[@Assallya]

[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=30qc2toTKfc]D'ren stumbled and slipped[/url] - both from exhausted carelessness and the fact he was still half covered in mud - up to the vardo wagon and collapsed to one knee, gripping the wheel closest to the tavern for support. He looked down, thankful that he still had a lot of mud covering his otherwise nude lower half. But he found it difficult to lift his head back up, or even care about the carnage going on inside, as memories of the last couple of weeks began to take their toil on him. 

Tears welled up in his eyes as Samy screamed slurs and insults at him. She told him he was worthless and couldn't even save the woman he loved, Sora Lynn...

[b][i]One Week Ago...[/i][/b]

Where were the powers? The Badlands always had powers! The Leviathan needed the energy to live! He looked over to see the Leviathan dead, scorched and torn asunder. Someone had gotten to the powers before him. And there was no way to know who, since time here didn't really work normally.

D'ren scoured the desert as fierce lightning crackled overhead, as furious winds tore at his flesh and trench coat. He'd been there nearly six hours and most of the water in his flask was gone. D'ren was a glutton; warlords rarely thought on sparsity. 

Just when he'd thought all was lost, and was ready to go find shelter again, he spotted bluish-green particles dancing a couple inches off the ground, several dozen meters away. He ran toward them, hoping that another Leviathan didn't pop up to devour them before he fell upon them. But that was his luck, wasn't it?

D'ren scoffed. There was no luck, not even luck of the Irish. There was only will, and his will to survive had always been strong...


[b][i]Present[/i][/b]

D'ren saw someone through a window at the back of the tavern, in the kitchen. But he barely cared. Instead, he struggled to stand, gripping a curtain on the wagon. But his knees weakened and he fell, tearing the multi-colored curtain. On his side, facing away from the tavern, D'ren started to tie the piece of fabric into a makeshift skirt.

"Now I'm fuckin' Scottish..."

But as Samy continued berating him, D'ren's weakness and fatigue got the better of him, plus he was hungry. His hands and arms drooped to the ground as he stared through listless, half-closed eyes at the trees on the other side of the wagon, prepared for death to take him.