The Drifter

Dust was caked too thick on his goggles to continue moving. Having no choice but to waste precious time to wipe them off, conscious of his soul gem gradually growing darker. The miasma poisoning the town lived on the other side of this dust storm. He could see just far enough ahead through the orange haze to make out the sign for Comet Cleaners. Bodies were piled high against abandoned cars and the dirty glass windows of the store. This must be the place, he thought. As he approached he could make out his reflection through the grime: canvas jumpsuit, obscured by various patchwork scarves and fabric scraps, framed by the various tools that jutted from a large backpack. It’s unknown what the original textiles looked like, as now everything was the same muted, worn, sepia tone. In this desolate urban landscape it was practically a ghillie suit. The bleak scene was interrupted by a soft purple glow. The drifter had brought out a police baton, except there was a sort of charged energy radiating from it. Veins were inlaid into the metal and swirled around the handle and up the stem: the source of the purple glow. He made it to the front door and pushed it open slowly. Scanning the room he saw rows of washing machines and dryers, stacked forming aisles that reached above his head. The only light on the inside was the rays that were able to make it through the windows unscathed, painting the room a dim orange. Methodically, he went down the rows. Peering into the black mouths of machines, only inches away when there was enough glow from his weapon to illuminate them. In here the poison was thickest and dense clouds swirled around his legs with every step. Purifying tattoos, infused with common rue and inscribed on the neck and chest, offered protection. The drifter grimaces at the memory. His attention is drawn towards a back room, the employee only sign long since faded away. Following the steady sound of dripping liquid, he pulled his arm back to ready a hefty swing. Peering around the corner he catches his first sight of the beast, well the parts that are exposed at least. Hanging from a ceiling vent was a long sheet, shockingly white, too clean to be of this world. A vague form could be made out by the ripples and folds. With a loud gurgle the shape shuddered, followed by a shower of meat to fall into the puddle on the floor. He didn’t have a name for the creature, but if it can…eat, it can die. With a sharp breath, be swung hard at the mass, feeling the momentum absorbed by soft flesh before making impact with something hard. He knows the sensation of breaking bones, but in this case he couldn’t tell what they belonged to. The creature fell to the floor like a piñata filled with ground beef. Now a dark stain was visible on the sheet. It made no sound, but shuddered again, this time releasing a thick cloud of the poisonous fog that billowed out with enough force to flutter the sheet, as if a strong wind had blown through. He recoiled instinctually, raising an arm to protect his face despite wearing a breath purifier, the design similar to a gas mask. He glanced at his soul gem again, it was worryingly dark now, he had to finish this fast. Regaining composure, he prepared to swing again.

Blow after blow pulverized the creature. It seemed its only way of attack and defense was fog, with that nullified all it could do was attempt to slither away. But the man was too strong, too fast, the enchantments too strong. The purple was no longer a glow, it shone brightly and cut through the darkness of this mundane backroom turned slaughterhouse. He kept hitting until it stopped moving, and then some. The creature now more resembles wrappings used to hastily staunch the flow of a bleeding wound. Now hardly discernible from the tattered clothing and pieces of victims that littered the floor. He thought about pulling back the mask, curious of what horrors had caused him all this trouble, but thought better of it. It's over and dead now, no sense worrying about it, he thought. The leak had been fixed, now to remove the standing water. He bent down with a different tool, black as charcoal, and began drawing a sigil on the floor with thick, opaque strokes. Completing the ring awakened a power in the mixture, and the air around it became noticeably lighter. The effect spread to the main room and out the door, dissipating the fog and cleansing the creature's domain of poison. Next he pulled out a bottle of red matter the texture of dried leaves, uncorked it and took a deep breath, gagging at the intensity. He coughed and cursed as he put it away, but was relieved to see his soul gem was now a healthier white.

Double and triple checking he had all the supplies he came with secured, and that there was nothing good left to loot, he set out to claim his bounty.