[[Open (Introductory) Post]]

The treacherous landscape stretched on for mile after meaningless mile. Snow inundated everything in a blinding white haze, including all sound; only the blustering winds were audible, to an extent. Tranquil forests speckled the terrain once and then again; some thickets were more dense than the others. The incessant screaming of a wyvern somewhere off in the trees could not be heard because it did not matter. Frigid temperatures did not matter; the merciless mountains did not matter. Heavy boot-steps tirelessly trudged their way through snow and mud. They did not falter, nor did they hesitate.

The figure, which lead itself through the whiteness like a menacing shadow, continued to move; the blizzard meant nothing to him. Of course, nothing in this moment proved important to him save for his destination: He headed in the direction of a cluster of abandoned fortresses. The apparition approached further, as if possessed by an unfathomable instinct. This was absolutely something he must do. Fresh blood overwhelmed his sense of smell; in an instant he could taste it, taste each sword stroke through human flesh. He licked his lips. It excited him so intensely, he could barely contain himself. Long, dark locks of hair whipped his face in the wind.

The enticing scent drew nearer to him. In his exultant stupor, he did not at first realize that there was something different in the air. It accompanied the scene rather well—with every great feast, there would arrive unexpected guests. He sensed the magical barrier being cast upon nearly the entire mountain, and instantly the carnage was set to begin. The man halted, for the first time in his hours of continuous travel, to breathe in the air.

“Beautiful.”

He muttered this to himself in a dazed breath. Truly, this was where the Black Fang intended to hold battle. Stepping up to the wall of one of the forts lead him to discover the opposing side of the skirmish. Peculiar, they were; they sported a flurry of color, and their fighting styles were much more free than the artificial movements of the morphs. His curiosity was piqued. He ambled further into the core of the fight, watching them closely. Perhaps, in the long run, he would catch their attention.