The World of Nōwyrth

The winds gentle grace breezed passed through the hollowed stone prism, reflecting a calm and serene resting spot.
The noise of crackling and popping sounded out, like a fire given life.
A hard poke prompts a figure in the corner to wake.
As the faint light from the outside world filtered through their opening eyelids, a familiar face greets them.
“Hells here, Hunter! Best to not keep it waiting!”
The face before them smiled wide, extending a dirty, battered hand outward.
They tilt the brim of their cap upward, allowing for the mornings light to greet them. Reaching out with their right hand, they grip the dirtied man’s hand firmly as he hoists them upright and pats them on the back as he stifled a laugh.
“Glad to see you back with your senses, Drawson. Was wondering when your mind would come back to the world.”
Drawson takes hold of the iron holstered at his right side, noticing that only two bullets remained.
The man notices Drawson’s gaze and commented, “Seems your running low on battery as well… Damn! Guess we’re out luck, Drawson! Well our target isn’t going to kill itself! Now come, a mighty feast awaits you!”
The man grinned and directed his arms toward the fire, a rustic pan held burnt meat and a slimy, rotten egg… A foul feast indeed, thought Drawson to himself silently.
The man shrugged his arms and said, “Beggers can’t be choosers, Drawson. Now eat up, the шкуросниматель should be heading this way soon and if everything goes according to plan…Well, we’ll have a mighty hunt indeed.”
Drawson nods with affirmation, the “Skin Peeler” was a beast notorious in these parts of the wastes, and would prove to put up quite a fight, a tale that would be sung for eons!... or so boasted Jak at the Hunter’s Branch. Drawson took the time to examine his person in the broken mirror opposite of the campfire.
Tall, average weight, Drawson had donned on a sturdy brown jacket, worn and rugged with some sizable holes located at the back sides of the coat and the sleeves openings having been torn, Drawson knew truly well that this armor had seen better days. The jacket itself held light brown sheep’s wool upon the inside whilst metal plating covered the front, rear, and arm sleeves of the coat, hiding beneath the sheep’s wool. Drawson fared a few pockets in the front of the jacket, each filled with various tools utilized by the average hunter: A Hunter’s Knife, a fixed bladed knife stretching at 12 inches in length and ending with a pronounced clipped point, its steel blade shimmered brilliantly within its leather holster fixated at his waist. The handle of the Hunter’s Knife was made completely out of bone as the knife itself was a project stemmed from Drawson, a reminder of his first kill as a True Hunter.
Drawson held a few Stems with various healing properties that could keep any hunter within optimal health. Of course every hunter knows of the dangers of the wastes, Drawson carried a metal container the size of a medical bottle which held a few herbal berries and leaves conditioned into pill sized capsules and ointments, used for fighting infections, burns, deep lacerations, and in emergencies, deep hallucinations due to Hallucinari Mutants.
And at last, a metallic hook, tied to a piece of worn rope attached to the rear of Drawson’s leather belt. The tool itself had been used thousands of times, the metal rustic and discolored and the fibers of the rope loosened and split, the tool itself could use an upgrade.
Enveloping Drawson’s bottoms were some grey jeans, a tattered hole in the mid of his left leg revealed his knee, his weathered skin, tanned and bathed in scars and scratches, some old, faded, and silvery. Whilst newer scars stood out with deep and reddish lines foretelling a life of endurance and adventure…or of pure foolishness and recklessness, whichever helped to stifle a laugh, thought Drawson.
Drawson’s feet, armored with the finest boots!... Or at least they used to. The leather of his boots were heavily worn, scuffed, and faded, dulled by exposure to rocks, dust, and mutant blood. The soles have seen better days as its thick hold was uneven with sections worn out from countless months of traveling through fields and mountains. The treads of his boots had lost their splendor having been almost fully eroded, and with patches of smoothness now replacing the once refined traction brought a tear to a shoe cobbler’s eye. Dirt, mud, and dried blood were caked into the seams and grooves of his boots, creating a ghastly sight!... or a boastful one, dependent on one’s mood, thought Drawson. The boots laces! They have been frayed! Knotted in places where snaps have been repaired on the go. The metal eyelets, oh dear hunter Drawson thought to himself, show signs of tarnish with some metallic eyelets missing completely.
Drawson gripped the brim of his cap feeling the embroidery cascading across the right of the helm and down left to the brim. Drawson’s hat, a valued treasure, had been kept in fine shape. Drawson had cleaned and repaired this cap over the years, taking care to keeping the original look intact, as if he were donning a new one. The embroidery of his cap showcased metallic roses, shaded with a violet hue and outlined in a deep coal black, with forest green, serrated leaves with the stems taking a darker shade and covered in a beautiful array of thorns, each poised with pristine, blade like sharpness. The entire cap took the shade of faded grey, allowing for the multilayered petals of the amethyst hued rose to shine.
Another key garment to Drawson’s uniform, was donned around his mouth and nose, a bandana made of fine cloth. The cloth itself took a navy blue shade with a sigil taking the shade of a glamorous raven white. The sigil itself was of a scissor-tailed flycatcher flying right diagonally. The sigil held importance to Drawson’s person, holding a long history within it… But something else caught the hunters attention. Drawson felt a slight throbbing pain upon his forehead, extending downward toward his left eye.
He gripped firmly upon his left eye, taking a stressed and heavy breath in… and exhaling allowing for the pain to subside.
The man took notice of Drawson’s eye and responded calmly, “The eye again? Well just try to fight it for a bit. After the hunt we’ll go visit “The Doctor,” and see if they can provide some meds. Hopefully ol’ Jak will be good on his word and pay us our dues this time.”
The throbbing pain intensified as Drawson clutched his hands into fists, closing both of his eyes firmly as the drumming continued, sprinkles of sweat began bathing his forehead and trailing downward as he felt a cold embrace engulf his body. A loud pulse began circling his head, sounding out like an echo into his ears… Thump!... Thump!... Thump!...
The sound continued, intertwining with the pain as Drawson felt his entire left eyeball burning, as if someone just attacked him with a raging torch. THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!
The pain continued, delving into a deep inferno, sending waves of flames across the entire left side of his face, a sensation of hot steam surrounded his left ear canal, as if his head was above a boiling geyser, an intense heat creeping in. Drawson could no longer bare the pain anymore as his body gave out, sending him collapsing onto the floor, breathing heavily as he felt a single crimson tear trail deep from his eyeball and onto the stone floor, its acidic nature devouring the thick layer of rock.
The man placed his hand firmly upon Drawson’s right shoulder, asking, “You alright, Drawson? Now I ain’t no doctor so you better be good.”
Drawson nods with reassurance, the pain had subsided… he gets up weakly, taking time to breathe calmly as he dragged his feet across the rocky surface, feeling like they were made of iron.
Drawson’s breaths were broken and worn, as if he had just been through a conscious surgery. The throbbing in his left eye began slowing down before coming to a complete stop. Drawson gazed into the mirror, taking notes of both his eyes. Drawson’s right eye boasted a beautiful marble white hue around the iris and a glamorous ivory white shade over the pupil, whilst the sclera kept its distinct color of pure white. The intertwined colors of white basked into each other’s grace, crafting a perfect and breathtaking painting of pure alabaster colors.
Drawson then placed his attention toward his left eye… lifeless… not a single ounce of shine radiated from the void filled ball that grew within his eye socket. The eye had lost all its color, the pupil had become a desolate waste of black, devoid of light. The iris had been drowned into a sea of stygian, no sight of life was left. The sclera had been devoured leaving behind a field of onyx, every fiber of grass taking the shade of jet, even the dirt had formulated into a deep sable shade, a reminder of what was lost… Drawson took note that the edges of his eye had tiny splotches of ichor, a burning pain remained as he struggled to blink. He released a somber sigh and began wiping his left eye with a piece of cloth he had fetched from his front right chest pocket.
As Drawson turned he saw that the man had taken his seat around the campfire and was now drinking a light golden brown substance. The man had also donned on his sable coat, with a name imprinted on the left upper side of the chest, reading, ‘Kolt.’
Kolt…Drawson’s friend… A smirk creeped through the man’s massive beard as he spoke, “See you’ve finally taken notice of the concoction I have brought for our mighty feast! Yes, Drawson, this bastard was hard to find. Even harder to buy as well. Can’t believe how many fools were willing to spend thousands for this overrated drink…Well, a promise is a promise. I’ve got the drink, now we’re even.”
Drawson nods with acceptance and slowly took his seat around the campfire. Drawson expressed his thanks to Kolt, making a motion with his hand whilst keep his voice mute, “Thank You.”
Kolt nods and says, “No problem…” Kolt diverts his attention toward the campfire, watching as sprinkles of ash laid adrift from the fire.
“How’s the eye?” Kolt asked offhandedly, without a trace of concern whilst he shifted into a much more comfortable position.
Drawson motioned with his hands, keeping his voice mute and expressing, “It is fine.”
Kolt grunted with acceptance before taking another sip of his amber shaded liquid. He hands Drawson a metal cup, saying, “Here, the rest will be in that bottle, up on the table…Try not to drink it all at once, alright?”
Drawson nods, taking the metal cup and taking a sip… A crisp and fruity flavor, inviting and sweet as well as rich. A great drink to start off the day, especially after the torment of his left eye.
Kolt took a sip of his beverage and relayed, “The шкуросниматель is going to be some trouble. After all, Jak wasn’t specific on what grade this beast was. So as for as we know we could be walking into a chieftain graded beast… Are you going to be able to use your eye, Drawson? It would aid us desperately and in this condition… we are quite desperate for funds… Both you and I could use a bit of food in our bellies. Better then these shitty meals that the Hunter’s Branch gives us… Well, what do you say, Drawson? Think you can fork out that hidden little talent of yours?”
Drawson kept his gaze upon the ever dying fire, feeling a calm drift fall upon him as he felt the warmth of its flames. Drawson took a moment to feel his left eye… no pain… and his energy was still high… One attempt… That was all they needed…
Drawson narrowed his eyes on the opening of the cave as he stood and walked outside, taking another sip of his beverage from beneath his mask.
As he stood on a cliff ledge 50 feet above a forest, he began to examine his surroundings. The pines trees seemed calm and at peace, their leaves swaying calmly in the wind. In between the gaps of the trees, Drawson was able to make out the forest grounds. A few patches of grass mixed in with a variety of herbal life ranging from: sword and bracken ferns, their feathery fronds unfurled just enough for Drawson to make them out. Bushes scattered about, held raspberries still growing, given time they would soon be ripe…as long as no mutants traversed through this part of the forest that is.
There was a variety of flowering plants blanketing the forest grounds. One of which was trillium, a striking flower which held three-petaled blooms. At the moment there were only a few painted and drooping trilliums, each taking a shade of white. Partnered with the vibrant flower was a wood sorrel, a teeny yellow flower with delicate shamrock-like leaves. Wild ginger covered more of the forest bedding, with its heart-shaped leaves forming a thick mat. Amongst the deeper roots of the soil and twirling amongst the trees was a creeping phlox, a lavender star shaped flower which bloomed beautifully within the forest.
Drawson heard footstep creeping from behind and turned slightly to see Kolt walking toward him, a brown 12 ounce bottle in one hand, a dark and demonic bull horned mask in the other, made completely of stone. He gave the bottle to Drawson, his eyes gripping firmly onto Drawson, saying, “This bottle is worth more than this mask, Drawson. So, don’t break it, or I’ll break your arm, got it?”
Drawson nodded, taking the bottle firmly within his right hand, the label of the bottle read, “яблочный сок.” Kolt dawned on his stone helm and caped his sable hood, stating, “Well, now that you’re done ‘admiring the forest,’ let’s get straight to the plan. The шкуросниматель was last seen ten miles from our current location, near the pauper village of Yorkson. There’s a Charging Gen positioned in an abandoned gas encampment three miles away. As far as I know, there aren’t any gaseous mutants around there and ‘The Black Cloud’ was spotted moving southward, which gives us about an hour and a half to make it to a white light before it arrives. If necessary, there will be an abandoned subway station just thirty minutes away. If we scatter our firm, yet sexy asses, that a way we should be able to beat the storm and still have time for breakfast. Which you’ve neglected to finish by the way, what? You don’t like my cooking all of a sudden?” Drawson, stuck on Kolt’s words, thought questionably, “Sexy asses?” He reverted his gaze from Kolt for a moment and felt his buttocks, taking notice that there was a hole in the right pocket exposing his undergarments. Kolt laughed with a heavy wheeze, slapping Drawson hard on the back, commenting, “Just took notice of that, did ya! HAHAHAHA! Don’t worry, I’ll have me Мамочка fix those up for you when we reach the city. Just try not to pay attention to it. After all, we’re on a hunt now. Now let’s get moving. Time to kill us a mutant!”