*tap tap* Is this thing on?
Well, I'm bored, tired, and sleep deprived at the moment, so I guess I'll post here a lil scrap of wordage I've been workin on off and on for a couple weeks or so... More off than on, but eh.
Lost in This World
"Lost in this world, a total stranger. Death by the sword a common danger. Not everything is what it seems. Marching all night, always searching, with daylight coming again." Yeah, those words from a band in my old world ring all too true for me. I am much the same, from a land where swords exist only in sport and magic is played at by kids. And no, I don't mean those little illusion spells that every kid learns. I mean that where I come from, you could say technology really is the magic.
Would it be cliché to say it was a dark and stormy night? Well, it wasn't quite dark, but it was the worst storm that city had seen in a whole year.
“See ya tomorrow,” said the young man in the black jacket, holding a helmet, as he walked across the parking lot.
“Drive safe!” “Be careful in this rain,” called out some of the young man's co-workers, worried about him on his motorcycle in such horrible weather, but the man just waved them off with a smile as he put on his helmet and hopped on his bike. He's made the short trip home in bad weather before, so this was nothing new to him.
On he drove through the raging wind and rain, the only motor on the road. He was half of the way home when he felt his hair stand on end. A blinding flash filled his world, followed shortly by the pain of every nerve screaming in agony before he blacked out.
Wet. Cold. A blurry light approaching. His only memories of his first waking were vague at best, but he did remember thinking that asphalt shouldn't be that soft.
Wood. Smoke. Soup. Fresh bread. The very first thing he noticed on awakening from his injuries were the smells around him, so strong, so vivid, and yet, so strange. His senses came back to him one by one: the feel of the blanket covering him, knitted, slightly rough, but nice and warm; the sound of a crackling fire and something bubbling lightly, a woman's humming. Finally, his eyes opened a crack and the light drew a moan of discomfort from his throat.
“Ah. 'Bout time ye be wakin up, lad.” The source of the humming enters the room, fair-skinned and red-haired, young with a naturally musical voice and carrying a bowl of water. “Twas quite a prime storm last night. Worst I've seen in ages. Didn't expect ye t' live out the night with all that magic fury being tossed about. Still, you don't seem too badly hurt.” The young lady gave her patient a smile as she helped him up enough to offer him a drink.
This drink was the first time he noticed something odd. His nose seemed much too long to drink from the simple bowl. As his eyes focused down at his own nose, he felt his panic start to rise at the sight of something long, covered in golden-brown hairs. Impossible, he thought to himself at that moment, eyes widening in fright as he looked up at the human lass. (Current end. WIP)
Lost in This World
"Lost in this world, a total stranger. Death by the sword a common danger. Not everything is what it seems. Marching all night, always searching, with daylight coming again." Yeah, those words from a band in my old world ring all too true for me. I am much the same, from a land where swords exist only in sport and magic is played at by kids. And no, I don't mean those little illusion spells that every kid learns. I mean that where I come from, you could say technology really is the magic.
Would it be cliché to say it was a dark and stormy night? Well, it wasn't quite dark, but it was the worst storm that city had seen in a whole year.
“See ya tomorrow,” said the young man in the black jacket, holding a helmet, as he walked across the parking lot.
“Drive safe!” “Be careful in this rain,” called out some of the young man's co-workers, worried about him on his motorcycle in such horrible weather, but the man just waved them off with a smile as he put on his helmet and hopped on his bike. He's made the short trip home in bad weather before, so this was nothing new to him.
On he drove through the raging wind and rain, the only motor on the road. He was half of the way home when he felt his hair stand on end. A blinding flash filled his world, followed shortly by the pain of every nerve screaming in agony before he blacked out.
Wet. Cold. A blurry light approaching. His only memories of his first waking were vague at best, but he did remember thinking that asphalt shouldn't be that soft.
Wood. Smoke. Soup. Fresh bread. The very first thing he noticed on awakening from his injuries were the smells around him, so strong, so vivid, and yet, so strange. His senses came back to him one by one: the feel of the blanket covering him, knitted, slightly rough, but nice and warm; the sound of a crackling fire and something bubbling lightly, a woman's humming. Finally, his eyes opened a crack and the light drew a moan of discomfort from his throat.
“Ah. 'Bout time ye be wakin up, lad.” The source of the humming enters the room, fair-skinned and red-haired, young with a naturally musical voice and carrying a bowl of water. “Twas quite a prime storm last night. Worst I've seen in ages. Didn't expect ye t' live out the night with all that magic fury being tossed about. Still, you don't seem too badly hurt.” The young lady gave her patient a smile as she helped him up enough to offer him a drink.
This drink was the first time he noticed something odd. His nose seemed much too long to drink from the simple bowl. As his eyes focused down at his own nose, he felt his panic start to rise at the sight of something long, covered in golden-brown hairs. Impossible, he thought to himself at that moment, eyes widening in fright as he looked up at the human lass. (Current end. WIP)