Karim__

Son of Jarov and Maria, Tikhomir grew up in the foothills of the north in midst of Almaris’s wilderness where the ground rarely yielded food and as such, the man was forced to take to the hunt - shooting their quarry from a distance and collecting the carcasses where they fell. Tikhomir was among the best of these mountain keens for whom projectile weapons are but another appendage, and to sling a bow is as natural as to touch. To the east, the grey mountain rose beyond the clouds. For all he knew, the summit could well be in the heavens. To the west, streams of nippy waters flowed in an endless torrent north and all around his village snow-covered pine trees stood impossibly straight - postured resiliently against the elements. He held the traditional Haeseni pantheon. Especially Sindhor, the earth mother. It was her who brought the land to life and blessed the ground with fertile soil. She accommodated Tikhomir’s hunts and without her, the great game would take place on a barren wasteland - or so he believed. A flourishing wilderness was far more to his liking and each day Tikhomir learned to navigate the land from his village elders. A true hunter could do more than just land an arrow in his target; a true hunter could harvest the flora, could chop the wood, could follow scents and tracks, and most importantly: do all this without disturbing the natural order. One misstep would see a man’s prey spook and escape and that meant starvation in this merciless land. Fortunately, Tikhomir was a promising young hunter. Upon his eighteenth name day, the hunter had to face his final initiation ceremony into maturity. This would serve as the catalyst for his freedom to come and go from the village at his leisure. To fail was to be dishonored. He was to travel deep into the forest at noon, to the heart of the wilderness where sun’s rays could hardly penetrate. He then had to hunt his supper, and return it to the village. And then came the final step - he had to repeat the journey at midnight. Setting up camp in the heart of the woods, staying alone in the wild until daybreak. With a stomach full of venison, Tikhomir retraced his footsteps. He had his bedroll slung across his left shoulder and his bow across his right. Other than that he had only the garments on his back. For the majority of the hike, the silver twilight of the sphere of the full moon had given him ample visibility on the forest track. But soon, as the pines hugged the pathway tighter and tighter, the moon glow was held at bay by the high canopy. The hunter saw movement from the corner of his eye. Dark shapes traversing through the wood. He turned his head, glimpsed a grey shadow in the darkness. Then it was gone. Branches whisked gently in the gale, scraping at one another with ligneous fingers. He forged ahead, keen on finding game for his rite. In due course, he stumbled upon a wolf grazing in a field just within bowshot of his location. Perhaps it was the silhouette he had spotted earlier. His instincts willed him to call upon his bow, but he quelled the temptation, instead choosing to track the beast. It was gaunt and slim. It would have had some tantalizing lean meat on its bones. But, he could have done better. He knew he could. So he waited for the wolf to inevitably return to its pack, and to its alpha-male. He traveled further west and was leaving familiar territory now, and the fading daylight made it even harder to see. He stopped, a rustle in the brush. Just over his right shoulder, he turned and prepared to draw an arrow from his quiver but the fort was smashed from his head as an outstretched paw crashed into his temple. He fell backwards and landed flat on his back. Over him loomed a huge wolf standing tall on its two hind legs. The figure came to the fore from the darkness. A creature with human-like features, yet its humane physique reached no higher than its scrags, for above it loomed a colossal wolf-like head with gigantic ears, a twin of wild yellowish eyes, and a petrifying jaw full of crooked fangs which from a red tongue flickered like flame. He heard of these beasts, yet before he could examine it, it sprung at him again. Tikhomir rolled to his right, dodging the impact by a hair’s breadth. He hopped to his feet and began nocking. As he did so, he danced around two swipes from the beast’s gnarled claws. Frustrated, the beast growled - a ferocious cry of pure rage. Suddenly, the hunter’s hands were filled by the familiar feeling of his oak wood bow. The forest around them was bathed in a flowing yellow aura as fireflies and torch bugs came to life. With no time to take in the sights, the hunter tried getting himself on the backfoot to evade backwards. He decided to drop his weapon and run instead of taking a shot while the beast howled in anger. He rushed through the brush with a disjointed sprint, adeptly dodging the low branches. He ran until his chest burned and he knew the beast could well be on his tail. Desperate for a distraction Tikhomir ripped his high tunic with his knife, carving a piece from the breast, and then he draped it over an exposed branch of a nearby tree. Half-naked, he ran to take cover behind a tree further along. He threw himself into the dirt and covered his exposed skin with soil. The lykan was close behind. He watched in anticipation from a short distance away. The dire beast spat globs of saliva as it snarled. It was growling at his ripped tunic with bellicosessnes. Whether it be luck or the will of the gods, the monster continued down the path, leaving the affrighted Tikhomir quivering in the mud. He felt a sense of consolation hearing the werebeast’s echoing footsteps move further and further away from his position. A sense of relief as the lively air of the dark forest filled his lungs. Yet, he knew he could not return back to his village with this failure at hand. Tikhomir the huntsman was thus, by his own botch, condemned to make his way apart from his people-- and unwelcomed back among them until he attained stature on the fields of the hunt by slaying the beast that had bested him.