[Faction: JUNKER]Sounds of thrillseekers of all sorts fill the air in Vermal's new camp. Shrieks, laughs, gunfire and cries of ecstasy echo through the wilderness, the ramshackle rustboxes Vermal won in battle our new home. Abandoned by the evil, rich gods in their shining spires long ago, the only purpose of living now is to be the best, to have the best, to scrape and scrounge whatever you can get out of this misery called life. Maybe one day you can be Vermal's chief warrior. Maybe one day Vermal will obey you. A large metal box, dark and shining, disturbs your aspirations as it flies overhead. It hovers there, watching the violent scene passively, before continuing its flight to somewhere else. You hate those metal boxes, because you know that even if you were Chief, you still could not fly like them.