Death crawled through the air. Circled the trees, disturbed the living creatures that trembled in response. Their instinct for survival drove them to frantically search for a safe haven from the blackness that crept its way freely into areas it didn’t belong. Death’s energy was a warm blanket that comforted her. Nightfall brought the souls of the dead carried on the chilled night air and rising up around her. The mortals had been butchering each other in the forests for twenty-three years. A time of peace had quieted the din of battle, but death remained. Trees were broken and sliced. The air was ripe with the stench of maggots that had come to gorge themselves on the rotting corpses. The once living bodies were now nothing more than a buffet of putrid flesh. Reynard had never minded the decay, watching it being fed upon, torn from bones with tooth and claw. She fed upon life as well. As did every creature in some form or another. She considered her feast an elevated one. It was not the mortals she craved, but her own. Still, the scent of blood was one she appreciated be it mortal or immortal. She lifted her head to relish in the familiar, metallic scent. It was as sweet on her tongue as it was to the immortal energy that pulsed through her body. The mix of sensations so delicious, so enjoyable, a smile of euphoria spread across her face. She sunk to her knees beside the headless corpse of her latest kill. She had known at first glance that this immortal was one to be savored. To her delight, his death had been hard won. He had fought with fluid grace and skill. Knowing she could overpower and defeat him left her salivating for the sight of his blood staining the earth. His power, skills, knowledge, and memories would be prized assets from which her own power would be strengthened. Her hand still closed possessively around the hilt of her katana, she let her head fall back, her eyes close. Her heart raced in anticipation for the rush of energy that would fill her eagerly awaiting body. In moments, it began to seep through dead flesh, surrounded and clung as though its reluctance to separate from its host was voluntary. However, she was stronger, hungrier, possessing a greed for the powerful immortal life force so deep-seated in her vicious soul, she couldn’t bare to live without the utter rapture she experienced each time her immortality was fed by another. The energy finally gave up its struggle, separated from the body and pushed into the air with a violent shudder. Her grin spread. Her soul reached out, ensnared the stolen life force with sharpened claws. A pleasured gasp fell loudly from her chest as the energy poured into her. In a torrent as violent and forceful as a tornado, the energy was forcefully overtaken by her, mixed with her own. Claimed. Hers. Now absorbed into her body, she let out a long sigh of gratification. “Reynard!” She turned a wicked glance towards the familiar voice that had suddenly cut through the air. The Hunters had found her once again. No matter. They would never be able to stop her. She cared nothing for the Doctrine of Immortal Law that forbade the willful killing of their own kind. Her own immortal life depended on staying stronger than those who had and would seek to control her. She eyed each of the horsemen. Years of conflict burdened the history she shared with them. Marcus was a mere two inches taller than she. He lacked the height of his ‘brothers’. His quiet nature, dark hair and piercing green eyes made him the favorite of immortal females. Even the deep scar that marred his upper lip could not dissuade female attention. However, it was his abilities Reynard was concerned with. Following in the tradition of his Greek ancestry, he preferred to watch violence rather than involve himself in it directly. In close battle he was aggressive but clumsy. He fought more out of emotion than skill. Having nearly been lost during a time of war before his first death, his left shoulder and arm were his weakness. Leuric, his vivid blue eyes in contrast to the flame red hair common to his Celtic heritage, was a warrior of precision. The second in command, his talent for quiet observation was nearly flawless. Reynard doubted he had missed even the most miniscule of detail of every battle fought throughout his three hundred years. Many of Reynard’s choices in battle tactics were purposefully chosen to prevent Leuric from anticipating her actions. It was Jorin, their leader, she was most wary of. Long black hair cascaded over narrow shoulders. His exterior, she knew, was meant to mislead. The thick, but neatly trimmed beard hid a face composed of sharp, angular features. In moonlight, his cobalt eyes were so stunning in color to easily hypnotize anyone who dared look into them directly. Layers of dense clothing gave his form a bulky, relaxed appearance. His overall presence was one of a leader too comfortable in his position to soil his hands with combat unless necessary.

All handmade using an ultra hard cobalt steel which lasts up to 15 times longer than a regular HSS. This means thay have to be sharpened much less frequently and are invaluable for busy turning sessions.