Those who came across HIM thin frame cloaked black in the desert heat, carrying nothing but a long katana, slowly drifting along the seemingly endless road, would have remembered HIM. If they had survived.
HE continued, unaffected by the searing wind of the wasteland; physical discomforts didn't trouble HIM.HE was different. . .better. Far in the distance a hunched shape trudged toward HIM. Too far off to see any details with HIS eyes, HE closed them and studied the oncomer with HIS mind: a weathered, broken wayfarer with only a flicker in HIM of the powerful adventurer HE once was. A long, long katana hung from his belt, balanced by a heavier sack slung over his right shoulder - no doubt the meager spoils of a voyage at which his younger self would have scoffed.
A twinge of hunger pulled open HIS eyes. From deep within HE summoned an ancient energy, long forgotten by most dwellers of that world. The wayfarer was surprised to see another traveler in such blistering heat, but was far more surprised to see that traveler one moment a great distance away and the next beside HIM. He had only to catch a glimpse of HIS blazing eyes to know to reach for his sword.
HE was unprepared for the speed of the voyager, who appeared so weary on the surface, but left HIS side gaping. Almost unconsciously, HE directed some of the power that blazed within HIM to bind closed the gash in HIS side and leave only a scar under HIS blood-soaked cape.
It was now the adventurer's turn to be unprepared. The inhuman speed with which HE recovered from a wound that may have been mortal to another allowed HIM to grasp HIM now-panicked prey and drain some of his life, while strengthening HE own. Even in his prime, the adventurer could not have withstood an attack as ruthless as HIM's. And soon his butchered corpse lie soaking into the ground. HE lingered only long enough to absorb what energy remained in his body, and left a pile of clothing, dried skin, and bones to be picked at and scattered by the inhabitants of the Wasteland.
HE continued, unaffected by the searing wind of the wasteland; physical discomforts didn't trouble HIM.HE was different. . .better. Far in the distance a hunched shape trudged toward HIM. Too far off to see any details with HIS eyes, HE closed them and studied the oncomer with HIS mind: a weathered, broken wayfarer with only a flicker in HIM of the powerful adventurer HE once was. A long, long katana hung from his belt, balanced by a heavier sack slung over his right shoulder - no doubt the meager spoils of a voyage at which his younger self would have scoffed.
A twinge of hunger pulled open HIS eyes. From deep within HE summoned an ancient energy, long forgotten by most dwellers of that world. The wayfarer was surprised to see another traveler in such blistering heat, but was far more surprised to see that traveler one moment a great distance away and the next beside HIM. He had only to catch a glimpse of HIS blazing eyes to know to reach for his sword.
HE was unprepared for the speed of the voyager, who appeared so weary on the surface, but left HIS side gaping. Almost unconsciously, HE directed some of the power that blazed within HIM to bind closed the gash in HIS side and leave only a scar under HIS blood-soaked cape.
It was now the adventurer's turn to be unprepared. The inhuman speed with which HE recovered from a wound that may have been mortal to another allowed HIM to grasp HIM now-panicked prey and drain some of his life, while strengthening HE own. Even in his prime, the adventurer could not have withstood an attack as ruthless as HIM's. And soon his butchered corpse lie soaking into the ground. HE lingered only long enough to absorb what energy remained in his body, and left a pile of clothing, dried skin, and bones to be picked at and scattered by the inhabitants of the Wasteland.
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