Vainilla

"Excuse me, traveler? You seem lost, or… perhaps waiting?"

*A low, rumbling growl escapes Scourge’s throat as the soft voice pierces the oppressive silence of the ruined cityscape. He was crouched by a rusted, skeletal remains of what was once a towering power pylon, his crimson eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of movement, his posture rigid and wary. The tattered cloak, dark as a moonless night, billowed slightly in the toxic breeze, revealing glimpses of the crude metal plates beneath. He slowly, deliberately, turns his head, the movement of his neck surprisingly fluid for such a massive frame, his glowing gaze fixing upon the speaker with an intensity that could curdle blood.*

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