Sacrifice: Blessed are Thee.
Frightful images swept through his mind as Jayce knelt on the cold, damp earth, blind-folded, bound and gagged. The crisp Autumn breeze chilled his mostly naked flesh. He could hear the soft rustle, and occasional breath of others nearby. Three of these were unique to Jayce, as they issued from those who bound him. Their scents were crisp and close by, thick with anticipation. Other sounds alerted him to a slowly growing crowd, yet their scents were muted by the damp earth and moist pine needles.
Jayce kept his breath steady and even, internalizing as much of his own anticipation as possible. At this very moment the prediciment in which he sat made him seem as much prey as the deer of the wood. Any excitement, fear, or any reationary response that issues from him might set off the deeper instincts of those surrounding the clearing. His own instincts were sharpened, thus he knew better then anatgonize those nearby.
Within a deeper part of his mind, Jayce argued with himself. Yes, he made the choice that placed him in such a dire situation. Yes, he stood before the Elders, full of himself and the knowledge that when he offered himself, it was for the tribe. Jayce indeed enjoyed the attentions given to him the night before, as his body and soul were prepared for this momentous occassion. Never a second thought crossed his mind. He was a warrior caste bred, born, and trained by his natal pack. No warrior feared such an ultimate sacrifice.
This was a special circumstance. The Spring Moon, this year, filled the sky in Her fullness only to be covered by the Shadow. The priestess called it a 'Penumbral Eclispe'. Jayce's sacrifice was to ensure that She returned to Her full Glory. Honestly, he knew it was only in mimicry of the event. That his blood, shed for such faith, was merely a ceremony handed down from hundreds of generations before. It hailed from a time when his ancestors knew only the darkness of their dens, and ran purely on instinct.
But, it was something he cherished as much as the others simply because it was such an anciet rite. The age of it set the rite as one of the Six. They were the last remnants of their ancient heirtage and culture. Descended from a time long before the first true Tribe, in such an age before the Great Re-Surgence, and even longer ago then the time when human wars devestated this very planet.
These thoughts kept Jayce from subbcumbing to his sudden urge to run. His sensitive nose picked up on the soft scent of the High Priestess. The sublte warmth of her scent made him very aware of his own near nakedness. There was a heat behind her scent, twisted by a predatory hunger, and enhanced by her dominence amoung all other of the Moon's Choosen.
He involuntarily shivered.
He could feel her toothy smile. He could feel her eyes tracing over every inch of his body. Jayce felt too, now, the press of the crowd around him. All the Tribal Priestesses had made the long journey to this most sacred of places. A site where only the female of the species dared tred. The taboo wasn't so much as the division of the sexes, as the sitgmas placed upon them. Males were hunter-killers, their very souls were bound into a body that knew only death. Females carried the living essence of Life itself, even though some choose the path of the Hunter. No male gave birth. No male suffered the pain of bearing new life. So no male dared serve in such a place as this most Holy of grounds.
Save, that is, those who were given to the Goddess as the Blood-Moon Sacrifice. Those rare few males were then blessed to carry on a special 'curse'. No longer were their claws or teeth permitted to slay. No Life taken. They became both lesser and greater in the eyes of the People. Both a burden and a savior to the Tribes. No longer allowed to hunt and feed themselves, they became as much of a burden as the Elders who no longer could feed themselves. Nor were they allowed to take a mate and breed. For the 'curse' lent detrimental effects upon the children of such unions.
They carried the rare and subtle abiltiy to pass on the greatest of the Moon's Blessings. Those rare few males went on to become legends.., if they survived the Trials of the rite.
Most did not survive.
Jayce shuddered again as doubt crept up along his spine. It intensified as he felt the Moon's presence. The surge in his blood that sung through his form triggered the urge to change shape. This was muted only slightly by the leather-bond silver collar he wore around his neck. The priestess's scent shifted as her forms changed. All those around him, he could sense, also took on the blessed forms.
A single, lonely howl issued from deep within the forrest. Just before it echoed into nothinginess, other voices lifted their song to the skies. It was the Tribe, he knew each voice and each individual song. Memories flooded through his mind, both joyous and terrible. They sang of his life, his accomplishments, and of his Natal pack. It was a dirge, a final farewell sung when one of their own died.
Tears welled up under his blindfold. The finality of this finally hit him, and it hit him hard. No matter what happened this evening, he no longer existed as his once did. His name was sung to the Moon, taken by Her into the heavens for the Great Hunting Grounds. Jayce was no more.
He felt a single claw trace along his cheek. Stiffling his instinct to jump back and away from the touch, he instead forced himself to lean into it. As the claw moved just under his blindfold, he felt the tears being lifted away from his skin. Shortly, the claw lifted away as well leaving his face slightly tacky from the salt of his tears. There was a sound of a mouth opening. Warm breath carressed his face, chilling him to the bone.
Jayce kept his breath steady and even, internalizing as much of his own anticipation as possible. At this very moment the prediciment in which he sat made him seem as much prey as the deer of the wood. Any excitement, fear, or any reationary response that issues from him might set off the deeper instincts of those surrounding the clearing. His own instincts were sharpened, thus he knew better then anatgonize those nearby.
Within a deeper part of his mind, Jayce argued with himself. Yes, he made the choice that placed him in such a dire situation. Yes, he stood before the Elders, full of himself and the knowledge that when he offered himself, it was for the tribe. Jayce indeed enjoyed the attentions given to him the night before, as his body and soul were prepared for this momentous occassion. Never a second thought crossed his mind. He was a warrior caste bred, born, and trained by his natal pack. No warrior feared such an ultimate sacrifice.
This was a special circumstance. The Spring Moon, this year, filled the sky in Her fullness only to be covered by the Shadow. The priestess called it a 'Penumbral Eclispe'. Jayce's sacrifice was to ensure that She returned to Her full Glory. Honestly, he knew it was only in mimicry of the event. That his blood, shed for such faith, was merely a ceremony handed down from hundreds of generations before. It hailed from a time when his ancestors knew only the darkness of their dens, and ran purely on instinct.
But, it was something he cherished as much as the others simply because it was such an anciet rite. The age of it set the rite as one of the Six. They were the last remnants of their ancient heirtage and culture. Descended from a time long before the first true Tribe, in such an age before the Great Re-Surgence, and even longer ago then the time when human wars devestated this very planet.
These thoughts kept Jayce from subbcumbing to his sudden urge to run. His sensitive nose picked up on the soft scent of the High Priestess. The sublte warmth of her scent made him very aware of his own near nakedness. There was a heat behind her scent, twisted by a predatory hunger, and enhanced by her dominence amoung all other of the Moon's Choosen.
He involuntarily shivered.
He could feel her toothy smile. He could feel her eyes tracing over every inch of his body. Jayce felt too, now, the press of the crowd around him. All the Tribal Priestesses had made the long journey to this most sacred of places. A site where only the female of the species dared tred. The taboo wasn't so much as the division of the sexes, as the sitgmas placed upon them. Males were hunter-killers, their very souls were bound into a body that knew only death. Females carried the living essence of Life itself, even though some choose the path of the Hunter. No male gave birth. No male suffered the pain of bearing new life. So no male dared serve in such a place as this most Holy of grounds.
Save, that is, those who were given to the Goddess as the Blood-Moon Sacrifice. Those rare few males were then blessed to carry on a special 'curse'. No longer were their claws or teeth permitted to slay. No Life taken. They became both lesser and greater in the eyes of the People. Both a burden and a savior to the Tribes. No longer allowed to hunt and feed themselves, they became as much of a burden as the Elders who no longer could feed themselves. Nor were they allowed to take a mate and breed. For the 'curse' lent detrimental effects upon the children of such unions.
They carried the rare and subtle abiltiy to pass on the greatest of the Moon's Blessings. Those rare few males went on to become legends.., if they survived the Trials of the rite.
Most did not survive.
Jayce shuddered again as doubt crept up along his spine. It intensified as he felt the Moon's presence. The surge in his blood that sung through his form triggered the urge to change shape. This was muted only slightly by the leather-bond silver collar he wore around his neck. The priestess's scent shifted as her forms changed. All those around him, he could sense, also took on the blessed forms.
A single, lonely howl issued from deep within the forrest. Just before it echoed into nothinginess, other voices lifted their song to the skies. It was the Tribe, he knew each voice and each individual song. Memories flooded through his mind, both joyous and terrible. They sang of his life, his accomplishments, and of his Natal pack. It was a dirge, a final farewell sung when one of their own died.
Tears welled up under his blindfold. The finality of this finally hit him, and it hit him hard. No matter what happened this evening, he no longer existed as his once did. His name was sung to the Moon, taken by Her into the heavens for the Great Hunting Grounds. Jayce was no more.
He felt a single claw trace along his cheek. Stiffling his instinct to jump back and away from the touch, he instead forced himself to lean into it. As the claw moved just under his blindfold, he felt the tears being lifted away from his skin. Shortly, the claw lifted away as well leaving his face slightly tacky from the salt of his tears. There was a sound of a mouth opening. Warm breath carressed his face, chilling him to the bone.