Seeking an item told to have the power to heal al wounds, break all curses, and aid in all perils, a strange group of adventurers find themselves reluctantly working together for their own well guarded reasons. They soon discover this object might n...
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The gelid embrace of the coming autumn weaved its way through the trees of the woods. Although it wasn't too late, the days grew shorter and shorter as the year neared its end. The sun began to descend toward the western horizon as the sky bled orange and pink, staining the clouds. The woods formed a crescent just northwest of the small town known as Reamerston. It was tranquil and hushed in the evening. That is, until you noticed the strewed statues of petrified travelers. This town, once known for its trade in wines and silks, grew more and more isolated from the rest of the continent as more and more statues began appearing. The last person foolish enough to traverse through the woods was a young man named Aaren. He barely had time to draw his scimitar when he heard a soft hissing behind him. Now, his stone form remains frozen in fear, eyes wide, hand reaching for his belt.
A desperate cry of fear and pain echoed through the trees at what seemed just moments after the next traveler entered. However, the shout did not come from the throat of an innocent merchant or wandering misfit. The woods seemed to grow eerily silent, save a single pair of footsteps muffled by the soft earth. By the looks of it, she was human. She wore dark gambeson and brigandine armor. Her loose breeches were tucked into her boots, worn from travel. A thick belt wrapped around her broad and lean waist, a pouch and coin purse fixed to the left side. Another belt was fastened around her broad torso, holding a Zweihander, sheathed in a back scabbard. The Zweihander, despite being a sword, was designed for long range. From hilt to tip, it measured five feet. A bit shorter than most Zweihanders, but good enough to do the job. It had a long handle and wide guard. On either side of it, less than half way down the blade, two horns, or simply two pieces of metal forged with the sword stuck out. Fastened to her side was a spatha. Hidden inside her right boot was a swordbreaker. It was a bit thicker than an ordinary knife. One side appeared as a sharpened edge. The other had deep triangular grooves carved out of it, used for catching the blades of other swords and snapping them in half.
The woman held a cold stringent expression on her face. Her dark brown hair was tied back, just barely reaching past the nape of her neck. Her thick eyebrows were sharply angled in vexation while her gray-green eyes scanned the trees as she advanced toward Reamerston. Her armor concealed her muscular form, though it wasn't hard to tell by her staggering height and broad shoulders. A fading scar ran down from her temple to the corner of her eye, with plenty more hidden marks of a seasoned warrior safely concealed beneath her clothing. As she reached the edge of the treeline, her grip tightened on the clump in her hand. It was a mass of brown, green, and gray snakes protruding from the head of a fanged gorgon. Its eyes were covered with a blood soaked cloth. It wasn't uncommon for the sight of a gorgon to turn someone to stone, despite whether it was alive or not. After dozens of failed attempts and lethal encounters, the gorgon stalking the wood was brought to a swift end. The townsfolk, though unexpectant of its demise, were not surprised at whose hand the gorgon had fallen to. She was commonly called Thanatos. Nicknamed after the god of death, and escort for souls to the underworld. It was only a title, and few knew her real name. Aegis Atlanta Zilvern.
