“…and so man was created to preserve, to tend and to provide. The trees were man’s charge, and earth’s prosperity and proliferation his ultimate goal.
And for a time all was well, man ascended, rewarded for his works. He was given greater intelligence… As man came to greater thoughts; he also came to forget the origins of his gifts. Men started to carve his living space out of the forest. Cutting down more and more trees. Cities grew and forests vanished. Until the one day there existed only a few groves scattered across the world. The atmosphere became a clouded brown haze and soon most babies died at birth; water ran brown, putrid and the outer most seas were black with salt. The planet was dying.”
– Ari scripture taken from the Songs of Our Tribes.
The Wolvenlande were riddled with small camps of the Ar clan. A people, who, after Event One, saw themselves as being punished by the Father for forgetting their purpose. Man saw his grave error and repented. Calling out to the Holy Mother Primus. In her merciful way, it was she who granted them the power of Instinct to help them undo some of the damage they had wrought. Many feared failure and so they hid. Pregnant women were collected and warded against the calamity to come, and so those who believed went. A gathering of Four million strong. The bravest of people, people who were blessed with the magic of instinct. Those who were blessed enough to become a part of the Holy Mother Primus. This story was the basis of a conflict. The basis of the hatred that filled her heart as she poured her feelings into a spell.
Heather was a skilled magician considering her age. She was also an even more skilled Hunter. She fulfilled her purpose with a lust that scared most others, leaving her alone in most things.
Fire flew, countered by water, trees were never hit. Heather was skilled enough to keep them immune to the damage she wished to visit upon her enemies. The spells flew in a frenzy, back and forth between the two Carvers and their presumed prey. Heather saw herself as the hunter, however, not the hunted. The conflict of their ideologies continuing. Ceaseless conflict: a holy war. Many of the Hunters and their Carver counterparts had already found their lives forfeit to this conflict. And all who had, considered it a worthy cause of martyrdom. All saw their magic as the only just form.
Ever since the Ar remember singing, they have sought to do as their ancestors did. They were the men and women who sacrificed themselves for the major partial restoration of Primus. They would protect the trees and when they reached the holy number they would, once again, push back the corruption that was trying to take Primus. The Ari fought bitterly against the Carvers, men and women who descended from the Corrupters of old. They were a people who sought to relive the dark days of destruction. Rather than tribal sects of a hundred, spread to minimize their impact; these monsters sought to rebuild some of the cities, all of which is against Ari law and religion.
To achieve their wicked end they formed a new clan, armed with Envrese, magic channeled from the nearly unbound life-force of a tree, through it’s heart. These wooded hearts they had disguised, some carved staffs, others wands, some shields, you never knew what they would disguise them as. They warped the very fabric of life and continued to degrade the Holy mother.
Heather Carversbane had always blamed them for never getting to know her family. They had stolen the life of Primus and her parents had left her to try and undo that damage. They had selflessly taken up the cause, now she fought everyday, she hunted them, lusting after the idea of preserving that legacy. She basked in joy she’d feel when no Carvers remained; but most of all the change in the hollowness of gut she felt at night. She moved alone. Purpose spurred her forward at an inhuman speed. These Carvers stood no chance. This fight was just another fight, these Carver were just more monsters in need of vanquishing.
She crouched behind the nearest oak, she waited tensely. Her deerskin, cloak was weighing heavily on her but the protection it gave her from the elements was vital. Her fingers were freezing through thick tan leather gloves. Her wrists were exposed, and the slightly darker caramel hue of her skin clearly visible. Her sea green eyes were sharp, boosted by instinct, deepening their colour saturation. Those eyes were also full of hate. She Dug, finding the Instinct, leaping at the chance to preserve herself and the Holy Mother. She projected a Mirror of herself a few metres to the left of her current position, the mirror leapt to the left as she did to the right, the fireballs flew fast and true, but the target they hit showed no sign of being hit. Heather rained needles of ice on the two Carvers. The piercing rain hit it’s mark, the screaming made that clear. It rained for just a minute. Heather swept her blond hair back and started to approach the bodies, which had been hit with remarkable force.
She knew what she’d see but looked anyway. The remains were hardly human, their flesh was cut to ribbons and their faces nothing more than needle ridden pulp. The snow was bloodied, a mass of red seeping closer to her boots. She stepped away, she’d rather not get the blood of these two on her boots. She turned and walked, she thought happily of the blood that was added to that on her hands. She said a prayer of thanks to the Holy Mother and prayed she received the offering well.
And so Heather gathered her things and continued the endless hunt.