Published Nov 2nd, 11/2/24 9:48 pm
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The shade of the swaying branches cooled the path. Not that he liked it; temperature was already cold enough as it stood. Fortunately, his cloak was keeping him warm enough, though he did wish it also covered more of his front. Oh well.
As he trekked through this lonely part of the woods, he thought, once more for a brief moment, of his childhood home; quickly he pushed it down. He could not, would not, turn back. He'd never be able to explain it anyway. Now was not the time to be thinking of these things; he had to focus on traveling.
Yet, try as he might, his mind rebelled any efforts to stop running. It did not matter what he did. His doubts began to creep in again. Should he really be doing this? Yes, yes he should. At best he'd hinder, but knowing how things generally worked out, likely he would do, or just as likely say, something that would go too far. And that would like carry over to them. He wouldn't be able to live with that.
Just as well, he thought. He was not really much help; just odd jobs here and there.
Yet, in spite of this justification, the ache remained. He wasn't ready. But, whether of will, determination, stubbornness, or pride, he pressed on.
Night began to fall. It got colder; he hated it. That was one thing he wouldn't miss. He looked around; about him, most of the trees were far too bare and young to do him any good. So he pressed on.
It was dark, now. Not just because of the time of day, but also, in this part of the woods, the trees began to grow closer together. Finally, he found a suitable one, with an acceptable branch, which provided enough cover from the chilly, albeit admittedly gentle, wind. It was surprisingly mild for this time of year.
He tried to get comfortable, but being in a tree for the first night, it was a bit of time before he finally stopped adjusting. His mind continued to run; the past, his and history's; how low the present really was; where it was definitely headed; how easy it was to fall; and questions of his own future. Where did he fit in any of this? What was his role?
He humphed. He did not. Nothing he did would mesh with how the world ran. The course he took, he did at his own pace, his own direction. Likely where most of his external conflict originated. But he stuck to what he believed, and what he believed in, whereas the world, as he could see it anyhow, constantly shifting, never holding fast to anything, especially that which was true, got worse, not just in the culturally aspects, but in that which is of good. It felt as if that which was good was fading away, growing weaker and weaker with swiftness. He could not change it; nothing he'd do would have any effect, or at least positive, thus would make it all to no avail.
He continued to think for a good long while.
A few hours later, he awoke. What he dreamed, he could not remember, at least not in it's entirety. But at least he was still dreaming. At least a part of him remained.
This is part of the backstory of the Wanderer, written in a surprising burst of inspiration about a year or two ago, back before the reboot of the PMC Kingdom. I've debated putting this up, as it is technically incomplete (although in all honesty, it's not likely I would have been able to put to paper the rest of the story ha). Any suggestions which enhance the story are appreciated (especially for parts unclear).
Ironically, while this was made for when magic was included, it somehow manages to be able to fit in the Rebooted version as well.
Anyway, if you've read this far (may not be long down though huh?), hope your day/night goes well.
As he trekked through this lonely part of the woods, he thought, once more for a brief moment, of his childhood home; quickly he pushed it down. He could not, would not, turn back. He'd never be able to explain it anyway. Now was not the time to be thinking of these things; he had to focus on traveling.
Yet, try as he might, his mind rebelled any efforts to stop running. It did not matter what he did. His doubts began to creep in again. Should he really be doing this? Yes, yes he should. At best he'd hinder, but knowing how things generally worked out, likely he would do, or just as likely say, something that would go too far. And that would like carry over to them. He wouldn't be able to live with that.
Just as well, he thought. He was not really much help; just odd jobs here and there.
Yet, in spite of this justification, the ache remained. He wasn't ready. But, whether of will, determination, stubbornness, or pride, he pressed on.
Night began to fall. It got colder; he hated it. That was one thing he wouldn't miss. He looked around; about him, most of the trees were far too bare and young to do him any good. So he pressed on.
It was dark, now. Not just because of the time of day, but also, in this part of the woods, the trees began to grow closer together. Finally, he found a suitable one, with an acceptable branch, which provided enough cover from the chilly, albeit admittedly gentle, wind. It was surprisingly mild for this time of year.
He tried to get comfortable, but being in a tree for the first night, it was a bit of time before he finally stopped adjusting. His mind continued to run; the past, his and history's; how low the present really was; where it was definitely headed; how easy it was to fall; and questions of his own future. Where did he fit in any of this? What was his role?
He humphed. He did not. Nothing he did would mesh with how the world ran. The course he took, he did at his own pace, his own direction. Likely where most of his external conflict originated. But he stuck to what he believed, and what he believed in, whereas the world, as he could see it anyhow, constantly shifting, never holding fast to anything, especially that which was true, got worse, not just in the culturally aspects, but in that which is of good. It felt as if that which was good was fading away, growing weaker and weaker with swiftness. He could not change it; nothing he'd do would have any effect, or at least positive, thus would make it all to no avail.
He continued to think for a good long while.
A few hours later, he awoke. What he dreamed, he could not remember, at least not in it's entirety. But at least he was still dreaming. At least a part of him remained.
This is part of the backstory of the Wanderer, written in a surprising burst of inspiration about a year or two ago, back before the reboot of the PMC Kingdom. I've debated putting this up, as it is technically incomplete (although in all honesty, it's not likely I would have been able to put to paper the rest of the story ha). Any suggestions which enhance the story are appreciated (especially for parts unclear).
Ironically, while this was made for when magic was included, it somehow manages to be able to fit in the Rebooted version as well.
Anyway, if you've read this far (may not be long down though huh?), hope your day/night goes well.
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