Time was all he had in a sea of destruction; scavenging amongst the ruins he made a meager existence from the rubble. Of Moderate size and age; he was an anathema against the dead skyline of the wated world. All things came to dust and he would be know different. His graying hair was a litany of his experinece, and his cold stare was all too common in this world. It was one of the only ones that is. The wanderer did just that: wandered. In the ruins of the former world it was all he could do. It had been years since the flash of light that had ruined the earth, and still humanity had survived. In this decrepit form of the wanderer. He had seen few others but they had been the same empty wandering type. The wars of man had scorched the soul out of earth, and a world once lush and fruitful had been reduced to a toxic dry and radioactive wasteland. What little water there was now lie deep underground, tapped by sparse and distant warlords of garbage and scrap, risen from the hell of a capital dream laid low. But far across the wastes in the silent deserts, only the dead and dying remained. To rear children in such a world would be critical but so fatally futile. Disease, radiation hazards, and horrific men would steal the vivance of any attempt. It was here by monolithic fate did one such wanderer arrive at the long forgotten vertici of earths foundations; an unassuming stone vault deep underground where the earth was still warm. A place to survive: a place to die... Such things were interchangeable in the [i]pale[/i] dark future of the earth. Limping to the feet of ancient stone doors of darkest obsidian, the grey and tall wanderer came to his rest, warm enough to expire in peace, this world was his end after all, no immortal life, no unending merry go round for him.. his part to play had finally been spent... As if by miracle a gentle whispering began, and his muscles inexplicably tightened. 'poor pale creature of earth, I pity thee' [i]to be continued...[/i]