A Tale of Two Hunters

[WuHanXianShi14 0]

 

Spoiler

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2_kKFjwpwqc

In the dead of night, a lithe figure sat by a fire. As he basked in the warm crackling seat, you make out an angled face with a long scar running down his cheek. Olive skin and piercing emerald eyes stared into the fire in a trance. He notices your arrival and invites you to take a seat, sharing with you the old stories of his people, passed down from generation to generation.

 

Spoiler

A Tale of Two Hunters

 

Long ago, in the ancient times, when our people lived in many scattered Seeds across the deep forests…

 

There lived a nomadic band known as the Tahorran Seed.

 

The Tahorran Seed was a small group of only about fifty wood elves, but they were renowned by all nearby Seeds as excellent hunters.

 

The chief of the Tahorran Seed was named Indwana, and he was an elder elf of six hundred years. He could bear no more heirs, so it was known that eventually, his eldest daughter Faeinn would take his place as the Seed chief.

 

Faeinn was born with crimson hair and piercing golden pupils, it was said they were the eyes of a hawk. She was a master with the bow and the spear, every night she would bring back plentiful game to the Seed’s encampment, almost enough to feed all the elves who they lived among. She was admired and respected by all, save for one.

 

Gelborn was not a good hunter, like the rest of his tribe. They said he was slothful, lazy and at times, even arrogant. He had come from a Seed of fishers by the sea, and had not grown used to the Tahorran Seed’s hunting lifestyle. Despite this, he wanted nothing more than to prove his superiority.

 

It is said that once in a century, Cernunnos would release a pure white stag of a glimmering mane into the deep forests. It was said that the Seed whom successfully hunted this stag and consumed its flesh would catch Cernunnos’ eye as apex predators, and receive his blessings for all times.

 

A scout came crashing into the Tahorran Seed encampment one day, his olive skin gleaming with sweat and his emerald eyes wide. He claimed he’d seen a flash of white and the thunder of hooves by a lake a few miles north.

 

Faeinn, being the excellent hunter she was, could not pass up an opportunity like this, even if it was only a rumour. She grabbed her spear and prepared to trek north, announcing she would not return until she had claimed the white stag as her prize.

 

Faeinn spent days padding through the ancient, thickened forests of Aegis, light reaching the forest floor in thin beams wherever it could penetrate the ever present canopy of the massive elder trees above.

 

Finally, she came upon the lake the scout mentioned, the sunlight now gleaming down on the forest clearing that surrounded it. The water was pristine and calm, almost eerily still.

 

There she saw it, almost like a reflection upon the lake’s gleaming surface...a snowy mane, ivory horns and slender white legs. The white stag’s head lowered as it drank peacefully. Faeinn cautiously raised her spear over her shoulder and crouched down, her movements slow, deliberate and painstakingly quiet.

 

And then she threw, the spear sailing through the air with the grace only a skilled hunter could accomplish, but lo!...the stag rose its head, instantly sensing the danger before dashing away at a blinding speed. The spear fell into the lake, sinking into the murky depths.

 

It took Faeinn a moment to register what had happened. When she did, a pang of dread wreaked her body and she collapsed to her feet, weeping. Not only had she failed in her hunt, the spear she had lost had belonged to her father the chieftain, and his father before him. It was an heirloom of which losing was as good as being disowned.

 

So she wept and wept, knowing that her shame would never allow her to return home. Her sobs were too heavy to notice the gleaming light that appeared before her on the lake’s surface.

 

It is said that the spirit that appeared before her was none other that the Green Lady herself, Cerridwen in her eternal grace, skin that seemed to reflect the blue sky and dress whose colour could only be described as that of changing seasons.

 

“Why do you cry, child?” She asked, her voice an embodiment of motherly comfort.

 

“I have lost both my chance to bring glory to my Seed by hunting the white stag, and my father’s staff. Now I may never go home, for I know too much shame.”

 

“It is sinful to hunt for reasons of pride.” Cerridwen sang as she looked upon the miserable hunter with pity. “I have granted your people these forests so they may only take what they need, despite what tricks or boons my brother may offer you for killing my beasts.”

 

Faeinn felt appropriately chided, she sniffled away her tears and lowered her gaze, the proud hunter now seeming very much like a scolded child. “...I am sorry.” She murmured.

 

Cerridwen seemed satisfied with her answer, her shimmering gaze faded. A spear of intricate cedarwood make floated out of the water, completely dry. Faeinn gasped at the marvel, for this weapon was of better make than even the best wood elven craftsmen could make with their cultivated Ame’lie, it was a wonder.

 

“Is this what you lost?” Cerridwen’s voice sounded out in an otherworldly harmony.

 

“N-no..” Faeinn replied, for though the spear was better than anything she could ever hope to own, it was indeed not the one she had lost.

 

The spear dissolved in front of her eyes, to Faeinn’s dismay. It its place floated the weapon she knew and loved. Her sorrow was replaced by a wave of relief she had never known.

 

“Is this what you lost?” Cerridwen repeated.

 

“Yes!” The huntress cried out in joy and clutched the heirloom to her chest, a wide grin on her face.

 

“Go back to your people and tell them that to hunt out of pride is to hunt out of sin. My chosen people must learn patience, temperance, and wisdom. Bring them my gift as proof of my message to you.”

 

The cedarwood staff from before landed in her lap, she stared at it wide eyed, hardly believing her luck. Not one to question a god’s will however, she quickly got up and strapped both spears to her back, scrambling home.

 

As Faeinn spread Cerridwen’s message around a roaring campfire to her fellow seed members, almost all the elves took her words to heart. She was of course, the most respected hunter in the Seed, and the intricate spear she brought home with her could be none other than a gift from the benevolent Aspect herself.

 

But of course, the slothful Gelborn was skeptical, and jealous. Refusing to believe in the good fortune of others, he slipped away from the camp in the dead of night, shouldering his own spear and marching off north to the fabled lake.

 

The wind howled and rain pounded the forest canopy as Gelborn came across the lake in the forest clearing, the water stormy and dark. He squinted his eyes and hurled his spear haphazardly into the lake, fully intending it to sink into the depths.

 

He fell to his knees and began to howl out a loud, despairing melody of fake sorrow, hoping to awaken the attention of the spirit whom supposedly lived here.

 

Sure enough, a voice was heard.

 

“Why do you cry, child?”

 

Gelborn hid his internal glee with a fake sniffle, not meeting the gaze of Cerridwen, whose shimmering form was a beacon in the stormy night.

 

“I have lost my father’s spear, and now I am too laden with shame to return home.”

And so a spear floated out of the lake’s surface. Completely dry, its shaft seemed as soft as velvet, its wooden tip sharp as a wolf’s ear-piercing cry and harder than steel. This was a weapon only a god had the prowess to create.

 

“Is this what you lost?” Cerridwen’s motherly voice chimed.

 

“Yes! Yes!” Gelborn exclaimed, his eyes wide and desperate, his prize within arms reach.

 

The wind died down and the water went still. Gelborn watched on in horror as his prize dissolved into the wind and he was left with nothing but the now eerie silence of the lake.

 

“Deceit does not suit my chosen people.”

 

Gelborn was left with nothing. Not his weapon, not the prize he’d intended to trick his way into owning, and foremost, not the pride and glory he sought. It is said he never picked up a weapon again, returning to his home Seed by the sea, where he spent his life net-fishing with the children, never returning to the Tahorran Seed where he was forever a laughingstock.

 

Faeinn soon became the chieftain of Tahorran. She never forgot the lesson she had learned that day. Living with the values of honesty, temperance, modesty and patience, she taught her people not to conquer the wilds they lived in, but learn to exist as a part of it.

 

[JEEGK 1367]

Berr Athri stays in a complete silent state as his ears are filled by this story, not being able to speak as he ponders in thought of what he might have just heard. He simply nods in respect for the ominous creature speaking their story...

[Rig 17590]

Kairn Calithil cheers.

[Drop Koala 332]

Damai listens to the story closely and carefully, himself being a hunter ponders his own acts. "I should now become a better hunter after listening to this story"

 

"My own hunting guild shall become like theirs in a way"

[justDEWit 133]

Ravondir claps at the amazingly tailored story that just happened to have been told to him.

[Elad™ 560]

Moved to the Archive. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.