To Live Amongst Beasts

By Illium Liberus

“You who have drunk from the Chalice, rejoice
Everlasting Hunting Grounds await from your choice
To our Father, we give our thanks
As the beasts that fill our ranks
For the Hunt, We Live
And the Gift, We Give
Be bold and true for what you seek,
For We will strike down the weak.”

“Is this some sort of cult of Hircine?” I asked the man before me. He was swathed in bandages, and his eyes burned a mad fire of delight at my reading of the scripture in my hands.

My body was weary from travelling across the northern border of the Imperial Province, but my efforts were rewarded by the bandaged man before me. He had agreed to a letter months ago about an interview I proposed regarding his history across Tamriel and he had even offered food and mead for my trek through the mountains.

“More than some mere grovellers, prey,” He laughed, drawing a quizzical look from the bartender and the patrons nearby. “We of the Lycanthrope order rested not at the bottom of a shrine, but looked upon the Great Arena and the game that dwell within its living memory.”

“And your way of life?” I asked eagerly, familiar with the name of the mysterious coven. “I understand you held a code within your circle?”

He nodded. “Our way of life is owed thanks to not only our Father, but to the Glenmorial, who have used their magic to aid us. We take great pleasure in our pursuit of the Hunt and take oaths to never betray one another or to wield the forbidden silver. We abide by those codes and never seek to draw attention to ourselves, as Hircine does not favor the vainglorious.”

I leaned forward and lowered my voice further, as to not disturb the room. “What happened to those who wished to use Cyrodiil as hunting grounds? Were they facing pressure from the rumored Cyrodiilic Vampyrum Order?”

The fire in his eyes burned brighter, and I felt every hair on my body rise. “They are… an efficient order, to say the least. The children of the Horned One keep their affairs in the shadows, and their actions even further obscured. It is not the way of our Pack to seek those who do not behave like Prey, and as such they were difficult to discern. As such, we sought no quarrel with them.”

I wrote down his words as my hands shook from excitement. “And of your people? What sort of people found themself selected by Hircine? Who stood to gain from the Lord of Hunt?”

“Hircine does not select.” The Stranger responded contemptuously. There again, I felt that feeling of primal terror surging through my body. “For if he seeks you, then you are the Prey to be chased as per the Hunt. Worthiness is not offered like some useless trinkets like Septim Coins. Worthiness is earned, sought out by those who mark themselves as the Hunters, the Mighty.”

I bowed my head. “Forgive my choice of words. My questions are motivated by curiosity and the pursuit of knowledge.”

His head inclined, intrigued by my words. “Indeed. Most Bosmer do not deliberately join us, as they hold their devotion to the Storyteller and most wish to not forsake the form they have. Some Khajiit find it a pale imitation of their Lunar Lattice. As for the rest, We are content that their lust for the Hunt supersedes their theological tethers. We are not a haven for the weak-hearted, but graciously accept those who desire strength.”

I delightfully added his words to my report. This would surely be a worthy addition for my fellow scholars. “And to the challenge, to which you spoke. What does that entail, exactly?”

He smiled beneath his bandages. “Worthiness, as I’ve said, is earned. Whether you fell glorious prey, or make a journey across lands to seek a legend brought on by whispers of the living and the echoes of the dead. And it is determined by choice.” He nodded at the bartender, who strode over and locked the door.

I noticed that every single patron was now watching me intently. “No, me? Impossible.” My words failed me when a beautiful Breton walked to me with a blackened chalice in her hand. The bandaged man took a blade to her arm, drawing blood into the chalice.

“Choose, adventurer.” The bandaged man said sweetly. “Will you be Hunter? Or will you be the Hunted?”