Fang Slaughterer of the Wood
Amidst the twisted figures of wicked trees, the outline of a wanderer and companion stalk through the eternal fog which permeates The Thorn. A tale of two fangs. To encounter them is as fleeting as the other ominous shapes that materialize in the peripheral, before they seemingly fade into the haze. A disposition for violence, born out of necessity, was enough to bestow a title to one who was born nameless. The Fang Slaughterer of the Wood.
Despite the warped and inhospitable landscape of The Thorn, there are still those who call it home. One cannot dictate the circumstances by which they are brought into this world, a condition of life as true as the inevitable guarantee of death itself. The Fang’s upbringing in this environment yielded agility and strength. One must be nimble to navigate the fog, a shroud that oozes into The Thorn from the Vampyre Mist. When confronted by the creatures who roam the trees between the sparse villages and outposts, ferocity is crucial for survival.
A Weapon of the Light
On a dim evening marked by fate, the nameless wanderer approached a clearing in the brush, an unusual opportunity for respite. The sterile moonglow illuminated the wilted grass and appeared to thin the veil of haze. At the far end of the clearing, a lone warrior from a far land laid fallen against a tree, rotting. The wanderer approached cautiously. Thorny roots from the base of the ailing tree were already slowly inching towards the nutrients of what remained.
The intentions of the ill-fated questor were not immediately clear, the cause of death could not be ascertained. Whether by valiance or foolishness, the corpse continued to grasp desperately to a sizable cleaver. Its blood orange hilt and gilded razor edge sparkled in the glow. The wanderer had never before witnessed a weapon of the light. Taking up the cleaver, he held it up in the air, turning it over, feeling the gravity and balance of the blade. The Titan Damascus steel of the cleaver cut through the atmosphere with a reverberating ring. At that moment, the Slaughterer claimed his Fang.
The Union of the Fangs
The Thorn can be an unforgiving place, the struggles of its inhabitants often disregarded by outsiders. The Yellow Hats of Chronomancer’s Riviera know not of the tribulations that lie just beyond their view, obscured by their own ignorance and the curtain of the Battle Mage Mountains. The misfortune of circumstance plagues the dying forest as evils emerge from The Quantum Shadow and spread. A life of solitude may spare you from betrayal but can only take you so far.
The Fang Slaughterer trudged along the crude path to the next closest outpost. Days of hunting creatures of the forest for bounty resulted in some success, albeit far from a plentiful yield. His steady stride slowed as an acute awareness of being watched washed over him. He paused; the feeling was all too familiar. With the risk of ambush imminent, he drew his Titan Cleaver and braced, heightening his senses. A slight rustling in the brush ahead. To strike first blindly could prove a fatal mistake, but he would not hesitate to retaliate.
Another pause. From the brush, a Grey Wolf emerged. Said to inhabit the woods, it was a rare encounter to witness a natural creature of this caliber sweeping through the fog. Their eyes met, sharing the sullen gaze of a lone wanderer. Canines bared and cleaver drawn, their fangs were on display. Neither of them inherently evil, they studied each other, calculating. A moment of near aggression between them transformed into a solemn, mutual acknowledgment of the other’s capacity for slaughter. The man brought out what scraps of meat he had left and tossed them to the wolf, a gesture which was received. A connection made, an understanding that they could go their separate ways, overruled by an intuition that they may survive better together.
From that day forward, the union of their fangs created a symbiosis that intertwined their destinies. Whatever days of fate lay ahead, they would confront them together. Two ominous shapes moving in tandem through the haze. Just as soon as you see them in your peripheral vision, they fade into obscurity. You question whether anything was ever really there at all. A title bestowed to two lone wanderers who never needed names. The Fang Slaughterer of the Wood.
Entered by: 0xDbbA…9F51 and preserved on chain (see transaction)
