Take a little walk to the edge of town
And go across the tracks
Where the viaduct looms
Like a bird of doom
As it shifts and cracks
Where secrets lie in the border fires
In the humming wires
Hey man, you know
You're never coming back

Red Right Hand - Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

Pronouns: They/Them

Bio: They remember a field, or a farm, or a shack. Some sort of soil, and work. As they worked in the soil, they uncovered a dark metal bunker, and the soil was left above.

Below was infinite scrap, and a massive forge, a shapeless machine suspended above. They immediately took the scrap metal in hand and started to their new work, the machine's sounds changing to a low hum of approval. It burned and cut at their hands, eventually costing them an arm, and burned at their aether, but it was just what made sense now.

Sometimes they still woke up in the shack, stepping out to find less and less of the soil.

Soon only the forge would remain.

Themes: Smithing/Metal, Fire/Burning

Enjoys: Hard work, Routine

Fears: The machine.