Welcome to Gaia! ::

Warren led them out of the maze of infrastructure that was the village and further into Faerang territory. There was a peculiar sultry musk about the air, wafting up from the marked trees. Sweetly primal. He glanced towards the sky. "Come on. We have to reach the fungi before the sun sets."

After a few quiet minutes, interrupted only by the crackling of twigs underfoot and exotic birds calling their young to the nests, the group reached the fungi: bioluminescent mushrooms that grew in clusters around stumps and tree trunks. A slow, hypnotic chant engaged the entire population of Faerang. There was not a single Faerangite soul that did not attend the Lunar Festival. A web of glow-worm droppings were woven overhead, the strings meeting together to create a hole above the bonfire.

"Ah, they started without me," Warren complained and his wife soon joined him.
"You're late." She eyed his company skeptically. "And they reek of foreign blood. Why are they here?"
"Be nice, wife," he chuckled, as if his partner's hostility was a sign of affection, snatched her around her middle, drew her near and planted a kiss on her temple. She still seemed uncomfortable and dissatisfied, but succumbed and walked with him into the ceremony. They were accepted into the middle of the circle where they danced around the fire, as alphas, as the rest of the tribe held their neighbours' shoulders and swayed to the rhythm, chanting [link]. The atmosphere was intoxicating and the festival participants were all drunk on the vibrations, thumping with the beats of their heart, slowing the pace - they breathed as one organism: the pack joined as one. There was no difference between the individuals: all were equal and driven solely by instinct as reason melted with the music.

When the song ended, the crowd broke apart, some away to fetch some drink: fruit wines, barley beer, porter and soft juices with ices for the youngsters. A didgeridoo exploded into an aggressive melody [link] as Garred started his dance, plunging into the floor, his calve muscles bulging. In his hands, he played with two torches, lit at both ends. He tossed these, swirled them about dizzingly, creating fiery patterns in the night sky. A large, masculine hand was printed in blood over his right breast, and two fingers were swiped at his cheekbones. Consumed by his performance, Garred seemed positively feral. The vulnerable uncertainty that he had exposed before has completely dissipated. At the end note, he dropped down on one knee, lifted his head abruptly so that it sent his locks swooshing backwards and breathed fire. There was applause and greetings as he dunk the ignited torches into a barrel of water. He caught a glance at Stacia and quickly looked away, his inner-dialogue a mystery as he smiled at an older brute of a man that slapped him on the back.

Warren was seated on a log with his wife at his feet, happily braiding her daughter's hair. Lavender was chattering and blushing with a sizeable fellow that could maul her over with flick of his arm. Garred was now sitting alone, watching the others dance around the bonfire with a joint hanging from his lips.

"You're not from here, are you?" A girl asked Leo. Her hair was tied back in golden dreads and her eyes were a burning blue that seemed to catch the light of the embers and lapping fire as if to playfully lap at the soul whomever lucky enough to catch her attention. She wore next to nothing, scrapes of cloth and beads obscuring her breasts and a black lace skirt that hugged her hips and danced at her heels. She, too, was painted in blood: a tribal pattern at her naval, as if her slender, toned middle needed decorating. "We've never had a city boy before."

The girl arched an eyebrow at Stacia's behaviour and threw a thumb at her, looking at Tannim with the same perked brow. She was one of those people that had perfected the gesture. "Boy," she laughed. "You look like you need a drink. Don't worry," she added, noticing him eyeing the blood. "None of it's infested or anything. I'm offended, stranger," she gasped jokingly and winked him to follow her to the beverage stands.

Garred seemed lost in thought. A short-haired brunette approached him and offered him a drink. He received it gracefully and smiled at her. They talked for a while, then she ruffled his hair and walked away to be greeted with a kiss on the cheek by a small boy that seemed to be her son. The boy was picked up and tossed into the air, caught by a burly, scarred man that grinned at his wife and rubbed noses with her as the child pulled a face and squirmed to escape.

A rough hand touched Stacia's shoulder and spun her around. "Hello, gorgeous," the man grinned wide, checking her out with his good eye. The other was dead and white with a scar stretching over the lids.
"Back off, jackass." The voice behind her was Garred's and his eyes blazed with fury.
"Sharing is caring, omega," the man's beer belly shook with laughter. Without warning, Garred dealt a crackling punch at the man's jaw.
"You were saying," he smirked and watched him shuffle off. "Sorry about him," he said to Stacia. "He used to be one of the best hunters, but when you end up like that... There's not much left to live for. And when you lose your purpose..." His smile was warm and charming as ever, his eyes apologetic, yet distant. "Try not to get into too much trouble." He turned to leave.

"Seem to attract people," Garred laughed, his eyes gleaming with amusement. Sobering before she could feel the slightest discomfort, he held out his arm to be taken. "I want to show you something."

The girl smirked at Tannim. "You mean us?" She laughed, the beads rattled as she did. "I know what you mean. I was born in the city before my parents died." She shared this as if it was no secret at all. Truthfully, it wasn't. Everyone in the village knew exactly everything, or at least almost everything, about everyone. "But you get used to it, and it's not so gross once you know exactly where the stuff come from. I'm one of the coordinators, by the way. Frey." She reached out her hand to be greeted properly.

Frey smiled at him and closed her other hand over the back of his. They were still cold and a little clammy, smelling faintly of tea tree and alcohol. When she let him go, her hands almost touched her naval before reminding herself what was there. They dropped at her sides. "Um." Her eyes were apologetic and it was subtly obvious that she did not like the idea of someone else's blood on her body. "Well, Leon; may I call you Leon? What are you in the mood for?" She motioned to the barrels of booze. All were labelled and even shots were poured of each for those who are picky about their drink. This was something Warren was peculiar about, and something the women enjoyed, but nobody else really cared for at all. If it was alcohol and they could get drunk from it, they were happy: taste was of little relevance.

Garred looked away, his smile vanished as he remembered her rejection earlier. Her hand on his arm burned into his consciousness: both a burden and an annoying blissful sensation. The crowds tired him. He enjoyed being the centre of attention when he earned it: appreciated, but otherwise... Seeing everyone mind their own business; it was the same as every other day in the village. Stupid village idiot, he chided himself, his brow furrowed deeply as he stared ahead, leading Stacia into the woods.

"I, uh..." He shrugged and shoved his hands in his jean pockets. "You will want to see this. You can't leave Faerang without seeing it's most famous landmark at least once." He offered her a smile. There was a long pause. He looked away when he spoke next, facing her but not looking at her. Instead, his eyes trained on something in the distance to his left. "When I kissed you, or tried," a slight blush coloured his neck and cheeks, "I'm sorry." He looked down and kicked at a rock. "It was improper and I wasn't thinking. I won't do it again. You're safe with me. So... Volcano?" He looked up at her and studied her eyes.

"Well, you seem fairly healthy, so something light. Try this." She handed him a shot of elderberry wine. "That's my favourite, imported from As'arden. If you're feeling adventurous, you should try the butternut rum. The rest, I'm afraid, taste like s**t." She laughed and poured herself a pint of elderberry wine.

He watched her as they walked on, then looked down at his feet, smiled, treading soft moss and bark, his toes picking up residue. How was it that a stranger could make him feel this way? He brushed the thought away; it scared him. "Not too far. But if you're not used to walking, I can carry you?" His eyes grew wide. "I mean, on my back, not... In a weird way." Gods, what the ******** is wrong with you... His face was a deep red and he glanced away, intent to frown it away. "It's your call," he said in a gruff voice.

"Garred is always friendly." She was oblivious to the extra meaning and poured him a pint of the wine, handed it to him. "He has a hard time in the village for being friendly, but despite what they say, he's an ingenious hunter and deserves a high rank. Actually, he was the only one who came up for me when the natives started their... Initiation." Frey held out her glass for a cheers.

A smile tugged at Garred's lips. He couldn't help it and gave her hand a gentle, barely noticeable squeeze. The soil beneath them started to blacken, the vegetation greener and more lush than ever, but there was a moss-littered stone path that they followed. "Watch your step," he warned, taking his hands out to hold her hand for in case she would slip and fall. "It hasn't been active in years, so there's nothing to worry about." He took a lungful of fresh, moist air. "This is where we offer gold and prized objects to our god," he explained.

"Yeah," she gave an embarrassed chuckle and twirled a neat dread that dangled at her cheek, drank a quarter of the wine in her glass. "Faerangites hate foreigners as much as they hate them. Perhaps even more. Even Imperials. I probably shouldn't go into the details on why, but when a foreigner is accepted into the clan, everyone gives them a hard time: from not helping you at stores to harassment and pranks." She folded her ear to show him a long white scar behind it.. "I was asleep." That was not the worst. Another, broader and deeper scar hid just under her right breast. "At least they were discreet about it," she laughed. "So, what's your story?" Her eyes sparkled with curiosity as she put the rim of her drink to her lips.

"Careful," Garred laughed and climbed on after her, but he was too late. "Stacia, don't!" The tome had lured her into taking a step forward, a sea of voices whispering to her, inviting her in, urging her to jump. Garred was at the edge, bending over and standing on all fours with his hand outstretched towards her, but she was already beyond his reach. "Stacia!"

The drop was a long one. It seems as though hours had passed before she finally, and oddly very softly, plunging into a heap of gold and precious jewels. There was more rustling besides her own movements. "Well, this is awkward." A tall, pale man with red hair and stubble, dressed in all black with a long trench coat over it all, regarded her cautiously. His eyes then met the book that had slipped out of bag. The man lifted his left hand and the book flew to him. He grinned, sly. "Well, this is interesting."

***

"We all have stories," Frey said. "What brings you here? You're not enjoying it, so why come here in the first place?"