Aftermath


By: Chris, the fake plastic mun.

The world seemed to snap into existence in a second. A brief instant and the fog and spider webs that had clouded his mind lifted. For the first time in what felt like years, his mind was clear. As clear as a spring morn after the passing of a brief shower. He moved, shifting his weight on the hard surface. He could tell, from the plaintive ache in his muscles and the stiff creaking of his joints, he must've been here, where ever here was, for a long time. How did he get here? Why? He searched his memory for answers, but found none.

He searched his memory, but found his mind suffered... Suffered from what almost felt like a lack of use. The same sort of weakness that one feels when one tries to walk on a leg, or use an arm, after it has healed from an injury. He groaned. Rmember... The last clear memory that he had was going into Drache. Yes, Drache. He remembered now, or at least his memory was coming back in bits and pieces. He was a farmer, from one of the districts closer to Drache. Indeed it was not uncommon to see city or royal guardsmen patrolling the small communities.

He remembered... When the children disappeared he was sent to Drache to, at the very least find out what the city officials were doing about the situation. With his past experience, the towns people were certain that he would be able to deal with anything that would come up. Besides... His two children, twin little girls, were taken by the unknown kidnapper or kidnappers. But when he arrived in the city, nobody could tell him anything. Time and time again he, and others like him, met with red tape and cold shoulders. Frustration lead to anger, which inevitably lead to violence...

But there things became hazy. A mob, possibly a riot? It wouldn't have surprised him, given the situation. Or a battle, maybe a battle. It had to be a battle. He was used to battle, as a former soldier in the Royal Army. "Yes, I'm probably wounded and lying in some infirmary somewhere", he thought to himself, his first coherent sentence in a long time. It wouldn't have been the first time for him, nor the last time, he wagered. But what of the children? The girls? He couldn't lie around here all day. He needed to get up, get moving, and find out what his situation was.

He opened his eye, as he had lost his other eye in a battle of some sort, his memory was still too hazy, or his mind too clumsy, to remember which battle or what the circumstances. Daggers of brilliant light dashed between his lids, and he squeezed his eye shut with a groan. How long HAD he been un-conscious? Aside from an empty stomach, and a dry mouth, he didn't feel any of the other symptoms which commonly followed a night of too much drink. So he stirred, attempting to get himself up right, and groaned.

Leaves, branches, and brush rustled around him. "Must be in a wood." he muttered through dry, cracked lips with a voice horse from disuse. He kneeled, rubbing his eye and trying to clear from it the sand and grit that he felt was there. After a few more tries he finally opened his eye again, and took in the very bright world around him. "Good." he muttered, "At least I didn't loose the other one." He took in his surroundings.

He was indeed, in a thicket, under which a space had been cleared, probably by him, but he had no memory of doing so, as a shelter. As he looked around he noticed that it was nearing mid-day and he was not very far from a road. He did not know WHICH road it was, or where he was for that matter, but any road was a good place to start. He stood, somewhat shakily and began to dust himself off.

He was fairly handsome for a man in his middle years, of average height and build. He picked the leaves out of his tangled and matted jet-black hair, which he inherited from his grandmother... or was it his great grandmother, who was a Khalar maiden. He also recalled something about a war, but that was relatively un-important for the moment. He took stock of himself as he dusted off his clothes. Leather leggings, which were dirty and scuffed, but still in decent condition, a tattered blue tunic and cloak which looked like they had been to hell and back, and a worn pair of leather boots. At his belt hung a sword, but he could not recall ever owning one since he left the army. Or one this nice anyway. He checked his belt. No money, no pouch, nothing else save the clothes on his back and the sword at his belt. He was probably a mess. He sighed, pushing his way through the brush, and dusting himself off once again upon reaching the road, before heading off down it in search of a town, or any land mark that might give him some clue as to where in Arangoth he was...

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