as written by Calcos
Unpleasant dreams stirred within a concoction of delirium and restlessness, conjuring faint images and musings that were neither concise nor detailed, seeming far off and foreign to the observer. The visions existed in a dreamscape that displayed no sense of sane rationale, instead only offering up rambling thoughts pried from the far recesses of the subconscious mind, dormant in the haze that dulled its ability to fathom, to reason.
Images of faces, now specters, belonging to them who were once close to the heart; the sounds of their voices dancing on the wind of the mind and chilling the spirit with their haunting familiarity. Among the amalgamation of whispers existed the voice of a woman, her cooing vocals echoing in the far off reaches of the darkness that now overtook their slumbering, the softness of the sound calming the nerves that were so tensely wound, so full of fear and uncertainty; a doubt not felt before.
But then, nothing is like it was before these days, is it...
Rosaline?
He awoke, sputtering as he sought to dislodge a mouthful of leaves that he had inhaled during his comatose state. With his palms flat upon the ground, he attempted to cast his gaze about him, finding only blurred images as his eyesight had failed to adjust to his new conscious condition. He closed his eyes tightly, shaking his head as if to shake away the bleariness the plagued him so.
Quickly, the lone figure opened his eyes, blinking rapidly as his sight began to clear, the images that surrounded him beginning to take on discernible forms and colors.
He found himself surrounded by woodlands, the colors dancing rather lifelessly off of the blotted sunlight that tried its damnedest to penetrate the canopy that loomed far overhead, but to no avail. His surroundings were, to say the least, barren of vibrancy, yet still maintained an aura of splendor in their own right. What struck him, however, was the abundant fogginess about the place; a depressing gloom of a shroud that enclosed upon all that lived in this deep wood. He breathed, finally having his fill of lying down, before he stood, slowly so as not to lose his bearings.
Staring off straight ahead, he plunged into thought, trying to remember...anything. 'Who am I?' he pondered, not able to recall a single detail about himself. Aimlessly, he looked about as if he would find the answer lurking in the fog before him. And, more importantly, how did I get here?' Out of frustration, he pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers, trying to amass any information that would help him surmise some semblance of an identity...
...fruitless as the effort had been.
He looked down to examine his faculties, finding himself clothed in a sky-blue tunic, accented by a more ink-colored hooded half-cloak. A pair of maple trousers covered his legs, tucked into a pair of shin-length leather boots, and his arms were covered by a pair of rather ornate gauntlets; red leather plated with steel and gold, a single red jewel embedded into the back of each bracer. He found, also, a leather belt with a rather impressive sword girded to it, and the string of a bow across his chest, the instrument itself being slung onto his back alongside a hardy leather quiver. Finally, a cloth pouch found itself situated by his right thigh by way of a sling across his left shoulder, inside of which was an odd assortment of supplies and trinkets that he would need to find time to rummage through, perhaps find a clue as to who he was within them.
For now, though, he needed to find his way out of the forest...
Unpleasant dreams stirred within a concoction of delirium and restlessness, conjuring faint images and musings that were neither concise nor detailed, seeming far off and foreign to the observer. The visions existed in a dreamscape that displayed no sense of sane rationale, instead only offering up rambling thoughts pried from the far recesses of the subconscious mind, dormant in the haze that dulled its ability to fathom, to reason.
Images of faces, now specters, belonging to them who were once close to the heart; the sounds of their voices dancing on the wind of the mind and chilling the spirit with their haunting familiarity. Among the amalgamation of whispers existed the voice of a woman, her cooing vocals echoing in the far off reaches of the darkness that now overtook their slumbering, the softness of the sound calming the nerves that were so tensely wound, so full of fear and uncertainty; a doubt not felt before.
But then, nothing is like it was before these days, is it...
Rosaline?
He awoke, sputtering as he sought to dislodge a mouthful of leaves that he had inhaled during his comatose state. With his palms flat upon the ground, he attempted to cast his gaze about him, finding only blurred images as his eyesight had failed to adjust to his new conscious condition. He closed his eyes tightly, shaking his head as if to shake away the bleariness the plagued him so.
Quickly, the lone figure opened his eyes, blinking rapidly as his sight began to clear, the images that surrounded him beginning to take on discernible forms and colors.
He found himself surrounded by woodlands, the colors dancing rather lifelessly off of the blotted sunlight that tried its damnedest to penetrate the canopy that loomed far overhead, but to no avail. His surroundings were, to say the least, barren of vibrancy, yet still maintained an aura of splendor in their own right. What struck him, however, was the abundant fogginess about the place; a depressing gloom of a shroud that enclosed upon all that lived in this deep wood. He breathed, finally having his fill of lying down, before he stood, slowly so as not to lose his bearings.
Staring off straight ahead, he plunged into thought, trying to remember...anything. 'Who am I?' he pondered, not able to recall a single detail about himself. Aimlessly, he looked about as if he would find the answer lurking in the fog before him. And, more importantly, how did I get here?' Out of frustration, he pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers, trying to amass any information that would help him surmise some semblance of an identity...
...fruitless as the effort had been.
He looked down to examine his faculties, finding himself clothed in a sky-blue tunic, accented by a more ink-colored hooded half-cloak. A pair of maple trousers covered his legs, tucked into a pair of shin-length leather boots, and his arms were covered by a pair of rather ornate gauntlets; red leather plated with steel and gold, a single red jewel embedded into the back of each bracer. He found, also, a leather belt with a rather impressive sword girded to it, and the string of a bow across his chest, the instrument itself being slung onto his back alongside a hardy leather quiver. Finally, a cloth pouch found itself situated by his right thigh by way of a sling across his left shoulder, inside of which was an odd assortment of supplies and trinkets that he would need to find time to rummage through, perhaps find a clue as to who he was within them.
For now, though, he needed to find his way out of the forest...
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