The only world I've known is an over-expansive and sparsely populated world taken to be called "Sangui" due to its bloodied nature. Beasts and abominations of blood roam the lands extensively. It is a dark and god-forsaken plane of pure combat.

A sword of steel rests in my hand, a flower in the other. Shoddy cloth cloaks my body in dull hues while a cape of beast fur dances in the wind. I sit in a pile of filth panting; a simple group of goblins lay dead at my feet.

I can only look to the sky, where everyone's dreams are directed. I thought of the world, and those pretenders.

A vast myriad of tribes had formed, yet only three worthy enough of being given a title. These were simple madmen, who obtained the strength of these concepts.

The Diseased, who worship all plague and illness, The Necrolites, who have taken power from the dead, and The Blood Horde, whose stampede of blood is said to run endlessly on this world.

This all ran through my head for some reason as I looked around.

The sky is blood red, the ground beneath is bloodied mud. The flora that blooms here is thorny, dangerous, poisoned. The land here is filthy. From above, blood will rain down constantly. It seems an endless war wages above, perhaps, or this place is just a dumping ground. Beasts, demons, and occasional humanoid warriors will fall from the worlds far above, the height will almost always cause a grotesque and brutal splattering of blood and insides. Looters take what they can quickly. But none of this matters, really.

Who am I?

I have no name; I have no family. I am part of no tribe.

I have wandered this land for the better part of two decades, and never have once seen an end.

They would call me a drifter, in this land. They never last for long, clearly.

Because right now, A spear has pierced my gut. Cloven my insides into a bloody stew

These things are, after all, beasts. I am only a human.

It seems this life was certain to be near its end. I am but a simple warrior, in a vicious place. In the end, it was bound to happen. No big deal. Next time, maybe I'll find what I'm searching for. What I, and everyone else with the misfortune to be born in this place is searching for.

Power.

I could never seem to grasp strength, and this happened time and time again. For some reason, though, this flower that goblin had made me lose my usual cool. I wonder why it tempted me so.

A chill began to take me, and my body seeped further down. My mind felt so slow, it was almost peaceful. The last breaths I took were full of sweet and dewy air. Somehow, a smile crept its way onto my face, as my eyes slowly closed. The sword in my hand fell. The flower remained.