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Instinctively, Naima squeezed the pendant in her hand. She could almost see the opening she used to access the forbidden ruins. She felt a cold shiver running down her back Naima begun to run faster. She could spot them in the flashing, blue-white light of her rifle’s keres core. It laid as a shroud, a thick layer growing slowly ever since the day everything fell. The Forbidden City - Age of Secludia, 409 A.K.ĭust, black as a fading memory, covered the metallic floor of the ancient tunnel. What the truth is, no one knows, for Naima always keeps her own counsel. According to others, she has no secret, but she has ventured too far in the tainted desert and now her mind is stirred by the whispering voice of the sand. It is said that the girl is haunted by a dark secret and seeks redemption in the barren deadly wastelands. However, the broken guardian was not the only thing Naima unearthed from the Red Yonder, but no word has ever been spoken of the rest of the Vault's contents.Īnd yet, when the Silent Seeker is far from the Neon Shrine, strange stories are told about her past.

Perhaps, the most precious of these trophies is Archaios, an ancient keres-powered artifact. Disdainful of any assistance, she relies only on her infallible aim and on a keres-tech rifle, a formidable weapon Naima built herself from age-old scraps.ĭuring her lone journeys, Naima was able to reach fabled ruins and bring several relics of the ages before the fall back to the Neon Shrine. Defiant of her people’s strict rules, she chose to walk down the dangerous path of the explorer, on her own. She needs an army.Īmong the sons of the desert, no one knows the tainted sands of the Wastelands better than Naima. She doesn't need compassion for her quest. 'I already did everything I could these last two years. But you don't have to go, you know? You could stay with me. But you had no idea who I was, back then' The man clears his voices a bit broken by sadness, 'You know, since I found you in the desert, two years ago, you've been like a daughter to me'

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He doesn't smile, for he never quite learned how to lie. The man in front of her is short and large. One is a young girl, not a child anymore but not yet a woman. Two figures stand still, where the path divides in diverging roads. They won't be erased until the next age of this world, for the wind never blows in the narrow canyons of the Reaping Fields. There are footprints in the sand, left by those who walked the valley before. The Reaping Fields - Age of Secludia, 416 A.K.

As the Seer always says, everyone must do his part. He spoke words of common sense and cooperation, words of hope and wisdom.įrom that day, Gunther travels from village to village, spreading his message of a better future and, sometimes, enforcing his words with a good blow of his staff. Gunther raised his staff and did what he had wanted to do for a very long time: he talked. He found his foe and his warriors in the village's square. During an incursion of the Burning Valves clan, he picked up his staff, and walked out of his workshop to face the marauders' leader. He never complained, he minded his own business. He saw both the Black Roads raiders and the Bulwark knights come and go, after having done what they pleased with the villagers. He tried to never get involved in any trouble or get too attached to anything. He was a mechanic, a lone worker of one of the smallest hamlets. Gunther always lived a rather serene, dull and solitary life. The Vagrant Seer is one of such champions. Among them it is possible to find genial inventors, brave explorer, cruel sellswords and even heroes. The marauding Black Roads clans send their warbands to raid the villages, the mutants from the Shifting Forest steal children for their King that Never Was and the knights of the Bulwark take those deemed worthy and pure of blood to their citadel, often forcefully.Īnd yet, not all the denizens of the Reaping Fields are hopeless and resigned to a cruel fate. As resource gathering activity started to fade, a new, sinister kind of reaping began: a cruel human harvest. Over the years, small villages made of junk began to sprout through the barren lands, while the valuable materials grew scarcer and scarcer.

The Reaping Fields were so called by virtue of the abundant scraps of the old age that could be collected there. Sometimes, names do possess a strange kind of grim irony.