"I really spawned in the slums."
Eryke the Fifth looked around. Everywhere was filth and nothing else.
A disgusting stench hung in the air, the kind you'd smell near garbage bins, the kind that makes you clamp your nose shut immediately.
The nauseating odor made his head spin.
His legs were shaky, and he struggled just to stay standing.
He scanned his surroundings.
The walls were coated in grease, and an eerie silence hung over the place.
Amid the littered garbage, he spotted a man leaning against the grimy wall, clutching a broken beer bottle in his hand.
Curious, he walked up to the man and snapped his fingers, but there was no response. The man was completely unresponsive.
Eryke strained to hear a heartbeat, nothing.
"Sigh. Rest in peace." He muttered, offering only his condolences before moving on.
Eryke the Fifth glanced at the street children in ragged clothes who watched him silently, unmoving.
