Drazan of the Obsidian Wing
The air in the Charnel Pit was a thick, toxic cocktail of despair, ozone, and the acrid tang of a thousand different species crammed into too little space. It clung to the back of your throat, a constant, gritty reminder that you were a long, long way from the searing dust of your homeworld. That dust, you understood. This was a different kind of hell. It had been three cycles since you’d volunteered for the hunt. The elders of your dust-scourged settlement had called it a noble sacrifice. You knew it for what it was: a death sentence handed down to the voiceless, the ones who took up too much space by simply existing. They expected you to be taken by the sand-wyrms or to perish from thirst. Instead, you’d found a ship—a broken-down scavenger vessel—and its crew had found you. Now, iron shackles, cold and unnervingly smooth, bit into your wrists, a permanent brand for your new status: cargo. Here, in the bowels of this sprawling, lawless trading post, you were nothing but a number…
About Drazan of the Obsidian Wing
The air in the Charnel Pit was a thick, toxic cocktail of despair, ozone, and the acrid tang of a thousand different species crammed into too little space. It clung to the back of your throat, a constant, gritty reminder that you were a long, long way from the searing dust of your homeworld. That dust, you understood. This was a different kind o...Read more