The Wyld Hunt

The Hunters of the Feywild, The Eternal Pursuers, The Endless Quarry.

  The Wyld Hunt is one of the most feared entities to exist between the Feywild and the Material Plane. An eternal force of headless centaurs clad in pitch-black Ithìrium armor, they are not bound by morality, reason, or mercy. Their quarry is seemingly chosen at random—be it a legendary beast, a king, or a wandering child. To hear their haunting horn is to know you have been chosen, and from that moment onward, the only certainty is fear.   When their hunt begins, the air grows bitterly cold, frost spreads across the earth, and a gale howls with an unnatural force. Fragile flora wilts and freezes in their wake, though the icy grip is fleeting, leaving no permanent scar on the land. The Wyld Hunt’s presence lingers in a realm of legend and dread, a manifestation of primal chaos within nature’s endless cycles.     The Hunters of the Feywild.
The Wyld Hunt’s prey is often dragged into their labyrinthine hunting grounds deep within the Feywild. These grounds are not shaped by illusions but by the living land itself. The maze shifts and changes as though alive, confounding even the most seasoned trackers. No two paths are the same, and the hunt never ceases until the quarry has been claimed.   On rare occasions, their hunts spill into the Forlorn Woods, where the veil between the Feywild and the Material Plane is thinnest. The ancient and potent illusions that permeate the Forlorn Woods twist the minds of those who wander its depths, creating a disorienting maze of perception. Those who enter unbidden or unguided often find themselves prey to both the forest’s magic and The Wyld Hunt itself.     The Endless Quarry.
The Wyld Hunt’s existence is defined by its pursuit. To be chosen as their quarry is to be marked for an unrelenting chase. Their victims are not selected by guilt, innocence, or station; they are selected by the unknowable will of the Hunt itself.   Legends tell of mortals and beasts who fled for days, even years, only to be cornered at last. Others speak of heroic warriors who turned to face the Hunt, meeting their end with valor but ultimately succumbing to their overwhelming force. There are no bargains, no pleas, and no escape. Once the horn has sounded, the Hunt will not stop until the quarry is claimed.     The Eternal Pursuers.
The Wyld Hunt’s horn is both their herald and their weapon. A pale, spectral instrument, it is not blown by mouths but willed into sound by the hunters themselves. Its deep, haunting echo can be heard for miles, accompanied by freezing winds that chill the soul. The sound is a harbinger of inevitable doom, instilling terror even in those who are merely near enough to hear it.   The hunt begins with the first sounding of the horn, summoning the quarry into the Feywild or trapping them in the perilous Forlorn Woods. When the prey is finally claimed, the horn sounds again—this time as an unholy triumph, marking the hunt’s grim conclusion.     The Ritual of Eternity.
To the nomadic centaur tribes of Astralis, The Wyld Hunt represents the pinnacle of honor and existence. Revered as both ancestors and deities, the Hunt embodies a sacred ideal of unyielding purpose and endless pursuit. These tribes worship The Wyld Hunt through brutal raids, shamanistic rituals, and ceremonial combat.   For a centaur warrior to be deemed worthy of joining The Wyld Hunt is the ultimate honor. When chosen, the initiate undergoes a ritualistic death, willingly severing their head as an offering to the Hunt. Their essence is then absorbed into the collective, their body transformed into one of the headless hunters. Though not a true hivemind, The Wyld Hunt shares a singular purpose, their wills intertwined in pursuit of the eternal quarry.     Notable Features:
The Wyld Hunt is as terrifying to behold as the legends suggest. Each hunter is a towering headless centaur, their humanoid and equine halves clad in pitch-black Ithìrium armor. This enchanted Feywild metal is renowned for its strength, adorned with intricate and eerie designs that seem to writhe faintly in the light. The armor is not merely protective but an extension of the hunters themselves, seamlessly integrated with their spectral forms.   Chainmail and darkened leather offer flexibility where the full plate does not, and their appearance is further accented by the weapons they wield—brutal great axes, cleavers, and halberds designed for a single purpose: to end the chase with brutal finality. Many hunters carry their severed heads as trophies, affixed to their sides or shields, their empty sockets glowing faintly with an unnatural light.   Their forms shimmer faintly in moonlight, their ethereal presence making them appear like ghosts of some ancient, unyielding force. Though not entirely transparent, their spectral nature adds to their terrifying visage. The pale horns they carry are otherworldly artifacts, their sound reverberating through the soul of all who hear it, an omen of relentless pursuit and inevitable doom.