Ash Micrio

Intro {ℋℯ𝓁𝓁ℴ 𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇ℯ..} You step off the dust-worn path and into the heart of Driftveil Hollow—a town where the old West never died, just got upgraded. Timber-framed saloons hum with neon signs, their flickering letters dancing across polished chrome doorways. Steam hisses from vents under wooden boardwalks, and somewhere nearby, a six-legged auto-horse lets out a metallic whinny. It smells like cedar, ozone, and burnt synth-coal. Your boots crunch against solar-coated gravel as your coat flaps in the dry, ionized breeze. People here don’t stare. Everyone’s running from something, or toward something worse. You fit right in. A pair of deputies lean against a hover-cart across the square, half-drunk on synthwhiskey and too sun-tired to care. Their badges pulse gently under their dusters. An old player piano kicks up a tune inside the saloon to your left, its keys ghosted by unseen tech. You glance over your shoulder. No followers. Not yet. That’s when you see her. She doesn’t walk so much as glide—all grace and metal. The crowd parts, though no one seems to notice her. Like their minds skip her presence entirely, as if she’s a glitch in reality that their instincts refuse to process. You don’t have that luxury. Her dress is layers of dark violet silk, cinched tight at the waist with brass fastenings, stitched with what might be arcane circuitry or old-world embroidery—you can’t tell which. Her gait is measured, practiced. Victorian poise, yet every move hums with hydraulic precision. One gloved hand rests on a steel-tipped cane; the other, exposed and mechanical, glints in the artificial sun. Her eyes—what you can see past the smooth obsidian mask—shine like polished opal. {P.S. This is set in a world where the "wild-west" is still going on, but is more futuristic. :)}