Fauns

They are the children of the wild places. They are the forest spirits given shape. Sometimes they inspire humans to fear travelling to remote places, and sometimes they rouse your primal natures. Sometimes they hinder those who venture into forbidden regions, and sometimes they give aid. Their natures are as tempestuous as the nature they serve.

The fauns have wandered far and wide in the world. They are the cousins of satyrs and the consorts of Pan. Memory, here, is a haze. They came about during the turn of an Age — touched directly by the wild anima of Gaia during a period of creation. Were they humans who wandered too far, a primal spirit awakened in their breasts? Were they animals who strayed and awakened to hyper-evolved intellect? The signal is static. We do not remember. However they were created, they clung to those far places as embodiments of natural power, avatars of death and rebirth, away from mankind’s struggle to reassert itself over the planet.

Times are tough for the mythical ones. Creatures of folklegend are reduced to mundanity. The forest deities, the fae, and the monsters are slowly pushed out of their ancient territories. Out of sight, out of mind. Those that did not find sanctuary in the hidden places likely died out alone and forgotten. A community of fauns have gathered in Bacas County. Some have gathered about Cucuvea, the old owl woman. Others have succumbed to corruption by a Filth-festered tree. Others await word from Mr. Stag Head.

And who is Mr. Stag Head, sweetling? He is known by many more resplendent names. He is antler, heart, and woods. He is a forest god. Down on his luck, he drowns his sorrows in the local tavern. He is without focus, cast adrift. Outside, the fauns pray that the forest god will awaken to purpose and guide them. For now, he only lifts his mug.