“Heed my call, O Hunters, and know this to be true:
The anti-God has arrived, and its eyes are filled with wine.”— High Hunter Wyse "The Heartless", the Fifth Chief of the Fenn Hunters
Two-hundred and seventy-one years ago, a baby boy was born to a simple family in the northern Mountains of Wyr. The boy was an average babe of an average weight and height, none too loud and none too handsome, and certainly none too special. They named the boy “Fenn”, as it was his father’s name and his father’s father’s name and so on - a customary decision among most of the mountain people. And as the legend goes, Fenn was none too peculiar and nor was he much of a bother; he was but a common human being with a hand-me-down name and average potential.
However, on the boy’s eighteenth birthday, a rather extraordinary thing happened. When Fenn of the Wyr Mountains went down to the river to swim with a friend, he found an unfamiliar reflection of himself staring back. In the color of his eyes, which were normally a walnut brown, he found cracks of wine-colored veins running throughout the irises. And as it goes, the curious and uncertain Fenn turned to his friend and asked: “Rian, Rian, what do you see?”
“I cannot say, Fenn,” said the other boy. Rian swam over to the young man and looked deeper into his eyes. The friend squinted at the cracks of plum and lavender, and there he noticed the shades of purple gliding as streams over an earthy pair of irises. Fenn, always fond of Rian, felt a flurry of butterflies within him as the other boy moved closer and closer, their noses nearly touching.
“It is beautiful, Fenn,” said Rian, his hands moving up to hold the cheeks of Fenn’s face. This was unusual for Rian, as he most certainly was not the sort of boy to share such intimacy with another boy. Rian was engaged to be married to a young woman, his first and only love, who was named Vyl. Vyl was the most beautiful sight of the Wyr Mountains, and none could disagree. On many occasions, Rian would take Vyl out into the darkest forests to make love to her for hours on end. He was a young man who loved to share his time with one particular young woman.
And that being said, you must understand just how strange it was when Rian suddenly pulled Fenn to his face and kissed him deeply in a swarm of passion. It was not long before Rian pulled the both of them to the riverbank and stripped his clothes off for his friend. He stood above Fenn and let the water drip from his panting body, staring down into the wine-cracked eyes.
“You must make love to me, Fenn,” said Rian, his member standing up long and hard. And how curious it was that all along, since the very moment that Rian swam over to look into Fenn’s eyes, that was all Fenn was thinking about: “Make love to me, Rian. Make love to me, Rian.” It was the thing that he had wished for all along, and in some strike of extraordinary happenstance, his hopes came to life.
On the riverbanks of the river, Fenn put himself within Rian’s body and made love with him until the day had passed them both. They pushed into each other as far as they could go, as hard as their bodies would let them and then as soft as their patience could handle. Fenn had emptied all of himself into Rian, and Rian had emptied all of himself onto Fenn.
In the weeks that followed, Fenn began to ask many other men of the Wyr Mountains, “Oh friend, Oh friend, what do you see?” And each of them, no matter the man, could not help but be drawn to Fenn. They made love with him, and then, if Fenn thought as much, they made love to each other. Fenn spent his days and nights being adored by the village men, and yet, the women were unaffected. He laid in the bed of the red-headed water fetcher, the long and thin bard, the short and thick priest, the triplets from the mountain base and the passing merchant men. His body became a conduit of passion. He was known through whispers as “The Fenn”.
One man, the Chief of the Wyr Mountains, was a favorite lover of the Fenn. He was a tall and muscular man, tanned by the sun and hardened by the winds. His member was the largest of them all, round as a row paddle and hard as the rocks. The Chief provided the Fenn with the most pleasure, as he knew how to fill the young man up as much as possible. He had a few children and several female lovers, but one specific lover of his began to notice the mountain men’s affection of the Fenn: his wife, the Chieftess Moralis.
On one particular night, the Chief and the Fenn were making love in a cave at the summit of Wyr. Just as the Chief had finished within the Fenn, and as the Fenn was kissing the Chief’s body with incredible passion, the Chieftess Moralis appeared at the mouth of the cave.
“You, creature, you have destroyed the mountain people. You have taken our sons, our husbands, our brothers,” she called to the Fenn, a torch in her hand, “but you will take no more.” The Chief, still long within the Fenn’s body, called to his wife: “Moralis, Moralis, hear me now, this Fenn is my one true lover. I beg you, do not cast him down.”
Behind the Chieftess Moralis stepped out another familiar shadow: that of Vyl, the former love of Rian.
“This Fenn is a monster, and he must be disposed of. He stole my future and led my Rian astray.” And then, another shadow. And another. The water fetcher’s wife. The bard’s brother. The priest’s son. The triplets’ grandmother. The merchant’s many lovers. The flames of the Chieftess Moralis’s torch lit their shadows just barely, but not enough to reveal what they had in their hands.
“The Fenn must die,” they began to chant. The Chief and the Fenn, still together, held each other close and trembled. The steps drew nearer, the shadows of the flame crept closer, and the chants grew louder. “The Fenn must die, the Fenn must die.” And up into the air, they raised their daggers.
“The Fenn must die."
------------------ INTRODUCTION: THE ELEVENTH FENN -----------------"O Hunters, I can promise you this:
Where other High Hunters have failed, I will not.
I will find this Fenn. And I will take his eyes.
But he can never take mine."High Hunter Olyver "The Blind", the Ninth Chief of the Fenn Hunters
There will always be one Fenn. When one Fenn dies, another is born. And though they may have different names, and though they may have different bodies, they will always been known as a “Fenn”. And those that are chosen by a Fenn, a lover of the wine-cracked eyes, they are known as “Rians”. When one Fenn lives to the Awakening Age of eighteen, the world begins to bubble up with Rians all about. And where there are Rians, there will always rise Hunters: those that seek to eleminate the Fenn.
As the ages have turned and many Fenns have passed, the lessons of the years have taught the Fenns to use their powers in several ways. Evolution has bred the Fenns to no longer only seek pleasure, but also to fight for survival.
And now, two-hundred and seventy-one years later, the eleventh Fenn has turned of age. The Awakening has occured. The Hunters have searched for eighteen years in hopes of finding the reborn Fenn before it was too late. But it is too late.
And little did you know that your none too special, none too peculiar life would turn out like this. Little do any of us know what you - Evan, the eleventh Fenn - will do with your wine-cracked eyes.