it takes me a second to yank my mind offa those villianous ruts of banditry. we didn't come here to steal liquor, we came down into this clay desert for a purpose. we came down here to see the cave paintings. the scavangers living in the corpse of the minor city a few clicks north had plenty to say about what these savages have been inking on the walls, & i'm starting to think they were onto something. a few of the symbols i recognize as angelic script, & i see a few siguls from the anathamalogia, but its the more traditional hunt scenes that've caught my eye. in the middle of all the usual spear-chucker imagry is a peculiar object of a hunt. the wall starts looking more & more like the cloisters to me.
right there in the middle all that predator-prey, circle of life crap is a painting of a unicorn. even with my cracked lips & parched tongue, my mouth start to water. i can practically feel my hands tracing over its head, skinning its skull with oft practiced skill. my fingers are twitching already, eager for the trigger. we're getting close to one of the last of those fucking unicorns. maybe the last of those fucking things. they've been buying the enemies forces time, a few lingering twilight years, but soon, all that is going to change. soon we'll be ready for Final.