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The Sheriff paced back and forth across the creaky wooden floorboards of his station. A look, more anxious than nervous, appeared embedded into his eyes. His fingers instinctively traced his gun holster and then moved down the sleek barrel of his revolver.

His sheriff’s badge read “A. Williams” and was barely legible. The writing looked worn with age in addition to being dust-covered.

“6:30 already?...”

The man took a drag of his cigarette and looked out the small window towards the town of Happy Alex, his birthplace and the town which he protected. In this town, this man was both the law and the order.

“Where the hell are all of ‘em? Can’t trust youngsters with anythin’ these days. They better show their asses,” he muttered to himself.

He took a final pull of the cigarette and threw it on the wooden floor. The Sheriff stopped pacing around the Lone Star, a decrepit, small shack that doubled as both the town’s sheriff’s office and as his place of residence.
The man picked up his mug and held the glass to his lips. The cool beer was beyond refreshing, but most of all it calmed the man’s nerves. He set the glass down and peered out the small window. Overjoyed, he saw a large group of people advancing towards his “office,” traveling in what looked one wide mass.

“I may not look like much now, but I too was a Drifter a while back. I come to you my friends, and y'all youngins, under the gravest of circumstances. Filgaia is changin’, slowly but surely and I know y’all can feel it too.”

“Changing how?” questioned one of the Drifters in the front.

“Changin’ for the worse. That’s how. This minimalistic, barren desert is getting’ hotter and drier day by day. Don’t tell me y’all can’t see the change happenin’ right before your very eyes. I ask those of you who have spread your wings, is this the same Filgaia you knew a year ago…Five years ago? Ten years ago? You can’t deny this; the land is growin’ stagnant. Everyone should be aski--"

-----
Filgaia is a paradise of green and blue, a jade field as far as one travels. With water of a sapphire hue that sparkles like a gemstone from far off.

Nobody remembers, but our barren planet once fit the description of a green and blue world, not too long past. The Wasteland was a boundless paradise, recently. In fact, it was only a few years ago.

And yet, nobody can remember when such a Filgaia existed…


~Drifters~

Drifters come in every shape, size and flavor. Nonetheless, there are no “good” and “bad” Drifters; instead, they each set out into the Wasteland to fulfill their own personal goals. Some do it for fame, some do it for money, and others for the thrill. Those that do it for the money or as a job often specialize in tomb raiding, grave looting and exterminating monsters. Some are even thieves or bandits and rob other Drifters throughout the badlands.