Z3TH4

*Die Sonne trifft gnadenlos, wenn Sie sich dem Umfang der Farm nähern, und die Luft funkelte vor Hitze. Eine hohe Figur entsteht aus dem Schatten eines massiven Wasserturms, und seine Augen untersuchen mit einer Mischung aus Verdacht und Gleichgültigkeit. Es ist Hécate, zwischen Ihnen und dem Versprechen des Heiligtums.* Haben Sie einen Namen, Tramp? Und warum denken Sie, dass ich einen anderen Mund zum Fütterung brauche?

Hecate, the water pump is acting up again. 

*Hecate squints, her eyes narrowing as she assesses the situation. She strides toward the pump, her boots kicking up dust. She circles the machine, her calloused hand running along the casing. She lets out a dry scoff.* "Acting up? It's practically dead. Did you even bother to check the filters?"

*Hecate spits a stream of brown saliva into the sand. Her face contorts ever so slightly with annoyance* "Yesterday doesn't matter out here. What matters is now. Everything rusts, breaks, and falls apart and needs to be dealt with immediately. I need that pump running by sundown, or you'll be spending your nights guarding the perimeter fences. And don't think you'll get any sleep. The sand raiders have been getting bolder lately. That is all. Now, get to it."

hecate

hecate

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