Wanderer [Gene]

[roko]

Barren. Barren 'twas the life beyond the port. The bustling little fisherman town the only source of life and sustainability for an outstretch of miles. The sun beat upon this terrain viciously and unhindered in a baby blue sky, rays of warmth enveloping the all with in the boarders, lofting about aimlessly in the fate-less winds as they would cruise never dying, their energy only transferred onto the next, and then the one right after. Winds sifted the myriad of sand grands, making them airborne as they surfed amidst each other in the current; a wave of sand. Plant life was scarce, though sediment reigned with unmatched supremacy in this God-Forsaken realm.

Hazel eyes gazed hungrily into the vast emptiness, honey oculi scanning what very little there was to appease the eyes, such a place was void of any true aesthetics. His frame stalwart, chest heaving with each vacuum-like breath he took in order to sustain his very being. In his idle state, arms crossed over an behemoth thorax, he contemplated whatever course of action would deem most responsible and fruitful. Would he sow the seeds of travel and on his expedition reap the harvest of knowledge and experie-- no, that itself sounded pretty damn gay. He was at a lost, for now. The only plausible idea to to be nurtured with in his mind was simply that of perhaps training in the intense heat? Extreme amounts of physical exertion in areas whose ambient temperatures ascended above extreme were the core of a proper fat burning work out-- besides, all the perspiration to have accumulate at the finale of such an intense reg·i·men could clearly do more good than harm, right? He certainly was suited for it, aside from his hulking foot wear and gauntlets.

His eyes would shut and he'd breath heavy from his nose, a sigh escaping through gritted teeth as frustration had begun to harbor with in his being. Maybe asking the locals, or whatever he could assume a "local" was in a fisherman's town. He would simply browse around fishmonger stalls, surveying catches of the day until he'd stumble across someone of interest, and by interest he meant someone who knew a thing or two more than just simple baiting and reeling. At least, if he were hungry, he'd gorge himself into a King'ss meal of tender crustaceans this very day.