[hr][center][h3][b]Arex Thorn[/b][/h3]
[Color=silver][sub][u]FOR SO LONG HAS HE BEEN OUT HERE[/u][/sub][/color]
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Arex had come to learn this of the natives. They had an unusually high fear and intolerance for the undead and anything alike, more than one would deem logically reasonable or rightfully so. They took no risks and went to great measures to prevent such things. They decapitated and bound their dead, burying them far deeper than any sane man would dare to dig. Fresh meat was left out and tethered to hooks and bells in some ritualistic superstition. Decrepit old spikes littered every wall and fence. Every measure conceivable was taken and Arex was sure their were many more.

With that though in mind, upon reflection he now understood their actions. It was a deep seeded true fear they had. 
He chuckled to himself as he considered his appearance. He couldn't even measure how long it had been since he last saw his reflection, showered or changed his clothes. He most probably looked like walking death or worse. He couldn't blame them for their actions but neither would he consider guilt for his.

This land had not been too kind to him. The eternal twilight and endless dunes turning his mind into a timeless prison. Between the long dull monotonous drudgery of shambling between far distant locations, where people creatures and nature waited to try kill, rob or eat him, he did feel like like he was truly dead. It was that space in between life threatening situations that he was forced to constantly return to, that maddening solitude dragging on seemingly forever between the scarce horrific encounters, that's where he left behind his waning sanity. 


Arex whispered a broken tune to himself as he sat on a pile of carefully stacked corpses. His only possessions, his heavy guns, in hand. Long since before his arrival had he run out of ammunition. Yet still his guns remained responsible for the bodies on which he sat. Equally the bodies held the responsibility for the blood splatter and grime stained on the steel which Arex scrubbed at with great futility. 
Alone he sat cursing the dead and mumbling to himself. Surrounded only by a roofless shack who's walls were so damaged they now served little purpose but to mark what once was. The centrepiece of a shambled tiny temporary village. Built for a single family, now home to just one man.

“[i][b][color=silver]Arex, Seer of... Sand,
Whose gaze does see no end to time,
Sees not the fucking Doch Mol,
Where eternal bullshit dare rise
But the fables of Ez-Lye
Where, by false words, fools come to die.'s.[/color][/b][/i]”