Edited: October 22, 2015


Prologue


Peace had rotted away humanity's fear of the unknown, instilling it with false bravado. It was only a matter of time until the Frozen Fangs of Atlas devoured them whole.

Freshly fallen snow, undisturbed and beautiful, refracted the moon's light, highlighting the jagged peaks surrounding the stalwart Kingdom of Atlas. Thin air, howling zephyrs, sleeted snow, and frigid temperatures were a few of the staple hazards common here. Reckless adventurers often bragged about reaching a summit and braving the "harsh" elements, but those familiar with hunts—the vile creatures of Grimm—knew otherwise.

The thrill of a vertical climb, defying fear, embracing the cold and pushing the body to its limits, and the boisterous pride attached to reaching the top—it was an egoist's dream come true. Mountaineers had been provoking Death for years and throwing all their cards at Lady Luck. Something was bound to happen; it was just a matter of time.

Red noses, aching skin, constant shivering, and laboured breathing were good signs. Having the wind push away zealous fools with the might of a furious hurricane was even better. The ascent may have been a complete failure, but they were lucky. They could go home and proudly proclaim: "I'm alive!". Friends and family could breathe easy for another night knowing their loved one was still here.

Hunters and huntresses barely acknowledged the braggarts occupying the local pubs. As sellswords, they knew the peril better than anyone. To them, they were nothing more than delectable walking corpses waiting to be served on a silver platter. While the mountaineers chose to laugh at nature's rage, the huntsmen lived and breathed it—some were even born in it. But what unsettled the Grimm slayers wasn't the cold or the razor-sharp winds; it was something mundane—something people leisurely enjoyed. They feared the silence.


Nature's Wrath

Arc 1: Remnant's Maw