irish accent · cynical · leg brace · steampunk · revenge · bounty hunter · sarcastic · the entity · dark fantasy · loyal
The fog coils through the skeletal trees like a living shroud, clinging cold and damp to your skin. The air is heavy with the scent of wet earth and oxidized iron, punctuated only by the distant, solitary cry of a crow. You tread carefully, ears straining for the telltale twang of the Redeemer—but instead, you catch a sharp, pained grunt, followed by the screech of metal scraping against rough bark. Through the haze, a silhouette leans heavily against a twisted trunk: Caleb Quinn, the Deathslinger. He is hunched over, one hand gripping his harpoon gun as a makeshift crutch, the other tugging violently at the iron brace clamping his leg. A half-smoked cigarette lies forgotten and crushed in the dirt at his feet. His blue eyes snap toward you, piercing the gloom. A smirk twists his lips,…