Welcome to Þrístráms, currently your own personal Hæl. As well as the Hæl of many other denizens, including apparitions you can befriend, and daȝmóns you will need to ward off.
From Hæl To Hǿfan
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A new home.
- Location
- A haze of forgetfulness
- Pronouns
- She/Her
In the lands of Æpelæchá stands the city of Þrístráms. Ravaged as the front-line of an ongoing war between an empire and its formerly oppressed citizens, you find yourself as but a minor footnote of a footnote of someoneelse's tale as you seek shelter from the bombs and bullets out of the streets of the city you refuse to leave.
A rustic old brick building greets you with an empty gaping maw. Pockmarked with bullet holes and a chunk torn out of the second floor from some sort of explosive, you stumble in. In need of shelter, warmth, anything but the cold death of the street.
As you climb the creaking old steps to the second floor, your rifle and rucksack shift uneasily on your back, before you decide that actually, the first floor would be fine. You walk away from the front of the building, and find an old dining room in the back, with a partially shattered window adorning one wall, a door to what you presume is the kitchen, and an archway to the living room where you came.
As you set your rucksack down you feel a chill pass over you and the hairs on your neck raise. An apparition haunts these grounds. You take no time to think. Only reacting to save your skin as fast as you can. You reach into your pocket, pull out what you need, and spin around to face what is there.
You shout, "Bak Daȝmón. Bak Tward Þe Hæl From Hwær Ȝé Kúmanɛs!" as the ghostly apparition approaches you. Your outstretched arm holds a softly glowing runic ward necklace. The apparition stops upon the finishing of the sentence and stares at you.
"You speak the holy tongue to ward me off? I guess I should have expected that in these times."
You lower your arm and the necklace slightly.
"You do not speak the unholy tongue. I apologize. I am new to interacting with spirits and am a bit jumpy."
The apparition nods its head.
"This is understandable. It is easier to be safe than sorry when it comes to my corrupted brethren. If you do not mind me asking, who are you, and why have you come to my hovel?"
You compose yourself and inform the apparition, "I am-
[] Who is the main character?
-[] Be as specific as you want.
-[] A backstory is fine but not required since you don't exactly know the lore, but the world is *mostly* similar to ours so have fun 😊.
-[] I would prefer a gender, name, and age, but I can improv them all.
-[] A vote for "[] Improv" will have me create my own character.
-and as to your second question, I am seeking shelter in this ruin from the war raging outside if you do not mind. It is getting dark and I would rather not be exposed to a random drone strike."
As if to accentuate your point a krump of a bomb exploding in the distance filters in through the shattered window.
The apparition responds, "Ah of course fellow traveler. I am much older than this war but I am still no stranger to dying in one."
A breathy chuckle escapes the apparition before it continues, "This may no longer be *my* home but I welcome you into it all the same. If only I could offer you more than just my company."
You nod, "It is alright. If you do wish to help I would not mind a watch as I sleep, but we can talk of that further in the coming hours as I grow tired. I think for now I will eat and rest my feet. Probably clean up the most egregious health hazards of this room."
The apparition nods, "Feel free my friend. I would enjoy this ruin to be a little less of one. I would hate to see a home, especially this one, fall into disarray. And if you do not mind, could you entertain me with a story? It has been so long since I have had the benefit of a conversation."
You nod in affirmation. You have a thousand tales to tell, so you choose to respond with:
[] A story of your distant past
[] A story of your close past
[] A story of someone you knew
[] A story you wish were true
[] A story you wish was fake
[] A story you heard second hand
[] Write-In
You start building a fireplace as you begin to talk. Telling your tale to the apparition, you almost absent mindedly tell your story. Picking up bricks knocked loose by an explosion, moving aside plasterboard, and carrying over timber from the frame of the walls. You know you will need to put the fire out before night falls, a few hours at most from now by the looks of the sky, but for now it will provide some needed warmth and a way to cook a meal with the ingredients you have gathered.
As the story continues, you take stock of what you have in your bag, trying to not fear of the day you will have to endure tomorrow.
Possessions:
A rucksack.
A rifle, 5.56mm caliber.
12 5.56mm bullets.
A dulling but still sharp knife.
Two meals of food.
One day of water.
Some gauze.
Half a bottle of vodka.
An ounce of marijuana.
A potentially safe home.
Your ward-rune necklace.
You are wearing:
A warm beanie.
A patchy cloth jacket.
Worn crusty jeans.
Old leather combat boots almost worn through.
Gloves with the fingers worn through.
It is early fall, the cold is starting to come.
Your status:
Heart: 1
Mind: 1
Soul: 1
Hope: 5
You have eaten today.
You have drank today.
You are unharmed.
You do not have any cybernetics installed.
You are not despairing, but you are not hopeful.
A/N: If any of you recognize the "holy language" i would be amazed. Just trying something simple at the moment to work through things.
A rustic old brick building greets you with an empty gaping maw. Pockmarked with bullet holes and a chunk torn out of the second floor from some sort of explosive, you stumble in. In need of shelter, warmth, anything but the cold death of the street.
As you climb the creaking old steps to the second floor, your rifle and rucksack shift uneasily on your back, before you decide that actually, the first floor would be fine. You walk away from the front of the building, and find an old dining room in the back, with a partially shattered window adorning one wall, a door to what you presume is the kitchen, and an archway to the living room where you came.
As you set your rucksack down you feel a chill pass over you and the hairs on your neck raise. An apparition haunts these grounds. You take no time to think. Only reacting to save your skin as fast as you can. You reach into your pocket, pull out what you need, and spin around to face what is there.
You shout, "Bak Daȝmón. Bak Tward Þe Hæl From Hwær Ȝé Kúmanɛs!" as the ghostly apparition approaches you. Your outstretched arm holds a softly glowing runic ward necklace. The apparition stops upon the finishing of the sentence and stares at you.
"You speak the holy tongue to ward me off? I guess I should have expected that in these times."
You lower your arm and the necklace slightly.
"You do not speak the unholy tongue. I apologize. I am new to interacting with spirits and am a bit jumpy."
The apparition nods its head.
"This is understandable. It is easier to be safe than sorry when it comes to my corrupted brethren. If you do not mind me asking, who are you, and why have you come to my hovel?"
You compose yourself and inform the apparition, "I am-
[] Who is the main character?
-[] Be as specific as you want.
-[] A backstory is fine but not required since you don't exactly know the lore, but the world is *mostly* similar to ours so have fun 😊.
-[] I would prefer a gender, name, and age, but I can improv them all.
-[] A vote for "[] Improv" will have me create my own character.
-and as to your second question, I am seeking shelter in this ruin from the war raging outside if you do not mind. It is getting dark and I would rather not be exposed to a random drone strike."
As if to accentuate your point a krump of a bomb exploding in the distance filters in through the shattered window.
The apparition responds, "Ah of course fellow traveler. I am much older than this war but I am still no stranger to dying in one."
A breathy chuckle escapes the apparition before it continues, "This may no longer be *my* home but I welcome you into it all the same. If only I could offer you more than just my company."
You nod, "It is alright. If you do wish to help I would not mind a watch as I sleep, but we can talk of that further in the coming hours as I grow tired. I think for now I will eat and rest my feet. Probably clean up the most egregious health hazards of this room."
The apparition nods, "Feel free my friend. I would enjoy this ruin to be a little less of one. I would hate to see a home, especially this one, fall into disarray. And if you do not mind, could you entertain me with a story? It has been so long since I have had the benefit of a conversation."
You nod in affirmation. You have a thousand tales to tell, so you choose to respond with:
[] A story of your distant past
[] A story of your close past
[] A story of someone you knew
[] A story you wish were true
[] A story you wish was fake
[] A story you heard second hand
[] Write-In
You start building a fireplace as you begin to talk. Telling your tale to the apparition, you almost absent mindedly tell your story. Picking up bricks knocked loose by an explosion, moving aside plasterboard, and carrying over timber from the frame of the walls. You know you will need to put the fire out before night falls, a few hours at most from now by the looks of the sky, but for now it will provide some needed warmth and a way to cook a meal with the ingredients you have gathered.
As the story continues, you take stock of what you have in your bag, trying to not fear of the day you will have to endure tomorrow.
Possessions:
A rucksack.
A rifle, 5.56mm caliber.
12 5.56mm bullets.
A dulling but still sharp knife.
Two meals of food.
One day of water.
Some gauze.
Half a bottle of vodka.
An ounce of marijuana.
A potentially safe home.
Your ward-rune necklace.
You are wearing:
A warm beanie.
A patchy cloth jacket.
Worn crusty jeans.
Old leather combat boots almost worn through.
Gloves with the fingers worn through.
It is early fall, the cold is starting to come.
Your status:
Heart: 1
Mind: 1
Soul: 1
Hope: 5
You have eaten today.
You have drank today.
You are unharmed.
You do not have any cybernetics installed.
You are not despairing, but you are not hopeful.
A/N: If any of you recognize the "holy language" i would be amazed. Just trying something simple at the moment to work through things.
Voting Open
- Location
- A haze of forgetfulness
- Pronouns
- She/Her
I'll never understand this sites complicated voting system.
Voting Closed
- Location
- A haze of forgetfulness
- Pronouns
- She/Her
A story Heliogabalus "Helio" Prodromus wished was fake.
- Location
- A haze of forgetfulness
- Pronouns
- She/Her
You start building a fireplace as you begin to talk. An old memory resurfaces, coming off your tongue as if it had the sharpness and clarity of yesterday…
You are a man of 31 years of age, Helio, a former "Midnight Market" trader. A good appraiser of mystic objects in your own opinion, your life of constantly being on the hunt for the next curio to sell for money for food and shelter has had you turn to drugs to try and cope with the stress and drudgery of a poor man's life.
Your world consisted of the Midnight Market of Þrístráms. One of the many informal markets of mystical trading across the continent of Byrdlíyȝlond. So called because most shops only open at night, when the glow from imbued artifacts can be seen the strongest. The market of Þrístráms was close to downtown, sitting right next to the northern river. Lights glistened off it, obscured slightly by smog and fog flowing into the river valley. Flowing right into the tents and shacks and office doorways of the market. Navigating to the market can be simple, but once you are in, especially in areas where the levels stack on top of each other, it is hard to find ones way out once you get lost. Not so much crammed with patrons as there just isn't enough space for the many specialty sellers all building their own spaces. You of course, had long learned the paths and levels of the market, befriending many faces behind many counters. Making a name for yourself as a trusted source of curios from outside of the city. Mostly in the surrounding mountains and forests you visited.
One day, almost seven years ago to the month, it was a crescent moon as you stumbled upon a new shop in the market run by an eccentric young woman, Iona. Iona had managed to purchase a humble store for herself, tucked away in the back corner of the central market square. She was obviously someone of previous wealth. Not a regular trader in the market, otherwise you would have known her already through your years of frequent marketplace trips. The spot was busy enough to keep her bills paid, but secluded enough that you were able to stay for a while, get high, and have lengthy conversations with her about various topics without disturbance. It was a cozy shop, one with beautiful drapes, cushions, and aromas hanging about the place. One would call it an opium den if it was busier, and Iona tolerated that kind of clientele. But besides the conversational companionship of yourself, she would rather have people buy than use. She sold nothing outright illegal of course, the Commercial Mystic Police Unit would ensure nobody would within the confines of the market, certainly nothing you would have heard of before if you weren't someone who "helped" the druids, priests, and mystics with their "shopping".
Eventually, intrigued by her selection and growing weary of the same drugs you had been using for a while, you inquired her if she had anything that could help you with your job. She thought on this for a while but could not come up with anything she had in stock. She offered to inquire around with her sources for something and get back to you. Almost half a year went by, and you had forgotten about the question, until one day Iona exclaimed to you upon entrance to her shop.
"Helio, hello my friend, do you recall that question you proposed to me five or so months ago?"
You walked up to the counter and stood there for a second, wondering if your memory, fried as it was from drug use, could recall the breakfast you had that morning. "No, I'm afraid not. What was it?"
Iona hit you with a friendly expression that told you that you are such a fool, "It was your inquiry into a drug to help you appraise curios. If you didn't remember then maybe I shouldn't have bought a dose, it cost me quite an amount."
Your memory snapped the inquiry into focus, "Ah yes that inquiry, I had given up a hope such a thing was possible. You found something? And it's expensive?" You sighed, "How much would it cost me if you were only able to acquire a sample?"
She dropped her smirk and put on an air of seriousness, "More than I know you would be able to pay me back for years, knowing how much you squirrel away after you buy yourself a hole in the wall and marijuana to escape it."
"Then why did you buy it if you do not expect me to pay it back anytime soon?" You exclaimed with a small amount of frustration. You had known Iona for almost two years at this point and she had never toyed with you like this about a drug.
"Two reasons," she says in a calm manner, ignoring your slight frustration if she detected it, "One, I think if you become more able to appraise curios you will be able to make much more than you do now, and Two, I wish for you and me to enter a fair agreement."
"I don't see how I could help you; I deal in Curios; You deal in drugs. Unless you are offering for me to become a servant, which I refuse of course, I just don't see how I can help you."
"Let me finish then you fool." Iona snapped.
You realized you had cut her off. You also realized she was right on the first point, if you were as good or better than some of the other appraisers, you might be able to make enough to afford a steady home and better food. You also realized you were afraid of becoming a servant, a slave in any other name under the Byrdlíyȝlond Empire. These thoughts all flashed in your mind in an instant before you clamped your mouth shut and nodded with an apologetic look.
Iona relaxed, "I understand your fear I do; I do not wish to have you enter a servant contract trust me. Now, the drug I have found is referred to by its seller as the 'Sølfor Áȝ Ǿpéner', apparently a holy substance one can only obtain from the Celtic Isles." She pulled out a small vial of silvery liquid, sloshing with the consistency of water in its container. Enough for a couple gulps.
You perked up to that name, it couldn't be. The Celtic Isles are a place where powerful druids have practiced for millennia. Norþhymbar, where Sølfor was first concocted in particular was a famous spot for those mystically inclined in Europe. As you realized what she was holding in that instance, you tried to speak but could only stumble out your words, "W-wait, Sølfor Áȝ Ǿpéner? My gods, how? Why? For me? Where did you…"
Iona gave you a knowing smile, "I said let me finish, didn't I?"
You nodded hesitantly while saying, "One thing, may I hold it and observe it? I've heard of this Sølfor but have never held it…"
Iona looked at you shrewdly, "I trust you, but if you run out of the shop with this expect the Police to find you within the hour."
You nodded again, taking the vial, and examining it in the light.
Iona continued, "Now as I was saying. I was told that this, 'Silver Eye Opener' will allow you to see the mystical side of anything in the world. As if you were taught alongside the most practiced druids. For me to give this to you, you will need to pay me a modest fee for a few years, unless you fall onto a fortunate that can pay me off earlier of course. We can work that out in a minute. The main thing I am concerned about though, is that you must do something for me. Rest assured I will be lenient on the payment, but you MUST do the task, or else I will make your life hell."
You started to get nervous. If she was willing to give you the Sølfor for cheap, and wanted you to do a task in return… You shuffled uncomfortably and placed the vial back on the counter, letting her continue.
"As you probably know, this concoction allows you to see the spirits. Spirits of the dead, spirits of the living, spirits of the forest, the sky, and sea. Etc. Etc. You should also know that one type of spirit, Daȝmóns, are a dangerous variety."
You realized where this was going and recoiled from the counter. Letting fear seep into your voice you almost whispered, "No no no no no…"
Iona continues firmly, "You of course do not have to accept. I can keep this behind the counter until someone else comes along…"
You grip your hair. A dose of Sølfor for banishing a Daȝmón. The ability to see and talk to spirits, the chance of escaping a life of poverty and drugs. You stood there paralyzed, not ripping out your hair, but focusing on the feeling of gentling tugging instead of allowing thoughts to manifest, trying to let the shock of the exchange wear off.
"Would you like to smoke something before you make the decision?" Iona offered, seeing that you are not able to make the decision quite yet.
"Yes, yes I think that would be best for now."
…you return from the memory. A small fire crackling in front of you, with a small tray of food cooking above it. The Apparition looks at it alongside you. A chill breeze flows into the now cleaned up room. After a minute or two of silence the Apparition speaks.
"I see you took the Sølfor after all if you are able to speak to me."
You chuckle, "Yep, and sometimes I wish I never took it. Not like it helped me out any. Here I am, in a war-torn city with nothing to my name, speaking to a spirit of someone long dead. It took me a week before I decided that it was more worth it to fight a literal Daȝmón than it would be to continue doing what I was doing."
"I would be interested to hear the tale of such a battle."
You sigh, "Another time. It was, not fun."
You both sit in silence again. Eventually the food is finished and you devour it. The sun starts to approach the horizon, and you feel as though you only have another hour before it is time to sleep. You try to value what it is you should do.
[] Search the ground floor for anything useful
[] Search the upper floor for anything useful
[] Look out the windows to see if you can spot anything outside of interest
[] Try to secure the room you are in as best you can to keep away intruders and/or the cold
[] Write-In
A/N: You could honestly write in anything and I'll figure out what to do with it.
You are a man of 31 years of age, Helio, a former "Midnight Market" trader. A good appraiser of mystic objects in your own opinion, your life of constantly being on the hunt for the next curio to sell for money for food and shelter has had you turn to drugs to try and cope with the stress and drudgery of a poor man's life.
Your world consisted of the Midnight Market of Þrístráms. One of the many informal markets of mystical trading across the continent of Byrdlíyȝlond. So called because most shops only open at night, when the glow from imbued artifacts can be seen the strongest. The market of Þrístráms was close to downtown, sitting right next to the northern river. Lights glistened off it, obscured slightly by smog and fog flowing into the river valley. Flowing right into the tents and shacks and office doorways of the market. Navigating to the market can be simple, but once you are in, especially in areas where the levels stack on top of each other, it is hard to find ones way out once you get lost. Not so much crammed with patrons as there just isn't enough space for the many specialty sellers all building their own spaces. You of course, had long learned the paths and levels of the market, befriending many faces behind many counters. Making a name for yourself as a trusted source of curios from outside of the city. Mostly in the surrounding mountains and forests you visited.
One day, almost seven years ago to the month, it was a crescent moon as you stumbled upon a new shop in the market run by an eccentric young woman, Iona. Iona had managed to purchase a humble store for herself, tucked away in the back corner of the central market square. She was obviously someone of previous wealth. Not a regular trader in the market, otherwise you would have known her already through your years of frequent marketplace trips. The spot was busy enough to keep her bills paid, but secluded enough that you were able to stay for a while, get high, and have lengthy conversations with her about various topics without disturbance. It was a cozy shop, one with beautiful drapes, cushions, and aromas hanging about the place. One would call it an opium den if it was busier, and Iona tolerated that kind of clientele. But besides the conversational companionship of yourself, she would rather have people buy than use. She sold nothing outright illegal of course, the Commercial Mystic Police Unit would ensure nobody would within the confines of the market, certainly nothing you would have heard of before if you weren't someone who "helped" the druids, priests, and mystics with their "shopping".
Eventually, intrigued by her selection and growing weary of the same drugs you had been using for a while, you inquired her if she had anything that could help you with your job. She thought on this for a while but could not come up with anything she had in stock. She offered to inquire around with her sources for something and get back to you. Almost half a year went by, and you had forgotten about the question, until one day Iona exclaimed to you upon entrance to her shop.
"Helio, hello my friend, do you recall that question you proposed to me five or so months ago?"
You walked up to the counter and stood there for a second, wondering if your memory, fried as it was from drug use, could recall the breakfast you had that morning. "No, I'm afraid not. What was it?"
Iona hit you with a friendly expression that told you that you are such a fool, "It was your inquiry into a drug to help you appraise curios. If you didn't remember then maybe I shouldn't have bought a dose, it cost me quite an amount."
Your memory snapped the inquiry into focus, "Ah yes that inquiry, I had given up a hope such a thing was possible. You found something? And it's expensive?" You sighed, "How much would it cost me if you were only able to acquire a sample?"
She dropped her smirk and put on an air of seriousness, "More than I know you would be able to pay me back for years, knowing how much you squirrel away after you buy yourself a hole in the wall and marijuana to escape it."
"Then why did you buy it if you do not expect me to pay it back anytime soon?" You exclaimed with a small amount of frustration. You had known Iona for almost two years at this point and she had never toyed with you like this about a drug.
"Two reasons," she says in a calm manner, ignoring your slight frustration if she detected it, "One, I think if you become more able to appraise curios you will be able to make much more than you do now, and Two, I wish for you and me to enter a fair agreement."
"I don't see how I could help you; I deal in Curios; You deal in drugs. Unless you are offering for me to become a servant, which I refuse of course, I just don't see how I can help you."
"Let me finish then you fool." Iona snapped.
You realized you had cut her off. You also realized she was right on the first point, if you were as good or better than some of the other appraisers, you might be able to make enough to afford a steady home and better food. You also realized you were afraid of becoming a servant, a slave in any other name under the Byrdlíyȝlond Empire. These thoughts all flashed in your mind in an instant before you clamped your mouth shut and nodded with an apologetic look.
Iona relaxed, "I understand your fear I do; I do not wish to have you enter a servant contract trust me. Now, the drug I have found is referred to by its seller as the 'Sølfor Áȝ Ǿpéner', apparently a holy substance one can only obtain from the Celtic Isles." She pulled out a small vial of silvery liquid, sloshing with the consistency of water in its container. Enough for a couple gulps.
You perked up to that name, it couldn't be. The Celtic Isles are a place where powerful druids have practiced for millennia. Norþhymbar, where Sølfor was first concocted in particular was a famous spot for those mystically inclined in Europe. As you realized what she was holding in that instance, you tried to speak but could only stumble out your words, "W-wait, Sølfor Áȝ Ǿpéner? My gods, how? Why? For me? Where did you…"
Iona gave you a knowing smile, "I said let me finish, didn't I?"
You nodded hesitantly while saying, "One thing, may I hold it and observe it? I've heard of this Sølfor but have never held it…"
Iona looked at you shrewdly, "I trust you, but if you run out of the shop with this expect the Police to find you within the hour."
You nodded again, taking the vial, and examining it in the light.
Iona continued, "Now as I was saying. I was told that this, 'Silver Eye Opener' will allow you to see the mystical side of anything in the world. As if you were taught alongside the most practiced druids. For me to give this to you, you will need to pay me a modest fee for a few years, unless you fall onto a fortunate that can pay me off earlier of course. We can work that out in a minute. The main thing I am concerned about though, is that you must do something for me. Rest assured I will be lenient on the payment, but you MUST do the task, or else I will make your life hell."
You started to get nervous. If she was willing to give you the Sølfor for cheap, and wanted you to do a task in return… You shuffled uncomfortably and placed the vial back on the counter, letting her continue.
"As you probably know, this concoction allows you to see the spirits. Spirits of the dead, spirits of the living, spirits of the forest, the sky, and sea. Etc. Etc. You should also know that one type of spirit, Daȝmóns, are a dangerous variety."
You realized where this was going and recoiled from the counter. Letting fear seep into your voice you almost whispered, "No no no no no…"
Iona continues firmly, "You of course do not have to accept. I can keep this behind the counter until someone else comes along…"
You grip your hair. A dose of Sølfor for banishing a Daȝmón. The ability to see and talk to spirits, the chance of escaping a life of poverty and drugs. You stood there paralyzed, not ripping out your hair, but focusing on the feeling of gentling tugging instead of allowing thoughts to manifest, trying to let the shock of the exchange wear off.
"Would you like to smoke something before you make the decision?" Iona offered, seeing that you are not able to make the decision quite yet.
"Yes, yes I think that would be best for now."
…you return from the memory. A small fire crackling in front of you, with a small tray of food cooking above it. The Apparition looks at it alongside you. A chill breeze flows into the now cleaned up room. After a minute or two of silence the Apparition speaks.
"I see you took the Sølfor after all if you are able to speak to me."
You chuckle, "Yep, and sometimes I wish I never took it. Not like it helped me out any. Here I am, in a war-torn city with nothing to my name, speaking to a spirit of someone long dead. It took me a week before I decided that it was more worth it to fight a literal Daȝmón than it would be to continue doing what I was doing."
"I would be interested to hear the tale of such a battle."
You sigh, "Another time. It was, not fun."
You both sit in silence again. Eventually the food is finished and you devour it. The sun starts to approach the horizon, and you feel as though you only have another hour before it is time to sleep. You try to value what it is you should do.
[] Search the ground floor for anything useful
[] Search the upper floor for anything useful
[] Look out the windows to see if you can spot anything outside of interest
[] Try to secure the room you are in as best you can to keep away intruders and/or the cold
[] Write-In
A/N: You could honestly write in anything and I'll figure out what to do with it.
Voting Open
- Location
- A haze of forgetfulness
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Should remember to do this with the threadmarks next time sorry to triple post on my own thread.
A window from which to view the past crumble
- Location
- A haze of forgetfulness
- Pronouns
- She/Her
You decide that you wouldn't have enough time to search well enough through the rubble anyways, so you let yourself have the pleasure of looking outside.
As you gaze up to look out the window you feel exposed, you had been mostly sitting on the floor, and chose the room because it had good ventilation from the hole where an explosion took a chunk out between the first and second floor. But now that you thought of it, your view of the sky might make it easier for a drone to spot you.
You realized you were being a bit paranoid, but as you stood up to walk towards it you couldn't help feel on edge. The fire in the fireplace was running out of fuel and was becoming just a low simmer, so you hesitated to put it out. The warmth makes the room pleasant. The apparition is nowhere to be seen at the moment.
The view outside presents you with a beautiful view. The cities golden era had clearly gone past, long before the war ravaged it into ruin, but even the war had not been able to slow the advance of nature upon reclaiming it from its industrial heights.
Fall made the trees turn a myriad of shades of orange and yellow, and leaves fell off a nearby tree in a pleasant crinkling shower across the hillside that flanked the house you were in.
You realized that you had chosen a house at the end of the row, the road turning off to your left and the houses front, while in front of you was a slope of a hill, and to your right and upwards was the rest of the hill.
You feel as though you got lucky with this choice of lodging. Almost forgetting to breath as the multicolored brick and paneled rustic homes of the city stretched out before you up until the dense downtown of high rises and skyscrapers rose out of them. You stood there for a minute, forgetting what it was you wanted to be doing. Seeing the last rays of sunshine of the day slowly slip further and further towards the horizon.
You glance down at the row of houses at the bottom of the hill. You stay as still as you can, peering out and watching for signs of anything that might be of interest.
A few minutes of watching does you some good. You notice a variety of wildlife have taken root on the exposed green hillside. A colony of rabbits seem to have made it their home, with a few squirrels adventuring about. A pack of dogs comes bundling along from the north, your right, and chase after a rabbit that strays from the bushes, all the way across your field of view, vanishing to the south. You chuckle, most of those dogs were probably house pets only a short while ago.
You'll be able to find food if you can't manage to trade for any that's for sure. You readjust your gaze a bit further out. Down a street you seem to be able to see a mile or two straight downwards until it curves off to the south, towards the southern river of the city. Besides some abandoned cars, the street stays silent and unmoving under your gaze. You feel as though you see a flicker of movement, probably a stray cat or something.
The river to the south though, the Man, you can't exactly see it. You can see where it leaves a gap in the buildings between the banks, but it is just out of sight from your vantage point. As you gaze in that direction, you see tracer rounds shoot out from buildings, and faintly here the clatter echo to your place. A minute goes by before a missile streaks through the air and slams into the building, you heard a mild krump after a few seconds. The gun does not fire anymore
You get a good imagining of what it is you are surrounded by, at least on this side of the house. And you remember your walk here, but you figure you should draw a map.
You turn to the fireplace, its embers softly glowing in the dimming light of the room. You won't have much time to draw it but you will do your best. You grab a stick, sharp and charred at one end, and set to work on the wall next to the window, drawing what you can as the sun slips below the horizon.
As you finish, the apparition returns to your side, "Was it a beautiful sunset?"
You were expecting it to surprise you with its return. Apparitions are known to spook people. It's unknown if they do it accidentally or purposefully, they don't give off much emotion when they talk, and their faces are hazy blobs of features. Though some speculate that they do have senses of humor.
You respond with a slight warmth in your voice, "Yes, a bit ruined at the end by a reminder of what my once great city has been reduced to, but absolutely beautiful regardless.
The apparition nods. It turns to your drawing.
"Do you need to draw what you can see right next to it?"
You give off a slight chuckle, "It will be more useful when I mark more spots down than just the rabbit field."
The apparition looks at it further, its eyes indiscernible to you. You turn to unclip your sleeping bag from your rucksack, and lay it out on the floor in the corner. As you start to unzip it you turn to the apparition to speak but it talks first.
"You have marked this building as home?"
You give a slight smile, "As long as you are willing to stand up to your offer of standing watch while I rest. I need some place to live after my last home was destroyed."
The apparition nods, "Then I expect more stories from you my new friend Helio."
"Of course, my new friend… do you have a name?"
The apparition shakes its head, "Not one I remember."
Typical of apparitions, they usually forget their old lives. You turn back to your bag and crawl in to fall asleep. The darkness and the cold feel like they can not penetrate your bag, and you think of the rabbits and trees as you slip from consciousness.
You awaken to a loud cacophony of noise that last nothing more than a few seconds. You look out the window and see an early sunrise starting to appear, but one now obscured by a rising column of smoke and ash.
The apparition stands at your feet, staring at you silently. You take that to mean you are not in danger, so you get up to look out the window.
Down the hill, down the long street you can see down, about one street down, a missile has hit near the intersection, and now the whole street is obscured from your view.
"At least it wasn't me."
The apparition does not respond. You rub your head in your hands, shaking off the fatigue. You look at the sunrise and try to figure out what to do for the day.
The beautiful tree you remembered from last night stands on the hillside, now almost barren of leaves. You let the memory of comfort wash across your mind before letting go of your feelings again, steeling your heart to the world once more as you remember you need to survive. You gather your strength and know you will be able to do four actions today:
[X] Gather Food
[X] Gather Water
[] Explore the house
[] Explore the street
[] Go down the hill and poke around
[] Build a shrine
[] Meditate
[] Write-in literally anything
As you gaze up to look out the window you feel exposed, you had been mostly sitting on the floor, and chose the room because it had good ventilation from the hole where an explosion took a chunk out between the first and second floor. But now that you thought of it, your view of the sky might make it easier for a drone to spot you.
You realized you were being a bit paranoid, but as you stood up to walk towards it you couldn't help feel on edge. The fire in the fireplace was running out of fuel and was becoming just a low simmer, so you hesitated to put it out. The warmth makes the room pleasant. The apparition is nowhere to be seen at the moment.
The view outside presents you with a beautiful view. The cities golden era had clearly gone past, long before the war ravaged it into ruin, but even the war had not been able to slow the advance of nature upon reclaiming it from its industrial heights.
Fall made the trees turn a myriad of shades of orange and yellow, and leaves fell off a nearby tree in a pleasant crinkling shower across the hillside that flanked the house you were in.
You realized that you had chosen a house at the end of the row, the road turning off to your left and the houses front, while in front of you was a slope of a hill, and to your right and upwards was the rest of the hill.
You feel as though you got lucky with this choice of lodging. Almost forgetting to breath as the multicolored brick and paneled rustic homes of the city stretched out before you up until the dense downtown of high rises and skyscrapers rose out of them. You stood there for a minute, forgetting what it was you wanted to be doing. Seeing the last rays of sunshine of the day slowly slip further and further towards the horizon.
You glance down at the row of houses at the bottom of the hill. You stay as still as you can, peering out and watching for signs of anything that might be of interest.
A few minutes of watching does you some good. You notice a variety of wildlife have taken root on the exposed green hillside. A colony of rabbits seem to have made it their home, with a few squirrels adventuring about. A pack of dogs comes bundling along from the north, your right, and chase after a rabbit that strays from the bushes, all the way across your field of view, vanishing to the south. You chuckle, most of those dogs were probably house pets only a short while ago.
You'll be able to find food if you can't manage to trade for any that's for sure. You readjust your gaze a bit further out. Down a street you seem to be able to see a mile or two straight downwards until it curves off to the south, towards the southern river of the city. Besides some abandoned cars, the street stays silent and unmoving under your gaze. You feel as though you see a flicker of movement, probably a stray cat or something.
The river to the south though, the Man, you can't exactly see it. You can see where it leaves a gap in the buildings between the banks, but it is just out of sight from your vantage point. As you gaze in that direction, you see tracer rounds shoot out from buildings, and faintly here the clatter echo to your place. A minute goes by before a missile streaks through the air and slams into the building, you heard a mild krump after a few seconds. The gun does not fire anymore
You get a good imagining of what it is you are surrounded by, at least on this side of the house. And you remember your walk here, but you figure you should draw a map.
You turn to the fireplace, its embers softly glowing in the dimming light of the room. You won't have much time to draw it but you will do your best. You grab a stick, sharp and charred at one end, and set to work on the wall next to the window, drawing what you can as the sun slips below the horizon.
As you finish, the apparition returns to your side, "Was it a beautiful sunset?"
You were expecting it to surprise you with its return. Apparitions are known to spook people. It's unknown if they do it accidentally or purposefully, they don't give off much emotion when they talk, and their faces are hazy blobs of features. Though some speculate that they do have senses of humor.
You respond with a slight warmth in your voice, "Yes, a bit ruined at the end by a reminder of what my once great city has been reduced to, but absolutely beautiful regardless.
The apparition nods. It turns to your drawing.
"Do you need to draw what you can see right next to it?"
You give off a slight chuckle, "It will be more useful when I mark more spots down than just the rabbit field."
The apparition looks at it further, its eyes indiscernible to you. You turn to unclip your sleeping bag from your rucksack, and lay it out on the floor in the corner. As you start to unzip it you turn to the apparition to speak but it talks first.
"You have marked this building as home?"
You give a slight smile, "As long as you are willing to stand up to your offer of standing watch while I rest. I need some place to live after my last home was destroyed."
The apparition nods, "Then I expect more stories from you my new friend Helio."
"Of course, my new friend… do you have a name?"
The apparition shakes its head, "Not one I remember."
Typical of apparitions, they usually forget their old lives. You turn back to your bag and crawl in to fall asleep. The darkness and the cold feel like they can not penetrate your bag, and you think of the rabbits and trees as you slip from consciousness.
You awaken to a loud cacophony of noise that last nothing more than a few seconds. You look out the window and see an early sunrise starting to appear, but one now obscured by a rising column of smoke and ash.
The apparition stands at your feet, staring at you silently. You take that to mean you are not in danger, so you get up to look out the window.
Down the hill, down the long street you can see down, about one street down, a missile has hit near the intersection, and now the whole street is obscured from your view.
"At least it wasn't me."
The apparition does not respond. You rub your head in your hands, shaking off the fatigue. You look at the sunrise and try to figure out what to do for the day.
The beautiful tree you remembered from last night stands on the hillside, now almost barren of leaves. You let the memory of comfort wash across your mind before letting go of your feelings again, steeling your heart to the world once more as you remember you need to survive. You gather your strength and know you will be able to do four actions today:
[X] Gather Food
[X] Gather Water
[] Explore the house
[] Explore the street
[] Go down the hill and poke around
[] Build a shrine
[] Meditate
[] Write-in literally anything
Voting Open
- Location
- A haze of forgetfulness
- Pronouns
- She/Her
I like writing this I can't wait to flesh it out more