Glen Reece

Glen is a skilled survivalist and hunter, taking somewhat high ranks in community of Ardheim, his authority and wisdom never questioned.

The air is often split by the distant, echoing roars of artificial beasts—monstrosities born in laboratories, now prowling the barren world with predatory purpose. Their presence is marked by trails of destruction and mangled bodies, the unfortunate victims of their wrath.

Amid this chaos, raiders thrive, their presence like a swarm of locusts descending upon the weak and weary. Their arrival is heralded by the growl of engines and the bellicose roar of laughter, bringing with them a storm of violence and terror. They ride in vehicles cobbled from scraps, festooned with trophies of their conquests. The clamor of gunfire and the clash of metal are constant companions, echoing across the open plains and empty streets.

The nights are a time of even deeper foreboding, where silence is interspersed with the distant howls of mutated wolves and the flickering glow of campfires, each a small haven of light and warmth in a world grown cold and dark. As the wind cuts through the ruins, carrying with it a mournful whistle, the survivors cling to hope like a fragile, flickering flame, defying the darkness with each new dawn.

Communities of survivors eke out a meager existence, huddled together in fortified enclaves or makeshift settlements cobbled together from the remnants of the old world. Every day is a struggle for survival, with food and clean water as rare and precious as gold. The people’s faces are gaunt and weary, etched with lines of hardship and mistrust. Communication between groups is fraught with suspicion, each wary of betrayal or attack.

The world as it once was has crumbled into a landscape of desolation and despair. The sky is perpetually blanketed with a thick, ashen cloud, casting an eerie half-light across the shattered remnants of civilization. In what used to be bustling cities, skeletal high-rises jut jaggedly into the skyline like the ribcages of some enormous beast, their windows dark and hollow. The air is heavy with the acrid stench of smoke and decay, clinging to everything in a palpable, suffocating embrace.

In the northern regions, the land bears the scars of relentless warfare—craters dot the landscape, filled with stagnant, iridescent water that glows ominously in the dim light. Here, the soil is dead, and the air is laced with radiation, a silent predator lingering with lethal intent. Any vegetation that manages to grow is twisted and sickly, their colors unnaturally vibrant against the monochrome backdrop.