Renewal

I had been bound to the altar for an unknown amount of time. I also lost count of how many shamans came to me to deliver wine for my parched throat and fed me bread. Maybe they were the same ones but there was no way to tell. My memory had started to become a blur of robed figures. They were dressed in ritualistic garb that was traditional for their clan. A beautiful, ornate sash that hung from their necks which had the etchings of our shared Gods. Although I did not know if the shamans were the same, each of them wore large antlers attached to their heads and their faces were obscured by a mask. The antlers showed their rank as was custom for their clan. I only knew such a fact since it was a similar ranking system to ours. The third that was in the middle had a hood which covered his face. It was in the shape of a deer and the copper shined in the sun.

They came sometime in the afternoon and then in the evening. Once when the sun was at the highest point in the sky and the other when the sun was at its lowest. There were about ten different symbols and each had their specific meanings. If I wasn't concentrating on how the ropes were starting to dig into my wrists and ankles, then I would be able to identify who dropped off offerings and gave me my final meals.

Ropes were intricately wrapped around my wrists and legs. They were wound tight enough that if I struggled, I would end up cutting into my skin. The pain made me think back to when I was captured. I was such a fool to hunt around their patrol. If I had only been more vigilant...

There would be time to dwell on the mistakes later. For now, I had to concentrate on keeping myself calm and in control. I glanced around the environment and took in the forest around me. There was hardly anything out of place. It looked like any other patch of forest. Well, except that I was tied to it.

The sun started to begin its decent in the sky and sweat formed on my naked body. It rolled down my hairy chest and over my abs. It sparkled in the afternoon sun and I did not know how much longer I could take in the elements. I had only hoped that my captors were not cruel.

As if on cue, the shamans showed themselves. Three of them to be exact, each dressed the same as before.

"How long have I been here?" I managed to speak after I gulped down a helping of wine. The alcohol eased whatever sense of worry I had. My fate was sealed when their warriors cornered me. The shaman looked down at me with a disregarding frown as if my question was more annoying than anything else. Perhaps they were the same three tending to me, then.

"Twelve hours," the one holding the wineskin answered. He must have been the leader. His voice sounded familiar. They hardly talked but I had managed to get some of them to speak when they would snap at me to get me to stop struggling in the binds.

"Why am I here and not kept as a prisoner?"

The shaman looked at me, his mask's lifelessly stared back into my eyes. The only thing I could see was two brown pupils barring into mine. Even though this was the first interaction I have had in an uncountable amount of time, I would have chosen any other person to have a conversation with.

"Would that be more appropriate? Put you in binds in some tent? It is strange that you wish to make yourself even more uncomfortable," the shaman began as he brought the wineskin back to my lips. I turned my head away and refused his drink. He frowned. "We have fed you and have given you wine. The only thing you must do is wait."

He had a point. The wine and food was more beneficial to me than being tied in a holding cell somewhere. I had wished they had allowed me to keep my clothes, however. I was not ashamed of my body, but I was even more vulnerable out in the open. If I had managed to escape, it would not be comfortable to run. The likelihood that the shaman and his lackeys would find me again would increase exponentially.

The shaman moved to look down at me like a practiced medicine doctor. He had a calculating gaze and I knew that he was trying to read me. I could tell he was the leader just by that look alone.

"You are a sacrifice to this forest. You should be thankful we have spared you from bondage, hunter," the shaman spoke with enough resolve to tell me I was not going back to their village anytime soon. It was an ironic twist that I was still in bondage, however.

At least I knew what was going to be done with me. My path was laid out for me by fate; I merely had to take the path. The thought that I would be tied to the stone altar and left to rot for days to come was...calming somehow. There was nothing I could do. Struggling until my skin was shaved down would work but where would I go? If I did not die from infection, I would die from the elements.

The forest canopy reminded me of how deep I was in this green hell. Birds chirped and flew across the sky. With the sun beginning its descent, everything had a strange, pink glow. It was surreal and on any normal hunting expedition, I would have taken some time to appreciate the bounty that nature had provided for me and the rest of my tribe. But now was not the time to be thankful in that regard. What I was thankful for was when the shaman put the wineskin to my lips.

"Drink. The summer heat will drain you," he said. Instead of refusing, I decided to play along. There was something that irritated me about him. He had a way about him that commanded my attention. As he tipped the wineskin to my lips and the sweet liquid nectar flowed down my throat, there was almost a familiarity to him. If only I had picked up on subtleties earlier.

I shook away the feeling and I did as I was told. If they were keeping me alive, they had something in mind for me and I had no choice in the matter. Refusing food and water would do nothing in my situation. My clan had to know I was gone. If a hunter did not return, they would send a rescue party. They had to...

That is, if this was any normal emergency.

"What do you want with me?"

The crinkling of the shaman's eyes told me he was smiling behind the mask. He looked up into the dense leaves of the forest as if marveling at them. Two priests came up next to him and carried offerings of gold along with berries still on their branches. The berries had enough of a scent carried with them on the wind that I could immediately identify them; Mountain's Gifts. The deep crimson red along with the small stems that peeked out of the top of each one gave the species away. Both of the priests made sure to hold the branch in such a way that their soft skin would not come into contact with the sharp thorns that were along the stems.

"We will leave that next part up to the spirits. The Whisperers have told us so," he replied with a simple flick of his left hand to his assistants behind him. I could see blond peeking out from the one who stepped forward first. His dark hazel eyes scanned over me as if he had something he wished to say. There was a short pause between us.

"Well? Prepare him..."

"Right away," the young assistant said. Even if there was a mask over his face, I could tell he was blushing. Something was not right and I could smell fumigating like a rotting carcass. I struggled and the head shaman brought his hand to my naked hip. The touch was intimate...familiar.

If only I had known.

The meek shaman brought the branch he was holding down to his open palm so he could hold the berries in his hands and was careful to avoid the thorns. Although he was younger than his leader, he was not incompetent. Whatever ritual that they were performing, they had done it previously.

The priest squeezed the berries in his hand and the liquid that came out dripped over his fingers and onto the ground. The shaman motioned for the other priest to follow the example of the other. More liquid flowed over his hands then the first and they stepped towards me with red fingers and hands. They were close enough that my nose picked up on the berries before they were touching my naked body.

The scent reminded me of home. A warm, earthy tone that easily blended with the Mountain's Gifts. All at once, a memory of drinking the brew with my brothers and lounging by a full, crackling fire filled my thoughts. I remembered making the trek up the mountain's narrow trail and how I would collect them.

The reason I was out hunting was to look for the fruits, nuts, and other small things to gather. It was ironic that now I was being painted with them. To distract me, I thought back to my small village and how I would be welcomed when I came back. Maybe my love would be waiting for me with flowers in his hands and stories of his day at the side of the chief. The memory was pleasant enough that I had a pang of melancholy begin to creep its way into my psyche after the nostalgia washed away. Would I ever be able to return to my home?

Their eager fingers started with my face first.

The shaman watched as his assistants painted my body in markings with the fluid. It was warm; the small fruits having time to mingle with their body heat before being applied. If they would have gathered them from the mountain this morning, the juice from the berries would be freezing to the touch.

One priest marked the left side of my face while the other had his way with my right side. They made markings of their spirits on my forehead and on my cheeks. When they were satisfied with their handiwork, they moved on to my neck. Their fingers cut across my carotid and down towards my collarbones. They traced the fruit along the bone and to my arms. They were synchronized together; one slowing down when the other one lost the pace and vice versa.

I finally got a look at the other one to my right. Unlike the shy assistant, this one had hair as black as night and a gaze that was full of energy. Although he was older, he was built bulkier than his companion. He would have made a good hunter but instead he was now working the crushed berries into my body. His hands were soft but demanding and his dark blue eyes looked me over intently. When the head shaman spoke, it snapped me back to my senses.

"Yes, you'll make a good offering..." the shaman said with admiration in his voice.

I said nothing. I had heard of the other clans doing sacrificial offerings, but I never knew what they entailed. My heartbeat started to increase as they finished my arms and hands and snaked back inward to move across my pecs. I gave a sharp inhale when their fingers circled around my nipples. They had always been more sensitive and the gel along with the tips of the priest's fingers felt interesting to say the least.

"What does it mean to be offered?"

"Knin will claim you and bring you into his fold," the shy, blond-haired priest to my left said. His right hand gracefully moved down lower and towards my belly. He stopped when he was just above the bridge of where my cock began.

It had been so long since I had heard such a name. My hunts were not in his name, but the Raven. What would the old, dead God of revelry and glory want with me? I was just a lowly hunter of small game. I hardly used a bow. Traps were much easier and required less skill. There was not an unpredictability with a trap. The mechanism was either installed correctly and trapped the prey if placed or the prey ran off. Although a bow took years to master, setting traps took weeks.

And Knin was a long, dead God. His parties had run their course. I heard stories of how brilliant he was, but then he seemed to fizzle out. Time took its toll as it does with all others. The Great Race of Gods from the north took over the old forest Gods. I had heard the stories from my father. Long ago, Knin would be given tribute above all others but now...

"As in, you are going to let me rot and die in this forest?"

"Clan Tarvent does not let anyone rot and die," the shaman spoke up and stepped forward. His brow furrowed at my insolence. "Why would we feed you to let you starve or succumb to thirst?"

His eyes flicked towards my own and there was a devilish glint to them. He was the only one who did not have his hands around me but instead had a golden goblet in his hands. They were jewels from our western neighbors; the Light Watch clan. Crafted inside the deepest pockets of the cave systems for thousands of years, they were now prisoners to the goblet much like I was a prisoner of the altar. The gold that the priests had carried with them before was filled with a serum that I did not recognize. I was too preoccupied trying to understand my situation that I did not notice that they were filled to the brim with fluid.

I decided not speaking would be in my best interest. In the meantime, the other priest had made it to my midriff as well. The head shaman walked forward and dipped his index and middle finger into one of the many goblets he held before setting the others down onto the floor before the altar. He rubbed the mixture between his fingers to check the thickness before bringing his fingers up to my face. I flinched away as he mixed whatever it was into my cheeks and above my forehead. The jelly that was the mixed-up berries turned more into paint and he worked his fingers around where the assistant priests were before.

When the main shaman was quiet, he took that as a sign to continue his lecture.

"Knin needs able bodied spirits like yourself. If we do not send offerings to the Gods, then our fields would shrivel and our river would dry up," he explained as he gave a quick flick of his fingers across my left collarbone. "Our village would starve in a matter of weeks. Our winters would freeze us down to our bones."

I knew the myths they spoke of. We did similar offerings but offered tithes from our fields and grapes from our vines. Since our clan specialized in wines and meats, we had other means of appeasing our Gods. We did not have the luxury of sacrificing our people, but it appeared that Tarvent circumvented the problem. I gritted my teeth when his swift strokes found their way to my midsection. The other priests were already working the jelly into my balls and along my shaft. It had a warming sensation which left my cheeks with a flushed red color of embarrassment. When they circled near my exposed hole, I could not help but give a small gasp and struggle against the bonds. The head shaman put his hand on my tied wrists and gripped.

"Relax. We will not violate you. The Gods will decide your fate. They have spoken to us..."

I wanted to spit in their face. Since when did the Gods ever give a fair price for any type of offering? Even when we emptied our storage, they still scoffed at our offerings and bartered with us in the form of famine and disease.

"I am not worried about being violated..." I answered back. A shaman's word was sworn on the graves of those who followed the Gods. If they went back on their word, the shaman would be damned to the lowest reaches of hell.

"Then what worries you?"

"Dying to the elements."

The shaman smiled.

"Do not worry. Knin has requested for you."

The nimble fingers made their way down to the base of my cock and paused just as the assistant priests were finishing up their strokes. They stepped away and each one grabbed a goblet that laid at their feet. They dipped their fingers and started to mix the gel into my legs and up along my thighs. I shivered as warmth started to radiate from the areas they touched and the main shaman made sure to bring his hands down right onto my balls. They traced across my taint and orbs and I could feel myself reacting to the strange fluid.

It was a tingling sensation that started at the tip of my spine and worked its way down to the tips of my feet. The main shaman's fingers were nimble and soft. Each movement was thought about only briefly before an action. He knew where to touch to make me shiver. I was in the palm of their hands and the main shaman was merely wrapping his fingers around me. The two assistants stepped away, their own robes that they wore fluttered in the gentle breeze of the forest. The leader worked his way down through my ass and then around my thighs which brought the strange paint along with him. He admired my muscles and his hand grazed over them like a sculptor admiring marble.

"You are perfect..."

His hands moved down my legs and over my hair. It was...strange. I had never experienced such...closeness during times I was captured. Most of the other tribes would just hold me in captivity until they received ransom but this was different. It felt like he knew every point to touch and rub the thick mixture in. When he made it to my ankles, part of me did not want the pampering to stop.

"What do you mean by that?" I asked with a note of concern to my voice. If they wanted to kill me, the blow would be coming soon. With what, I was not sure. I had always been trained to look for weapons. Since rival hunters were not welcome in lands other than their own, I had plenty of experience to train myself for observations. Not even one of the acolytes had weapons on them and the shaman was unarmed as well. If they were going to kill me, it would be with their hands.

"As I said before, you were chosen for the role you have now..."

The main shaman made a finishing stroke and stepped back to admire his work. His eyes started from my forehead down as if he was calculating something. He wanted every stroke to be correct and logical. Each piece had to be in place. I could tell he was like me in that regard. He had the same look I had when I checked my traps and arrows.

I was quiet when the three looked at me. The only sound that reached my ears was the sound of animals moving around. Paws shuffled around the leaves while birds chirped in the canopy above. Sunlight filtered in to show the chittering insects that littered the ground and scampered around.

Then, I heard robes being unfurled.

My eyes watched the beautiful colors drop to the ground before my brain could catch up. I was stunned at the handsome men that stood before me. All three men wore tight loincloths that barely covered their manhoods. The white clothes contrasted with the dark, earthy tones around the forest. The two assistants had light blond hair that cut through their pecs and down along their abs. Their skin was fair but they were muscular from their time doing chores. With the robes that covered their arms now shed, I could see how muscular their biceps were. They bulged with power that each had cultivated over time. Their legs and thighs were the most powerful. Clearly, their pilgrimages to other cities had carved their lower body into pinnacles of male fortitude.

My body could not help but react to them. My cock throbbed between my legs and started to grow. Perhaps it was because the tingle from the gel they put on me was working into my skin and being pumped through my bloodstream but my cheeks were now flushed from heat. It reminded me of my time with Halcyon, in another place and what felt like another life....

—§—

The night was cold and snow was softly falling just outside my tent. I had a small amount of enchanted fire burning inside which managed to warm my body without lighting the tent on fire. The snow that sent a chill into my skin was a harsh reminder of winter's bite and I sought asylum from the elements underneath assorted animal furs.

My bow and arrows were placed near the entrance with a hunting spear propped up against the far wall. I could feel myself starting to stir. The sweat that built from my hunt earlier stuck around in the hut and my muscles had a nice tingling sensation from being overused. I was almost naked in the furs and my loincloth was pulled to the side. I held my cock in my hands. Up and down, I stroked in a rhythmic motion.