded parents, Fumiko did her best to conceal the pregnancy and child, but struggled to make ends meet as a single parent. She found finding meaningful employment difficult, despite her excellent grades and promising performance. As a result, young Hanako grew up in difficult circumstances. Her grades were poor, and her attitude even worse. Her mother tried to love her, and did the best she could for her daughter, but the bond between parent and child never truly blossomed.

Hanako failed entrance exams to college, to the surprise of almost nobody and the disgust of her grandparents. She quickly fell into bad habits, working in porn on the weekends and underpaid, shitty jobs during the week - until her lucky break.

Hanako had always held a fascination with music, and had taught herself to play the guitar. At 21 years old, she was contacted by an old friend with a proposition to form a metal band. The going was slow at first, but though they never found widespread mainstream appeal they succeeded in attaining moderate success that allowed Hanako to finally live in a proper apartment, and begin saving up money. She thrived during this time, screaming her heart out into a microphone in nightclubs and minor venues to cheering crowds. Her lyrics became well known among fans, and her antics onstage even moreso. She became notorious for her anti-establishment, anti-authority views, and they influenced her work. Life, however, was going swimmingly, even through the recession, until the band’s breakup in 2008. Creative differences, coupled with poorly timed arguments and disagreements, lead to each of the band members going their separate ways. The others found employment in other bands, or in steady non-musical work, while Hanako tried and failed to recruit new talent to the band.

She continued on as a solo performance, until a fan who had remembered her life story accosted her one night in July of 2008. He pressed a handful of photographs into her hand, insisting that he was her half brother. He claimed that her father had married and lived life happily for a few years after returning to the US, but had openly bragged to his son about his ‘escapades’ in Japan, including names. After much research online, the man had become convinced of their relation - confirmed when she showed the photographs to her mother. His father, however, had recently abandoned the family and seemingly vanished into thin air.

Hanako immediately set off for the US, expecting to find the man relatively quickly. Ethan Mills was his name.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. Hanako had purchased a used van and retrofitted it for her purposes, living out of it and occasionally performing in local nightclubs for spare cash and to take her mind off things. She didn’t know what she was going to do when she found him - attack him? Beat him to a pulp? Ask him why?

She traveled all across the United States trying to find the man. At one point finding herself at a gun range in Ohio, adrenaline pumping in her veins, purchasing her first handgun and ammunition - something completely inconceivable only a year prior, and made a point to practice with it whenever possible. She drifted aimlessly for some months, cushioned by a generous savings account from the success of Flaming Hot Death Cocks. The trail of clues seemed to have run dry - until in April, she found a lead once more that lead to the small town of Hildon, New Hampshire. Expecting… something, it seemed promising at first - but beyond a small smattering of information indeed confirming he had lived there for some months, there was nothing. She lingered in the town for some time, insistent that there must be more to it.

---

Physical Description:
Standing at 6 ft 5 in and 221 lbs wet, Clay is a natural heavyweight. He cuts an imposing figure, intimidating in a way that cannot be easily described. Thick eyebrows and piercing brown eyes are poised to intimidate but he keeps an easy look on his face, easy smiles all around. His skin a dark chocolate, calloused in many places but clean of wrinkles. Small, immaculate silver studs adorn his ear with a dull golden stud in the helix of his right ear. A clenched jawline with stubble leads to broad shoulders and an athletic figure. His hands are meaty and large, feeling like rocks coming to break your neck . His stride is light with a bounce in the step, the bearing of confidence and easy going attitude. Clay, from the get-go, was never set to be a normal person. He always contained boundless energy when he was younger, always growing larger than the other kids. He only got bigger and bigger, long arms with unfair musculature. He was a born boxer and was naturally inclined towards athleticism.

Age:
19

Relationship with Hildon:
Hildon is the town he grew up in as a boy, before his parents decided to move to New York City for better opportunities outside a small town. He doesn't remember much from his childhood here but does like coming here after training camps as a place to wind down. Something about a place far away from NYC, one he was born and raised in, calms him. Locals often don't know he came from here unless they knew his parents or grandparents. He enjoys the peace the place provides but finds it too quiet if he stays too long.

Occupation:
An aspiring pro, now Amateur Boxer but currently does security on the side to make ends meet.

Useful Supplies:

• 2000 Toyota 4Runner with offroad tires: With his grandparents too old to drive around, they've gifted it to Clay for his to use when visiting as they never really left the cabin nowadays. He's used it a few times now, back and forth between Hildon and New York City having gotten his license at the age of 17. It is left unused in a garage otherwise, as who in their right mind would drive a car in NYC?
• Solar head lamp: Running before dawn often times leaves athletes in an unwelcoming dark. The solution? Why a head lamp of course! Flashlights don't make sense when you're super-setting between jogging and sprinting uphill on a long dark road.
• Several hoodies and puffy jackets: Morning runs are unforgivably chilly so Clay has some winter-esque gear packed. But this was July, surely there'd be no reason to have some serious winter clothing, right?

Backstory:
Contrary to popular belief, the modern boxer does not have to be born and raised in tough dog-eat-dog environments like the movies tell you. But Clay did not have the easiest childhood.

Clay was born to the son of a Nigerian businessman and his African American wife, conceived in New York City. His paternal grandfather disapproved of the relationship between his father Ahmad and his mother Arya and as the elder of the house, told the pair to either get rid of Clay or get out of his house. Still madly in love, they fled to Arya's hometown of Hildon to begin anew, Ahmad taking his wife's last name and adopting the nickname John to fit in. Ahmad was forced to work odd jobs around the farms around town while Arya was the breadwinner as a nurse, returning from her travels with husband and child in tow. The newborn Clay often stayed to accompany his mother while she worked in the market, selling the citrus only for most of the money to go back to the providers.

Most of Clay's early years spent in the isolated cabin of his maternal grandparents who, unlike his "dick of a grandfather", welcomed his family with open arms. Even as a comparatively "poor family", he could not recall any times in which food or water was difficult to find. They were not a broken family either, his parents loved each other and the family was together quite frequently. If he could recall, he would remember smiles and happy faces. They prayed together and slept near each other. His father was a humble man who did not speak much and earned little but was easy on the smile. His mother had always been his favourite however.

Arya frequently told stories of New York City to her child as he grew up, having moved there young and had met his father there while studying. She told him of the abundance of lights in the city skyline, the fast moving cars, the money that flowed easy for hard workers. She lovingly recalled meeting his father, something that made baby Clay's face contort in childlike disgust. She also bitterly told him about her move to his paternal grandfather's place upon Ahmad's insistence, ending up in the situation they were in. But she had always ended the stories with a kiss and a youthful smile, popping an orange piece in his mouth. It was where he got his near-addiction to oranges as a child that carries on to this day to a lesser extent.

The family eventually moved back into the Big Apple when Clay's paternal grandfather died, leaving an unexpectedly rich inheritance and an apartment for his father. An apology perhaps? One did not look a gift horse in the mouth. He then spent much of the next part of his life growing and growing. Ahmad, an avid fan of boxing, was keen to throw his son into the ring with whatever spare money he could scrounge up. He claimed that he could tell his son will be a future champion, gripping his arms with excitement and lifting him in the air. This would be a golden age of the young boy's life as his family's life began improving. His father found purpose as a fireman, using naturally gifted brawn he claimed to have used to "woo his mother off her feet" while she continued as a nurse. Ahmad was happier during those times, genuinely enjoying helping people rather than working the odd jobs. Clay's time was well spent in the gym and school, his grades stayed positive and life was good.

The end of summer came round in the second year optimistic 21^st century and Clay returned home from the boxing gym. He was a large ten year old and was paired by his coach to the bigger kids. Training with them always left a smile on his face. That smile slipped at the sight of his crying mother, kneeling at the floor of their home, head burrowed in her hands. It disappeared when he saw the towers burning in the distance and heard the sirens he had missed on his way home.

The loss of Clay's father was hard. He died a hero, doing something he loved to do. This would leave an impact on the growing boy, just old enough to understand loss but too young to properly process it. To his mother's dismay, his grades would drop but his training would only intensify. He found brotherhood and father figures aplenty within his gym, a lifetime membership awarded to the son of a fallen hero. His mother would only grow to approve of her son's sudden focus and drive. Better that than fall into the despair that had grown in their hearts. Though she flinched during his first amateur fight, and every fight since, she would stay to berate his cutman and coach, to "teach her boy how to win better." Inspired by this growing encouragement and his late father's wishes, Clay only grew stronger within his teens. Forgoing the traditional goals of tertiary education and office jobs, focusing on doing something he loved to do. As his father had done.

Now, after a particularly rigorous training camp done and an upcoming international professional debut, Clay readies himself for this chance to prove himself. Taking leave from his security job, he travels to Hildon as a chance to calm his nerves.

Physical Description: David stands 5'10" and weighs roughly 206 pounds. Not exactly a tall, strapping man, David is relatively average-sized; with an athletic build that has clearly seen the wrong end of age, a minor pot belly and muscles that have given way to flab in places. His normally dark brown hair is peppered with grey in places, especially around the sides of his head, and is kept short and neat as is appropriate for his job. Along with this, he maintains a neat, if light, beard, the hair also brown and grey with his age. His eyes are brown and his features are slightly wrinkled from age and experience, crows feet at the corners of his eyes and wrinkles over his forehead. His normally rather pale skin is almost permanently tan from all his time spent under the hot, blazing sun, taking photos of wild animals, marathons and sports events. He has tan lines in the form of his watch on his right wrist and on his shoulders from the short-sleeved shirts he would wear to such events. A scar exists on David's face, a small one that crosses the bridge of his nose.

His normal clothing style is simple and rugged; David likes to wear either a brown leather jacket or a short-sleeved, collared shirt, with a white tank top underneath. The man only has a few pairs of jeans, mostly blue, and as such all of them display rugged wear across the knees and rims of the legs that are all part of the years and years of use. David normally wears a pair of leather loafers to work or out to relax, and a pair of brown hiking shoes if he's going out for a long walk in the park or going out of town. David also has several items that are considered part of his 'signature' look; a gun-metal grey diving watch purchased as a thirtieth birthday gift, that always sits on his right wrist. A black DSLR that almost always hangs from his neck. A weathered brown leather biker jacket with a small icon of a film camera stitched onto the left breast.

Age: 48

Relationship with Hildon: Tourist and visitor.

Occupation: Professional photographer.

Useful Supplies:

• Cold weather clothing; David always has at least a thick jacket with him, woollen gloves and thick pants.
• Satchel bag; enough to fit his camera, laptop, journal and some writing implements.
• Canon DSLR Camera; his pride and joy and his main weapon in his quest to capture nature's beauty.
• Frost-proof, waterproof, pressure-resistant wristwatch; a gift on his thirtieth birthday.
• Survival Swiss Army Knife; comes with as many tools as he has loose change in his pocket.

Backstory:
David was born and raised in Boston, Massachusetts, going to school there, attending yearly festivals and growing up alongside a small, close group of friends that stuck with him all through grade school. High school split up their little clique but they almost always met after class was over for the day, drinking milkshakes and playing tag. He took an early interest in documenting the escapades of him and his friends, at first through the media of drawing, but when that failed him, his father suggested the next best thing: a camera. His dad, a photographer by hobby, had an old film camera in his closet that he let his son borrow when he was old enough. All through his teens, David took photos of his adventures, developing the pictures and even scribbling little blurbs about what he and his friends had done that day, like cycling up to the city limits and back, or watching a sunset in the park.

When he graduated, David took his scrapbook of photos and, for a time, sold his services as a freelance photographer. In his neighbourhood, business was brisk; weddings, special occasions, anniversaries and festivals were part and parcel of his life for roughly two years. It was then that a smaller magazine took notice and sent him a letter asking if he would like to be employed at their office as one of their photographers. He readily agreed and began work for the zine, helping the small company to cover every little event that went on in the city. In between reports and work, David took time out of his schedule to submit some of his better pictures to national competitions, calendars and photography magazines. Most of his work wasn't up to par, but he earned himself several honourable mentions and smaller spots in minor photography magazines.

A few years passed in a flash. By then, David had built himself a rep, both within his neighbourhood and around the city at large, as a budding young photographer with promising work, an eye for detail and a heart for telling stories. He had gone from being merely a photographer to a full-blown photojournalist, having a small column to himself about his 'Photo of the Week', where he showcased his best photograph he'd taken that week and wrote a few paragraphs about how and where he'd taken it, among other things. David was a familiar face around town, so it came as a surprise when he told his boss that he was going to leave for a few months. When prodded as to why, he told him that he had accepted a brief overseas contract; to help further his reputation and to provide him with an opportunity, a humanitarian magazine based in New York City had offered to send him with a UN aid convoy in Mogadishu, attaching him there over the course of three months to both help out and to take photos of them. It was an opportunity he couldn't pass up, and later that year, David left his quiet home in Boston.

It would turn out to be the lowest point of his life. In those three months, he would take photos of some of the worst human suffering he'd ever seen, in the worst conditions. Helpless to do anything except work and watch, David fell to drugs to help himself cope. It didn't help that they were in a rough part of the world, feeding his addiction until his contract was up and he returned to Boston a changed man. Those around him saw the change; a gaunt, almost phantasmal image of his former self. He submitted himself for rehab and went clean, but the process took months, if not years, to return David to a semblance of the way he was before. He'd left his job in the interim and found some solace in taking photographs of nature and wildlife, and so he committed himself to that art to keep himself on the straight and narrow.

And so David Sawyer went from investigative photojournalist to plain photographer. Resting on his old laurels and using his old talents, but not for anything else other than his own personal portfolio and a little blog he maintains, his ongoing journey to catalogue America's hidden gems took him to Hildon.