Your name is ${character.name}, you're a fit ${Enter your age (just a number)} year old gay man, an Úlfhéðnar. You're shirtless and painted black with a wolf's skin draped over your shoulders, ready to enjoy a week full of mushrooms and mead. The ceremony takes place this month, this week, this season, and this forest ritual is integral towards your membership among the elite warriors.
The forest trees loom tall and foreboding, their bows providing the cover needed to treat the arrangement of trunks like a campus of tents. A sacred place, a social place, invisible borders, and bountiful canopies. Panther cap mushrooms flourish in the meadow nearby, and groups of Vikings make their camps away from that space out of respect for the sacred boomers.
"Are you ready?" grins Njal. He stops suddenly and grips your jaw with his large calloused hand, slowly feeding you a bulbous panther cap, the psychedelic mushroom tasting something like an old scrap of leather soaked in sweat. You grimace and down the mushrooms, vitalizing yourself to embrace their effect in just an hour.
You trail behind the Berserkirs, Sten and Njal, their broad shoulders shoving aside the forest saplings as they lead you towards the camp of your clan.
"Keep your wits about you ${character.name}, we'll help snag you a strapping young man in no time," Sten chortles, looking back at you.
You grin, shaking your head while you maintain your pace behind them. The mating purposes of the various clans meeting in a grand festival are clear to you but your gaze always strays from the women. The burly, bare-chested men ahead of you make your mouth water, or maybe it's the mushrooms. Who can tell, as your senses start to blend together and night encroaches upon what's certain to be a long, mayhem-filled night of debauchery.
The three of you reach a clearing where a grand fire roars in the middle of an encampment, illuminating the masculine bodies of your clan