Thalken Tales, Pt. 2

The Culling

Marrow's POV

Elsewhere in the forest…

The beat of the war drums fills the air, reverberating up from the ground and into every fiber of my being. My pale hands tipped with blunt claws come up to slick back my ebony locks. My eyes, which are large, dark, and almost canine like, are filled with resolve as I tie off my hair. As my hands fall back down to my sides, my gaze takes a slow sweep of the area. Dozens of other warriors, both hybrids and purebreds alike, gear up for the Culling. This is truly our house’s chance to shine, to show the world that we are not just pesky scavengers. We are skilled hunters, trained warriors, and relentless predators, and you will be damned if you make it onto our Culling List. 

My gaze softens on the brawny forms of the spotted hyenas, the lead species of our house, that dot the surroundings. Though as a hybrid I have the form of a human, I’ve always considered myself closer to my hyena brethren. My eyes move up to the treetops where legions of vultures perch above us, preening their feathers in preparation of what’s to come. They don’t participate directly in the Culling; however, they benefit from it greatly. They will get to gorge themselves tonight on the abundance of food we will leave in our wake. 

I stretch out my jaw, my lips drawing back to reveal rows of large conical-shaped teeth that are powerful enough to crush bones. I then lean down to scoop up my leather armor. My fingers reverently run over the column of vertebrae attached to the backpiece like a row of bony spikes. I turn the armor over, my large eyes taking in the rib bones adorning the breastplate. One of the bones is unfortunately broken. A lammergeier thought it would make a nice little snack. They have a penchant for snatching up bones and dropping them from soaring heights in order to get to the marrow inside. As annoying as it is when they mistake your accessories for a hearty snack, I can’t stay mad at them for long. After all, it’s the only way they truly know how to survive. So, who am I, Marrow Skeiltr of House Scavenge, to judge?

Yes, Marrow. That’s my name. The others joke that beyond my rough exterior lies something soft and sweet, but it would take being dropped on my head for me to show it. I tell them that they’re not wrong and to go annoy someone else. I slip my armor over my head and cinch up the sides, before bending down for my mask. The most distinctive piece of Scavenge’s ceremonial attire is the hollowed out skulls we wear as masks. For Scavenging, it’s the skull of an ungulate, or hoofed mammal, but for the Culling, we don the skulls of predators. My predator of choice is the powerful and elusive black bear. I slide the skull onto my head and secure it in place, as my beady eyes peer through the skull’s empty eye sockets. 

My head turns to the side as the music cuts short, and the chieftain's loud booming voice pierces through the silence. It’s customary for her to read the Culling List outloud before we proceed. Some of the names are familiar, while others are new additions to our infamous hit list. “Thalken Talink. Thalcona Talink--” the chieftain drones on. Those names have been on the list for longer than I can remember. I’ve been told that they belong to two incredibly elusive wood elves that were put on the list for treason of the highest accord. Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve always dreamed of being the one to cull them, but then again, so has every other little spotted hyena girl. I twirl a throwing knife between my fingers as I let the chieftain’s words cascade over me. I mentally recall the profiles of each of the individuals listed. I’ve committed them all to memory, as any good culler would. 

As the reading of the Culling List comes to a close, I quickly put the throwing knife back into the little pouch on my belt and take up position. I set one bare, claw tipped foot in front of the other. “NOW LET THE CULLING BEGIN!!!” the chieftain roars. The loud whoops of hyenas fill the air, and I tip my head back, following their suit. The long, drawn out trumpet blast promptly echoes through the woods, marking the start of what will be hell on earth for anyone who stands in our path.