The Walking.

His armored feet crunched on the shards of glass as he walked, lumbering like a beast in a forest. He had been walking for a few hours now, rarely removing his helmet - for while it made breathing slightly more difficult, it also protected him from the scalding heat that barraged him from ground and sky. He noted that he'd gotten much closer to the settlement, which he'd taken to actually be a huge city; the former capital of Azath, by the looks of it.

What was really getting to him was thirst and hunger - unlike a normal desert, where food and water could be located (albeit with much difficulty) this desert of glass was totally inhospitable. No life anywhere, and what little life he sighted was already as good as dead and would not provide the nourishment needed.

He trudged onwards - but at this point, the warrior was tiring. He was already losing consciousness every few steps, delirious from dehydration. He was only about a kilometre away. He could make it, but at this stage, every step was pain - he could feel the angry shards pressing through his feet, trying to paralyze him, take his life. This was testament to a lesson he had taught his soldiers - your strongest enemy is never a living being, but instead the surroundings which you do not know.

Finally, barely awake, his foot hit solid ground rather than the shifty landscape of broken glass. Rubble, broken - but still solid ground. The edge of town, by a dead forest. He made his way immediately to the shade of a small shack, leaning his huge frame against it as he gasped for air in the shade.

"Fuck you, Hyperium."

With a pained groan, he slumps down against the shack wall. Damn. How had it gotten to this?? That tiny slip up...and of course Annihilus had told him he needed to work on his reaction time. Well, guess he was right.

Ah, Annihilus. He was either going through hell or being forced to train Hyperium. That was no life for him. Obsidious had not only failed himself, but the Obsidian Ultimatum and his army. Suddenly, he hears footsteps, His hand rushes to his waist, forgetting his trusty greatsword is no longer by his side. He clenches his fists, standing to his proud full height and jumping out to the other side of the shack, only for the mysterious man to bump into him.

The man in question was about 6 feet tall, dwarfed by Obsidious's huge frame. He was dressed raggedly - seeming relatively poor, though who could tell in such a ravaged land? Everyone probably looked like this, if not worse.

The mystery man has dishevelled brown hair, dirt covering his hands and clothes. Probably lived in the forest nearby, though it'd be inhospitable - then again, so was everywhere else. He looked to be about 40. He stepped back, looking up at the armored behemoth in front of him.

His eyes widened in fear - he recognised the warlord all too well. News gets around everywhere - even in places like this.

"O-O-Obsi-si-di-dious-ss-s?" He stammered, mouth agape as he trembled in abject terror. Obsidious, on the other hand, was rather confused - then realised news of his deposing probably hadn't reached this place yet. He considered using this as leverage - but no, it would not be fair. He must remember his code of conduct, to never strike fear into the hearts of those who pose no threat and never to cause unnecessary pain.

And so, the warrior drew his breath in with a sigh, leaning back against the shack as the wood creaked, staring down at the man.

"Yup." He looks away into the distance, contemplating what brought him here, face to face with an ordinary citizen. Then it strikes him that he's massacred many women, men and children just like this soul here. He sighs yet again. Pointless mistakes he's made, and never will he get the chance to make amends.

He continues to stare at the horizon as he speaks, not looking at the petrified man, who has frozen himself in place.

"You probably haven't heard the news considering the state of this...hellhole," he grumbles, muttering the last word with disgust, "but I'm no longer the great warlord you have heard me to be - deposed by Hyperium, exiled here, and now in search of a new life. So, what would your name happen to be?"

Obsidious is rather shocked at his demeanour - why is he acting so good natured? Perhaps his previous power clouded his judgement...a man who has known true power can live in peace, after all. And was a change of personality such a bad thing?

No - what the fuck was he thinking? He wasn't the nice guy. He was a warlord. He wanted his throne back. No time for a fucking identity crisis. But the calm demeanour would help him gain his ranks - and so he would adopt it for now, but by the Trinity; its a fucking pain to keep up.

Razor trembled - Obsidious himself, ravager of worlds, ruiner of hopes, was here, leaning on his toolshed. This was not what he expected his morning to go as.

Razor, or as some people called him by his real name, Cade - was a simple worker - he lived alone in the woods on the edge of town, away from the constant violence. He would drink, eat, sleep, and occasionally was consigned to do carpentry for certain clients. Recently he'd been commissioned to craft some figureheads for the Arkanium - a well paying job that required his utmost attention. 50,000 credits lay on the line, as well as his life if he wasted their time. They weren't known for their tolerance, after all. He steels himself. He needs to get this done.

Razor cleared his throat.

"Well, my name is Razor - some call me Raz," he fibs, making up a nickname on the spot - he might need it to dodge this guy later. "You are kinda leaning on my toolshed though, and I need to get some carpentry done." His gruff voice bounces around the flat area. Obsidious ponders this. Begrudgingly, he steps aside as Razor enters his shed. Obsidious catches a glimpse of a multitude of tools and items...perhaps a weapon?

No - nothing in there is designed for combat, and certainly none of it good enough for fending off a determined attack. He'll have to rough up some mafia or something later. For now, he needs an ally - and Raz here seems like a perfect target.

"Say...Raz, was it?" He muses, arms folded across his chest. "I need somewhere to stay for the evening, and even a warlord such as me is capable of feeling exertion from walking across that abomination of nature." He gestures behind him to the desert of glass that nearly killed him, glowing with an orange heat as the sun sets. "Would a working man such as yourself perhaps house and feed a warrior for a night? I give you my word that I'll be gone at dawn, and nothing gone other than what you give me. After all, you've heard I keep my word. I'm not like the Golden Scumbag."

He chuckles dryly, having invoked the common nickname for Hyperium. He really was a true commoner. He stares through his colored visor at Razor, awaiting his answer. If Razor refused, he would be along his way - who was he to force his way into the house of a man who had it rough already?

Meanwhile, Razor was beyond confused - first the warlord tells him he's been deposed - believable enough, especially if its Hyperium. But now he's asking to stay a night in his house?? What is going on? Razor ponders the decision, not turning around. He exhales passively, turning his head to Obsidious behind him.

"Sure. Follow me." He clears his throat and begins to stride into the woods, the former warlord lumbering behind him, keeping pace with ease.

After all, he is a full foot and four inches taller than the carpenter.