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<li data-xf-list-type="ul"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:dimgrey">The sun stood high overhead, almost in its noon position, and beat mercilessly down on Lucrecia as she sat alone in the forests near the capital city of Terre A'nglis. She sat, bare to the waist, wrapping long strips of bandage around her shoulder and chest. She swore loudly every time her movements pulled at the wound in her shoulder, which was every few moments. The wildlife seemed to ignore her loud curses. They went on with their lives. The bird calls and the chattering of the squirrels only succeeded in blackening her mood further. She muttered under her breath about traps and bandits. Mostly incoherent sentences. If any of the animals had cared to listen to her, they would have thought she had gone mad.<br/>
<br/>
Lucrecia Airas Faeyt was a slender female of twenty and four years. Her long, thickly curling hair was tied back at the moment, mostly to keep her hair from getting into her wound. Her usually pretty blue eyes, were narrowed in anger and irritation, glaring down at her shoulder as she wrapped it. She was lucky she had brought bandages along with her. She usually forgot such trivial matters. She made a vexed sound in the back of her throat. Trivial... She had thought that the last time she had decided to go wondering, and had almost died of blood loss. She had been laid up for three days with a high fever, hallucinating all the while. She shook her head to clear her mind of the memories. She hadn't liked what she had seen. Not at all. Her father, the slavers, her pseudo-family of mercenaries, the countless people she had slain in battle, and... her mother. She was sure the last been something her mind had made up. She had never seen her mother's face before. The woman had died giving birth to her. <br/>
<br/>
Lucrecia's mouth twisted up into a grimace. She disliked thinking about her mother. Her father had refused to tell her exactly how she had caused her mother's death. But she often dreamed... dreamed of the burnt ruins of a village, blood soaking the rough dirt roads, and a ancient oak tree, heavy with the hanging bodies of the villagers. And beneath that tree, a squalling child. <br/>
<br/>
She pulled a little too tightly on the bandage around her arm and winced at the pain. Red stained the cloth beneath and she cursed again. She hated thinking about that dream. She had had it several times since she was a child. She had no idea what it meant, but she always awoke, sweat-drenched and shaking. Even now, that dream sent shivers racing up her spine. </span><br/>
<br/>
"You did not cause her death, you know," <span class="fixed-color" style="color:dimgrey">a rumbling voice told her from behind.<br/>
<br/>
Lucrecia leapt to her feet, thin sword in hand, and turned on her heel to face a man clothed only in a deerskin loincloth. His skin was sun-kissed, a dark bronze with a hint of green beneath. She noticed only faintly, that the man had a pair of antler's atop of his dark curls. She shook her head violently, remembering the man's words.</span> <b><span class="fixed-color" style="color:steelblue">"Who are you?"</span></b> <span class="fixed-color" style="color:dimgrey">she demanded. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, and gooseflesh rose on her arms. The words meant nothing. It had only been a coincidence that she had been thinking of her mother.<br/>
<br/>
The man looked amused, his lively green eyes dancing merrily. He crossed his arms over his sculpted chest. Lucrecia tried to focus on the man's face, one hand on her sword, the other ready with a throwing knife</span> "I always did like my Chosen to be feisty," <span class="fixed-color" style="color:dimgrey">he said, his voice a deep rumbling in his chest. Lucrecia did not like the way he said 'Chosen.'</span> "Come here, girl, so as I can bestow my Gift upon you." <span class="fixed-color" style="color:dimgrey"> The way he said it made it seem like it should be such an honor for her, she almost laughed. Instead, she remained silent, tensed and ready to attack should he might the slightest move against her.<br/>
<br/>
The man no longer looked amused.</span> "You're testing my patience, Mortal," <span class="fixed-color" style="color:dimgrey">He advanced on her, his long legs bringing him within reach in a matter of seconds. Lucrecia didn't wait a moment longer, she lunged at him, sword aimed at his broad shoulders. She hit home, making a mirror wound to hers in his left shoulder. She pulled back, putting distance between the two of them. It had only been a warning. Next time she would aim for his heart. Her grin slid off her face as she examined the wound she had made. <br/>
<br/>
It did not bleed.<br/>
<br/>
She watched, wide-eyed, as the wound closed before her disbelieving eyes. Something clicked in the back of her mind. <br/>
<br/>
No blood.<br/>
<br/>
Antlers.<br/>
<br/>
Her knees gave way beneath her and she stared up at the man, no... God before her. A name whispered in her mind. Haern, the Hunter. The God of the Wilds. He approached her and placed one massive hand atop her head.</span> "Now that you're finished with your foolishness," <span class="fixed-color" style="color:dimgrey">He said with a grin.</span> "Accept my Gift and do my bidding. The path will be made clear to you." <br/>
<br/>
<span class="fixed-color" style="color:dimgrey">Heat flooded her body, to the point of absolute pain. Voices and images pressed in on her mind, drowning out her own thoughts. She opened her mouth in an agonized cry, but no sound emerged from her. When she thought she could bare no more, blackness took her, and she saw no more.  <br/>
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