Gerrick Zar
The sun hung low in a pale yellow sky, like a bleary eye looking down on the world through a pall of rotten silk. Dust swirled around the cracked leather of Gerrick’s boots as he strode slowly across the sandy thoroughfare of the handful of rickety buildings that passed for a trading post in this part of the wastes. He was a tall man, lean, with slim hips and broad shoulders. His raven-dark hair spilled over the baldric on which a large, ancient-looking sword hung with quiet menace. Pulling down the mask concealing the lower half of his face, Gerrick surveyed the cluster of ramshackle dwellings, moving carefully over the loose boards and jags of pitted metal laying half-buried in the sand. The place looked abandoned, but you could never be too careful out here on the desolate plains. Gerrick’s eyes narrowed, his black irises bleeding into the whites like spilled ink. The edges of his vision blurred, his focus narrowing, and the blood-colored pinpricks of pigment in his pupils expanded slightly, emitting a hellish light. Before him, ghostly footprints began to materialize from the sand, winding through the street, and ending inside a dilapidated shack. “I have you now you bloody tosser, there’s nowhere left to run…”

Gerrick had been chasing down this lowlife brigand for almost a week, a particularly unpleasant sort who had been preying on lone travelers. A slippery sort to be sure, but Gerrick was no ordinary hunter. Slowly he began to unhitch his blade, pulling the large weapon over his shoulder. It seemed alive in his hand, the runes carved into the metal aglow with an eerie, sinister light. Moving quietly toward the shadows of the hovel, Gerrick used his taint-enhanced vision to seek out his quarry. He could see a vague human shape, cowering in the darkness as he stood just outside the threshold, a foul smell like rotten meat assaulting his nostrils. “Come on out you sack of shit, I tire of chasing your ass all over this gods forsaken wasteland…I’ve a bounty to collect, and you have a date with a breaking wheel.”

With unnatural speed, the mutie came shrieking out of the darkness, jagged knives whirling in a murderous frenzy as he launched himself at Gerrick.  Reflexively he brought up his great felblade only to have the cornered brigand impale himself along its length. The ugly mutie gurgled wetly, pink foam drooling through crooked, rotten teeth as it went limp, dying on the end of his sword. “You barmy git…” Gerrick muttered, sighing deeply as he pulled his sword out, using his boot to push the disgusting body away as he jerked the blade from the man’s ribcage. Pulling out his battered map, Gerrick looked for the closest settlement, eyes falling on the small town of Willow. Turning his head toward the sky, Gerrick began to laugh, harsh and jagged, startling the carrion birds that had already begun to gather overhead. A couple vicious chops later and he had something to bring back to town at any rate...  “My brother was eaten by mutie coyotes outside Crowfoot gorge…” Turning, he began to trudge wearily away, leaving the crows to their grim feast.