✨From the vault of Myths and Stories by Fantasy Unchained ✨

…The chandeliers burned like captive stars above them.
Music moved through the marble halls in golden waves, laughter drifting like perfume between immortals who had forgotten what it meant…

I entered the winter woods without haste.

The snow lay thick among the roots, and the trees stood bare and listening. This was not a place to be rushed. It was a threshold, and I crossed it knowing what it…

There are nights when the air tightens.

You feel it first, before thought, before sound.

Animals grow still. Fires burn lower. Even the trees don't dare to breath.

These are the nights of the Hunt.

You have heard of it,…

Long before the world drowned in noise and the rush of life,

before man kind forgot how to listen,

there were those who walked in rhythm with the land.

Men, standing together.

Not rulers, not conquerors, but kin.

Hounds at…

New Year’s Eve marks a threshold, and thresholds matter.

 

Varu’kan is not angered by celebration, nor by fire or sound.

But fireworks speak AT the night, not WITH it.

The turning of the year does not ask to be startled.

By fire and rhythm the old path is found,

Feet kiss the earth to the drum of the ground.

In flicker of flame and breath of the night,

The circle is cast in ember and light.

The body remembers what…

As the longest night settles upon the world, the Horned Man steps into the stillness of midwinter,

the ancient Weaver of the Night Sky.

In his hand he carries a blackthorn staff, dark as the void between the stars.

It…

It was on a long night of the silent season that Varu‘kan walked alone into the heart of the Frostwood, following a call only he could hear. The snow muffled every sound but the soft hum of the runes that…

-Translated from a tale spoken only in the old tongue-

Before the first forests rose, before the moon learned her dance, before humankind had breath enough to speak fear into the world, there was the Shaping.

The Old Ones, beings…

-From the Chronicles of Humankind  - 

They say the Horned Man walks the world marked by more than flesh.

Upon his skin lie sigils older than memory,

inked not by mortal hands,

but by the weaving of fate itself.

No…

-Varu'kan-

Night folds around me like a cloak of black silk

and the world holds its breath as I step between the trees.

The darkness knows my name,

the wind carries it like a sacret oath.

In my palm, I…