The Eternal Hunter is a god known by many, feared by all and honored by some with tear filled eyes knowing he has saved them. All know the prickle on the back of their neck when the hunters eyes fall upon them, for the Hunter is not choosy in his quarry he will slay and consume man or beast, for he himself is neither. He is the first of hunters and the first prey, The Naked Blood Soaked One Who Rends Flesh.

All so called hunters, all The Wild Huntsmen no matter how grand, no matter how great the shout or trumpet of their horn, no matter how true their aim, all pale in comparison to him. He rides the winds and the clouds, the storms and the rain. All the faces of the trees are his eyes. Adorned in the oldest of crowns grown from antler and horn, he is the one who connects the man to beast. Lord of the Forest, the trail of blood in the snow, all the corpses of the forest are treasures in his coffers.

All know him. All fear him. All adore him. He brings the gift of the oldest of victories and the most eldritch of joys! Those gifts felt in the naked heat of the moment, when chest beats and hair matts, you and death in ecstatic dance when it is you or your quarry. No words. No prayers. Just truth in the moment without any false trappings or airs. Blood for blood. Kill for kill. No altar. No illusions. The Hunt is his Worship, his Domain, his Passion and his Gift.

We all know him when the blood quickens. The real question is how many have had the honor of knowing him well?