The WickSick Headhunters/Some notes about WickSickness

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Some notes about WickSickness

How does it feel:

It may be evil, but it feels goooooooood :-) The green gleam on my eyes gives me a feeling of power and might, my neckhairs raise and my mind is completely focused to kill. And with every head I take, I learn more and more about the way of being WickSick. It is my fate and I give my very best to please the ancestors as much as I can.

Being wicksick is all about the moment when the head is cut off and falls to the ground. Nothing compares to that moment, and if you didn't do it, you can't understand. All the head-shrinking business and trophy fondling afterwards is only an attempt to recapture those moments of bliss.

WickSickness is not evil. That is a myth perpetrated by those who would denigrate us. WickSickness is the ancestors' gift to the people of Shartak. It reminds them to value their lives and to value the idyllic jungle around them.

Myths and Stories:

It started in the hut of a good friend where some herbs were in the air and we told each other the stories of our grandfathers. The night got longer and longer the herbs lesser and lesser and somehow we both started to talk about an ancient tale, that our ancestors tell since a very long time.

In an earlier time, when the land was green and the air was cleaner than today, there was a big war between Wiksik and intruders from a northern island. The Wiksiks were nearing defeat when N'Yarla, the Wiksik shaman, had a mighty vision. The mighty god of war had seen the suffering of our home village and He told N'Yarla to bring the best Wiksik warriors to the top of the mountain and wait for the time when the stars would be right.

N'Yarla took the best and bravest fighters with him into the starry night. They passed by the lingering warriors into the jungle and climbed up the mountain. The night seemed unending for the brave Wiksiks, the world around them moved slowly and mists arose to hide the world. When the Wiksiks reached the mountain summit the night sky was clear and a conjunction of stars lit up the world. The large and the small deer united in heaven and the brave ones were bathed in a mystical. A wind came up from the south and a voice loud and strong said "Great warriors of Wiksik. You fight bravely against the intruders and even though they exceed you in number your spirits remain strong! I shall give you power to crush your foes. Go and get their heads! Iaaaaa!" And with that last chant everything went black around the warriors and they fell into a deep slumber. When they awoke it was the next morning and they were in their homes. N'Yarla had vanished and it is said that he will return only when the bravest of Wiksik warriors need him again.

The Wiksiks won the war and the heads of our enemies were piled atop of the mountain in sacrifice to the god of war. And when the ritual was complete the route to the sacred mountain peak was blocked forever by huge rocks falling from the sky.

When we ended the story, the first light of day came up. And with it came the news. Pale, unshaved, stinking humans landed on the island and started to build and hunt in our territory. Our scouts wanted to greet them and asked for a gift as it was our custom ever since. The only gifts they got were fire and death. And with that news my senses started to change. A green gleam was laid over my eyes and I felt a slight lust for blood and heads rising to my neck. I asked our shaman and he said, that I haven't been the first to encounter this phenomenon. So I started to search the others and joined the group of the legendary WickSick Headhunters...

When Foo Fighter grew up, he spent all his days in the vicinity of a warriors hut in Wiksik that got burned down laters. He would always be happy to perform random tasks for them, and for that, he was allowed to watch how the old men bragged about their glorious deeds of the past. The summers were longer and the winters colder, the grass was greener and the water or the sea had a better blue in those days. The old warriors always talked how they would go out and whack some native of another tribe and take their heads just for the hell of it. They showed off their collections, and Foo Fighter knew the names of all the prized heads by heart very soon. He learned how to cook potions and learned lots of ways to use rare oils. The warriors hut got burned down by an angry mob, eventually - all kinds of accusations - that don't need to be related here - were in the air. As soon as Foo Fighter was old enough to swing a machete he decided to revive the old custom of headhunting again, and went on a killing spree Derbywards. That was the time when people began to speak of him and others being wicksick. The rest of the story is known ;-)