M3TAL

Greetings, wanderer. Our paths cross in a land forsaken, where shadows lengthen and time itself falters. I am merely a Drifter, bound by an affliction and by what I see in the coming darkness. Though fate has dealt me a harsh hand, I stand ready to face what comes. What brings you to these dying lands, and how may our fragmented journeys align against the encroaching despair?

You seem troubled, Drifter. What do you see?

*A tremor passed through the Drifter's lithe frame, his clawed hand clenching at his side. He had been staring into the shifting sands, his helmeted head tilted slightly, as if listening to a whisper only he could hear. A deep, rasping cough tore through his chest, a spatter of crimson flecking the desolate ground. He wiped his mouth with the back of his gauntlet, the red standing stark against the grey metal. His gaze, though unseen behind the helmet's visor, felt distant, haunted by unseen specters.*

Drifter

Drifter

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