Well, I’m going to go out on a limb this time. Now, I used to enjoy writing. I used to like it a lot, I’d come home, and until I had to go to sleep I would roleplay and do things. Haven’t had that kind of experience with it lately, and so we have this. I’m planning on writing it like a kind of episodic short story. I’m currently in very early stages of it, but I figure this would be a chunk just to get things rolling. Maybe at some point it will turn into some kind of roleplay, but I doubt it will spread farther than satisfying my own urge to do it.
There was a body in the road. For a time everything was still. The wind didn’t blow, there was not a soul to see on land or sky, and even the sun hung stale at its zenith beating down on the bleak terrain. Then, there was a sudden intake of breath, one sharp gasp that quickly dissolved into a fit of coughing as dust rattled into his lungs. The figure on the path cringed and writhed, pushing him up onto his elbows to get his face out of the dirt. He lay there, head hanging as the world began to breathe around him. The wind blew through his hair where it dangled to obscure his face, and bent the grasses at the edges of the road.
Bring the light. Fight the dark. Fulfill your promise.
The words were and they weren’t, speaking across spaces that didn’t exist. Maybe it was some higher power, or just a memory and a conscious. Either way, the fellow pushed himself up to his feet. He was tallish, but slim; arms limp at his sides from the straight angle of his shoulders. He bore no scars, nor marks save for the dirt that colored his front. Eyes a violent shade of green surveyed the landscape from beneath dark brown bangs, which he casually pushed up out of his eyes.
He was on a road, and it snaked out in either direction between rolling hills. The road was hard packed dirt, and grass carpeted the edges of it stretching into the distance. Where ever here was, he was there. It was already clear his journey was not about a destination. He’d been given a road, and he took a direction. Eroded soles on cracking boots kicked up small puffs of dust as the man began walking. Cracked boots that disappeared under worn trousers, held up by a ragged belt. On his torso was an enveloping garment. It hung down over him like a blanket with a hole in the center, and the belt pinched it closed around his waist. His head was bare, save for the thick matted hair. These were not his clothes, but those would come. For now, he walked.