Dig Ball 2020
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Beneath a moonless sky, the ruins breathed decay. Towers leaned like drunken sentinels, their fractured silhouettes trembling as gales ripped through empty streets. It waited where shadows pooled thickest—a blade forged from absence, its edge dissolving daylight into whispers. Three footsteps disturbed the dust tonight: a sellsword tracking coin, a priestess chasing visions, and a thief fleeing worse than death. Their paths coiled toward collision through corpse-strewn plazas and crypt-cold alleys. The weapon cared nothing for prayers or motives. It pulsed with ancient hunger, eager to trade promises for screams when flesh met obsidian hilt. Let the strongest win—the devourer in the dark always feasted last.
