TiredWriter
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Pelem: Of Ministers and Monarchs
- Thread starter TiredWriter
- Start date
Fly
analog romeo
Another delightful (wretched), sunny (scorching), merry (miserable) day in the shadow of the Kyberal Mountains.
The sun is, as it is everyday in the Wasteland, strong and offensively bright, the lifeless desert offering no shade from its powerful rays. The heat can be seen rising in waves off the dirt and sand, over the dunes and small hills of the valley, and the familiar high pitched sound of insects plays in stereo. The desert is, aside from fervent bugs, rather quiet and uneventful today, most animals sleeping underground to avoid the heat. However, the Great Death is not entirely devoid of life.
Not too far from one of the few paths through this side of the Wastes sits Nidera Cen, of small infamy. He is lounging beside a lazy looking creature that is, one can assume, some cross between a camel and a horse, underneath a lean-to. He's wearing little - loose pants and old black boots - and appears to own very little with the exception of the few bags hanging off his very noble steed. He has well-tanned skin and dark brown hair - two features almost never used to describe him.
The man is what is typically called a "mutant" and cannot pass for human due to the various spikes of bone jutting from his forehead, shoulders, elbows and shins, and a pair of sharply pointed ears and vibrant purple eyes. He is considered less than the dirt he sits on, a worthless worm that can only serve a purpose as a slave, and he embraces it. He was recently tasked with intercepting a woman he only knows as The Iron Bitch. Aside from her title, the job is already riddled with unusual things - the most prominent detail being that he is simply not allowed to kill her if need be. That, with the strange and uncommon whisperings and secrecy of the Slave Trade Organization, have worked to make Cen a little more edgy than usual.
For now, he does nothing but wait in the heat, alone, for this **** made of metal, as his orders demand of him.
He grumbles impatiently and takes a sip from his camelbak.
The sun is, as it is everyday in the Wasteland, strong and offensively bright, the lifeless desert offering no shade from its powerful rays. The heat can be seen rising in waves off the dirt and sand, over the dunes and small hills of the valley, and the familiar high pitched sound of insects plays in stereo. The desert is, aside from fervent bugs, rather quiet and uneventful today, most animals sleeping underground to avoid the heat. However, the Great Death is not entirely devoid of life.
Not too far from one of the few paths through this side of the Wastes sits Nidera Cen, of small infamy. He is lounging beside a lazy looking creature that is, one can assume, some cross between a camel and a horse, underneath a lean-to. He's wearing little - loose pants and old black boots - and appears to own very little with the exception of the few bags hanging off his very noble steed. He has well-tanned skin and dark brown hair - two features almost never used to describe him.
The man is what is typically called a "mutant" and cannot pass for human due to the various spikes of bone jutting from his forehead, shoulders, elbows and shins, and a pair of sharply pointed ears and vibrant purple eyes. He is considered less than the dirt he sits on, a worthless worm that can only serve a purpose as a slave, and he embraces it. He was recently tasked with intercepting a woman he only knows as The Iron Bitch. Aside from her title, the job is already riddled with unusual things - the most prominent detail being that he is simply not allowed to kill her if need be. That, with the strange and uncommon whisperings and secrecy of the Slave Trade Organization, have worked to make Cen a little more edgy than usual.
For now, he does nothing but wait in the heat, alone, for this **** made of metal, as his orders demand of him.
He grumbles impatiently and takes a sip from his camelbak.
