Venture into the woods and you might find a local friend and cryptid, says the brochure.
They've been here too long. The edges of their cloak have gone ragged, and the Drifter themself has - how long have they been here? There's a sun gleaming overhead, shaded though it is by the interleaving branches overhead. A deep rumble of a voice that they know, too familiar and too immediate and there's a cerulean glow of a hard light blade being drawn as the Drifter advances, swift-stepped and unerring.
They've glimpsed things in the corners of their vision before. Perhaps - perhaps the Immortal Cell, rearing its blackened head, mimicking the hollow ache of loss far too astutely. Perhaps it thinks that there is more, still, that it could take from them.
There is nothing left.
But they will hilt their blade in its black mat of thickening shadow, if it will put a stop to the memory of an act of kindness that cannot be real.
b!!!!!!!!!!!!!
They've been here too long. The edges of their cloak have gone ragged, and the Drifter themself has - how long have they been here? There's a sun gleaming overhead, shaded though it is by the interleaving branches overhead. A deep rumble of a voice that they know, too familiar and too immediate and there's a cerulean glow of a hard light blade being drawn as the Drifter advances, swift-stepped and unerring.
They've glimpsed things in the corners of their vision before. Perhaps - perhaps the Immortal Cell, rearing its blackened head, mimicking the hollow ache of loss far too astutely. Perhaps it thinks that there is more, still, that it could take from them.
There is nothing left.
But they will hilt their blade in its black mat of thickening shadow, if it will put a stop to the memory of an act of kindness that cannot be real.