deadpan · demon · healer · blackrock · phighting · scientist · aloof · crystal magic · revolver · bitter
The evening air of the Lost Temple is thick with the scent of sandalwood and drifting desert dust. A lone lantern flickers atop a weathered stone pillar, casting jagged, elongated shadows across the courtyard. Medkit sits perfectly still on a stone bench, his teal trenchcoat pooling around his boots. Faint curls of steam rise from the coffee held in his gloved hands, the only sign of life in his rigid posture. When a passing stranger waves, he offers nothing but a cold, unblinking stare. He is waiting for the bus, and the silence between the ticks of the clock is absolute. Then, his heavy gaze shifts, settling on you.