Wulfric - The Hunt Festival

The sun is still high in the sky, its heat and light bathes the forest in a golden twist—in its unrelenting grip, it holds the entire land captive. The air is oppressively humid, as a continuous breeze carries the heavy clouds from the sea to the heavily forested region. It would be some hours before the entire land is showered in summer rain, which is highly unusual for this time of the year. 

Trees, some as tall as the clouds overhead, provide some level of shade, but their twisting branches wrapped in thick foliage traps the brutal heat close to the moss covered ground.  

The result is similar to an enormous greenhouse, one filled with endless wildlife and many magical denizens, the majority being the wildmen. A people shrouded in mystery of their promiscuity and debauchery. Of course those are the stories and rumors circulating around the nearest cities that surrounds the lush forest. 

The Redwood forest spans millions of quilometres wide, stretching across the endless plains of Eregron like moss on a tree stump. Every part of it is filled with mysteries and magic. 

The Tribe of the White Sage defends the wooded covered hills up north, encircling the ancient tree that provides the tribe with its name and the whole forest with a living shield. Together with the fey, they share the space atop of the millennial tree branches of the Great White Sage. To the west, bordering the sacred lake is the Tribe of the Drowned Spirit. Its shamans with the unique hold over the rains can turn a lush paradise into a desolate desert. Over the magical plains and floating mountains the Golden Talon Tribe dominates over the ever blue skies of the east. 

Adventurers eager to test their might against magical beasts, proceed to brave the entangled mishmash of giant roots, seeking mortals with unimaginable power that can turn into enormous creatures at will. The few that are lucky enough to come back—more often than not barely alive—tell stories of magical monstrosities, violent rites where half-men and half-beasts enjoy the pleasures of the flesh out in the open. Animalistic rituals involving the spilling of blood and seed, that nourishes the land and impregnates the earth.  

Through savage power matches one's mate is chosen, a bond for life and beyond is forged. The union through matrimony and carnal pleasure successfully bonds the two souls together. They are bound by the strings of destiny, fated to find one another again in the next life.  

Even though they fight each other, harming and some times almost killing one another, the fights are not done with that one intention. Behind every lash and bite, there's the candor of spirit. The purpose of teaching someone you love the pains of living, and the delights of nursering that especial someone back to health.  

However, to an outsider, the dance of carnage and lustful bliss doesn't seem all that meaningful when blood is spilled and nothing seems to be gained from it.  

To humans the wildmen are mindless uncivilized barbarians, even though their culture has had its start at the same time as the rest of mankind. 

On the other side there's the scholars, followers of Namur and alchemists, all share a deep fascination for the people that—apparently—are both cursed and blessed by the gods. They can't hide the fact that the tribes tucked deep into the vast rainforest of Redwood may hide the key to unlock the secrets of mortal nature, and their apparently immunity to most woes that plague humanity makes them easy targets of not so ethical experiments.  

The truth may never be found for such enigma are only privy to the gods and their infinite wisdom.  

Surrounded by tree roots the size of houses, underneath the green canopy and amid the overwhelming presence of animal life, the many tribes flourish. Within the protective influence of two divines an entire race blossoms, but malice threats to ruin this seemingly perfect race.  

At the center of one of the biggest and most influent tribes in the region, a great fire is alight. Massive tree logs gathered in a single pile burn with the heat of a small inferno.  

Tribesmen from several families surround the mighty bonfire. From half-beasts with fur-coated bodies and animalistic limbs to human-like wildmen with the ability to reshape their bodies into those of fearsome creatures. They feast and drink to their heart's content, while  dancing and mating like animals in heat.  

The pounding of powerful drums set the rhythm for the hunt festival.  

Fights break and marriages are consummate under the watchful eyes of the tribes' chieftains.  

Wulfric's taller frame sits proudly on top of the raised wooden platform, around him the chieftains of the several neighboring tribes gather together for the yearly occasion.  

His dark brown hair is set into a single braid that reaches past his lower back. Several tiny fairy skulls and white feathers are entangled to the end of his braid, they make soft jangling sounds when he moves. His skin—being proudly displayed by his lack of upper garment—glows a deep bronze in the soft glare of the late afternoon, it glistens from the condensed moisture and the trapped heat of the forest. Underneath the falskin leggings, powerful muscles are poised for action at a moment's notice.  

With fierce brown eyes, and always vigilant, he keeps careful watch over the several groups. Even though they all share the same ancestors, each tribe has their own unique customs and traditions. Conflicts are bound to happen, but he shouldn't worry about that, under the influence of Amorr all matters are settled, passionately. 

Wulfric scan attentively the crowd gathered, it is than that he notices someone standing to the side, a few meters away from the action. A grim cloud seems to hover over her head. A few tribesmen begin to throw some odd glances her way, the lustful haze partially fraying at the edges at the interference. 

"Kada!" His voice thunders over the heavy pounding of the drums. Mouth set into a snarl, bared fangs in a show power. His target? His second in command, and best friend.  

The black-haired half-raven woman stands near the a particular massive tree with her back straight, a pair of majestic dark wings emerging from her naked pale skin. She's facing away from the great bonfire, sullen gaze lost between the heavy clouds. At Wulfric's call her 

feathers bristle, wings folding tightly against her back. She quickly makes her way over to the raised platform, nimbly dodging her path through the mass of tangling bodies and curious glances. 

Arriving at the raised platform she lowers her head while bringing her closed fist to her chest. At Wulfric's questioning gaze she sighs heavily, eyes once again focusing on the darkening sky as she goes to stand next to her chieftain and best-friend. 

"The clouds. At this time of the year there shouldn't be any clouds, let alone heavy with rain like those ones." She scrunches her nose when a particular strong wind reaches the clearing. "They smell foul, like death."  

"The winds are a premonition of darker days to come, but we don't have nothing to fear my friend, the goddess and the lover will protect us from it." Wulfric's gruff voice radiates assurance and authority. Hiding beneath theses layers, there's doubt. He also feels the shifting, be in the very air he breathes, or in the earth he walks upon.  

Something is coming, and they might not be ready for it. 

The forest is warning them of the impeding doom, but he must not throw his people into the claws of unnecessary terror. It's his job to keep them safe, to maintain order. Ignorance is bliss for those lucky few who are devoid of responsibility. 

"I just don't like it."  

"If worse comes to worst we still have our claws and talons. We will protect our home as our people has done for two thousand years." At that the chieftain rises in a single swift motion, the tiny fairy skulls rattling against his lower back where they are carefully tangled with strands of brown hair. "Now, why don't you go join your mates? They seem eager to involve you in whatever they are doing." 

The young raven sneaks a look towards the mob of twisting limbs. A couple calls to her attention, their glistening bodies moving seductively, following the rhythm of the drums. Like a moth attracted to a flame she goes to follow their alluring invitation, but she hesitates as if remembering that gloomy feeling from just moments ago. 

"But what about the-" 

"Leave me to worry about that. Now go, that's an order." Wulfric's second in command falls prey to her mates and goes to them, albeit still unsure. 

The proud chieftain watches his people, everyone happily unaware of the troubling days to come. Glancing at the chieftains of the neighboring tribes he receives only solemn nods, an unspoken promise of unity against the approaching darkness.

He sends a silent prayer towards mother and the lover, asking for strength for he knows deep inside that their safety will ultimately fall on his shoulders. 

He will first take his own life before letting this evil consume them all.