Post by Prince Scott on Feb 26, 2024 8:38:02 GMT -6
The sunlight shone brightly through his eyelids, all but forcing him awake. Blinking hard, Scott squinted at the skies above him, blueish grey and scattered with white clouds. Midday? Shifting against the uncomfortable sensation of dry grass against his back, he pushed himself up on arms that were slow to respond to him, thinking through molasses. "What ... ?" All around him were stretches of earth and woodlands, what would be verdant nature in bloom currently busying itself with turning a new leaf. Pulling his cape around himself as he registered the feeling of a slight chill seeping through his tunic, likely dirtied from his apparent run-in with the ground, Scott took in his surroundings with his brows furrowed.
"What is this?" He muttered eventually, vexed, and stood up. His legs felt like they hadn't been used in eons, muscles nigh unresponsive. On instinct, he fumbled for the sword at his side, relieved to find that it was still belted next to his hip. Last thing he had been aware of, he was on his way back to the afterworld. This definitely wasn't it. He didn't need the sensation of autumn air biting at his face to tell him that much, though it did make it clearer. His head hurt like Heaven and his throat was drier than Hell - unfortunate that ghosts didn't tend to keep waterskins, since that was exactly what Scott was supposed to be.
Supposed to.
He shook his head, grimacing as swathes of blond fell in front of his eyes. His ribbon must have come undone at some point. Crouching at the protest of his knees, Scott glanced around until he caught sight of it, a strip of forest green silk. He grasped his hair and tied it back up while he thought. There was no use in standing around gaping, even though he felt like absolute rot; it wouldn't help with shaking the fatigue from his limbs, either. He should move. Scott took a step forward, then another, until he established a steady walking pace. He had thought that business in Arubboth would have been the end of his troubles, but then again, he wasn't the most fit for angel wings. Had he been cast out of Heaven when the Emperor was vanquished, no force left to tether him there? Maybe he had been meant for Hell after all, exactly as he'd imagined. But this wasn't the fiery pits; just woodlands that were in the middle of turning various shades of orange, and while he might have felt like a walking undead, he doubted he was truly among the shambling damned. Could this instead be the mythical Purgatory? It seemed rather benign.
Scott had no idea, so he kept on walking, footfalls each met with the sound of crunching grass. Would that he might find some sign of anything that could help him understand what was going on, be it animal, monster or man.
"What is this?" He muttered eventually, vexed, and stood up. His legs felt like they hadn't been used in eons, muscles nigh unresponsive. On instinct, he fumbled for the sword at his side, relieved to find that it was still belted next to his hip. Last thing he had been aware of, he was on his way back to the afterworld. This definitely wasn't it. He didn't need the sensation of autumn air biting at his face to tell him that much, though it did make it clearer. His head hurt like Heaven and his throat was drier than Hell - unfortunate that ghosts didn't tend to keep waterskins, since that was exactly what Scott was supposed to be.
Supposed to.
He shook his head, grimacing as swathes of blond fell in front of his eyes. His ribbon must have come undone at some point. Crouching at the protest of his knees, Scott glanced around until he caught sight of it, a strip of forest green silk. He grasped his hair and tied it back up while he thought. There was no use in standing around gaping, even though he felt like absolute rot; it wouldn't help with shaking the fatigue from his limbs, either. He should move. Scott took a step forward, then another, until he established a steady walking pace. He had thought that business in Arubboth would have been the end of his troubles, but then again, he wasn't the most fit for angel wings. Had he been cast out of Heaven when the Emperor was vanquished, no force left to tether him there? Maybe he had been meant for Hell after all, exactly as he'd imagined. But this wasn't the fiery pits; just woodlands that were in the middle of turning various shades of orange, and while he might have felt like a walking undead, he doubted he was truly among the shambling damned. Could this instead be the mythical Purgatory? It seemed rather benign.
Scott had no idea, so he kept on walking, footfalls each met with the sound of crunching grass. Would that he might find some sign of anything that could help him understand what was going on, be it animal, monster or man.
// wildrose