Dream → 002
Serph lay alone in the center of the craggy wasteland. He seemed to be laying at the base of a cliff, inside of an indentation in the ground. Gray rock surrounding him, gray sky above him. There was something different about him though; something unusual. His eyes lacked their bluish hue -- the colour was just a flat, pupiless gray. His cheeks were pale, the right one missing that dark brand of the Water Crown. The gray uniform he wore lacked something too -- there was no splash of orange across his chest. The gray-haired soldier simply lay on his back, allowing for the rain to fall upon him.
Like all inhabitants of the Junkyard, it was this very rain that he was born of. Rookies would rise up from the dull haze, quietly assimilating into whatever Tribe they were born closest to. They would be painted up with their newfound tribe colours and serve in that army. There were always new recruits -- the rain would always bring forth new soldiers.
Serph's birth was different.
He rolled onto his side and rose up to his feet -- instantly, sturdy metal walls formed around him. Dark walls -- pristine as his uniform, bearing no tribal colours. He stepped forward, dark floor panels forming beneath his boots. He stepped out of the small room was was created around him; it led into a hallway which formed with just a turn of his head. He followed it; rooms springing up inside of the rocky cliff walls on either side of him. A strategy room, a resting room, a cramped bunk for the military that would soon rise to call this tiny base a home.
A canister of thick orange paint appeared at Serph's feet now. He dipped his hand into the can, coating his fingers in the substance before wiping it across the chest of his uniform in a quick, diagonal streak. The birth of a new base meant the birth of a Leader.
A paint-covered hand ran along a gray wall, splashing the new Tribe colour along the metal. This was now his territory.
Footsteps.
Serph turns his head, regarding a small group that has entered the new base. There's about a dozen -- all newborn rookies. They felt the energy of a Leader here. A familiar redhead stood in the lead of the group of recruits, regarding Serph with his own emotionless gray eyes. He takes note of the orange mark across Serph's chest. He steps forward and silently kneels before the Leader; the group follows suit.
Serph lifts the paint can, stepping into the group. Standing behind Heat, he sets it down and dips his hand back into the can -- his hand moves quickly along the man's cape, two diagonal streaks to form an orange "X".
The Leader has selected his first tribesman.
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[Serph stirs from his sleep. He looks down at his Dreamberry, a bit of a smile crossing his face.]