Dusty Boot Steps: Awaken, Lonely Traveler
Sept 25, 2010 17:49:36 GMT
Post by Deleted on Sept 25, 2010 17:49:36 GMT
((continued from [here]))
The blackness was blinding; the silence roared in his ears; his body was numbed to a point beyond any mortal agony. To Jericho, every millisecond was an hour, and every hour felt like a year. On the flip side of the coin, time held no meaning. In the brief eternity the lone Traveler spent on his Journey, whether it was a lifetime or an instantaneous transfer, he could never tell. Was it a blind man’s hip-shot through space and time to another planet, a different eon? Or perhaps this torturous darkness was the In-Between, the void between realities that only Jericho had the curse of being able to bridge.
He often wondered if this was what death felt like. Perhaps he was dead, his lifeless body left slumped over in the middle of Becca’s room. When he emerged from this damnable purgatory a new body would await the arrival of his soul, each and every one of his possessions stripped from the last one to the new. His tormented mind had little else to contemplate. During the Journey, he had all the time of an instant to simply think. It was any wonder he had a mote of sanity left to him.
All too quickly, yet none too soon, he emerged from the clutches of his Journey on one knee with the [Musashi] clutched in his right hand, in the exact same pose in which he had departed in. He tried to steady himself as his senses reeled from the sudden onslaught of once again being alive. His nose filled with the scents of a planet that brimmed with life; decayed leaves, nutritious soil, the musk of animal life. His eyes were squeezed shut, but he briefly caught a glimpse of greens and earthy browns. He could hear birds, the skitter of bugs and the pitter-patter of rodents. The tip of his blade sank an inch in to the dirt before he realized he had used it briefly as a crutch.
With an annoyed frown, he very slowly cracked his eyes open. The sunlight shafted through the canopy and bathed his position in bright mid-morning sun. The trunks all around him were thick and covered in mosses and lichens, which mean this particular grove of trees was older than most recorded history. Ferns and bushes dotted the forest floor, and the odd horse-sized boulder could be seen as it protruded from the earth.
Jericho stood slowly and extracted the Musashi from the dirt, his eyes and ears on a swivel, searching for anything that might be a threat. Fortunately, the area seemed quiet enough. The animals were small, and the insects were even smaller.
‘Good, not another Krosa,’ he thought to himself. The absolute last thing he needed after having left Becca in such a state was a world where the weakest of beasts could maul a family of adult grizzlies. It always seemed his home Terra had been the only planet with a semblance of normalcy. Every successive world had been stranger and deadlier than the one from which he was born; whether it was shades and ghosts, demons, dragons, religious zealots, armies of advanced technology, or vicious beasts, Jericho had seen and fought them all. He had his share of scars to show for it, though. A long, knotted scar was slashed across his back from hip to shoulder. A ragged line was etched in his flesh from elbow to mid-deltoid. He had at least half a dozen others, each with a story of struggle and survival.
Jericho felt a little safer, so he decided it was time to make tracks. Without a single bat of an eyelash, the long katana disappeared from existence with a soft whoosh of air. He held out his hand with his palm up, and in a similar rush of air appeared a long [knife], completely black with two separate blades that fit together like one. He gave it a nonchalant twirl in his palm before he turned and dug the tip into the bark of the nearest tree. Jericho scored a square the size of a child’s hand at roughly eye-level in case he needed to find his way back.
His mind switched over to autopilot as he moved through the trees as silently as he could, marking the stoic trunks every ten strides or so. As he walked, his consciousness slipped to more mundane musings about the planet and any items he may need to acquire. He already had a vast array of camping equipment and a large stock of dried meats, but he only had one canteen of potable water left. While he lived with Becca, fresh water had never been an issue. He cursed himself as a fool for not being prepared for the day the Journey would finally find him. If indeed this planet had a solar year similar to that of Terra, Jericho had enough jerky to last him through to the next month, but only enough water for two, maybe three days.
Suddenly, Jericho was face-to-face with a man that had appeared from thin air, a wide, confident grin directed straight at him. Jericho was forced to take a few steps back to get out of arm’s reach, even though the stranger had made no aggressive movements.
“Good day, stranger,” the man said as he touched his brow with his middle and index finger in salutations.
Jericho’s ears pricked and he turned his head from side to side. Five other men stepped from behind bushes and boughs, out of sight to snare the unsuspecting traveler. Jericho played it cool, his knife hidden from view.
“Good day yourself,” Jericho replied curtly.
The man fingered his belt, which drew attention to the long dagger that hung at his waist. It was an attempt at intimidation, but Jericho was instead intrigued.
“What might bring you to our neck of the woods,” he asked courteously. Jericho knew the question was loaded like a mousetrap. If he said he was just passing by, they would assume he was afraid and attack. If he said he had business elsewhere, they would know he had money on his person. When dealing with highwaymen, there was only one sure method to use.
“My business is my own. If you could get outta my way, it would be really appreciated.”
Gruff words, something these brigands were unused to hearing from what they perceived to be prey. The five closed in as the first laughed and gave a signal with his left hand.
“Well now, you see to pass through here, you’ve got to pay the toll. Half of all the stuff you have, or your life,” his said as his eyes narrowed and he drew his dagger from its leather sheath. All at once, everyone had a weapon out, and a few chuckled menacingly. The first man paused when he could see a smile underneath the brim of Jericho’s hat.
“Nice knife.”
Jericho raised his arm and produced the Eldritch Knife with a flourish, held over his head as he raised his gaze to the eyes of his attackers.
“Give it to me.”
The blackness was blinding; the silence roared in his ears; his body was numbed to a point beyond any mortal agony. To Jericho, every millisecond was an hour, and every hour felt like a year. On the flip side of the coin, time held no meaning. In the brief eternity the lone Traveler spent on his Journey, whether it was a lifetime or an instantaneous transfer, he could never tell. Was it a blind man’s hip-shot through space and time to another planet, a different eon? Or perhaps this torturous darkness was the In-Between, the void between realities that only Jericho had the curse of being able to bridge.
He often wondered if this was what death felt like. Perhaps he was dead, his lifeless body left slumped over in the middle of Becca’s room. When he emerged from this damnable purgatory a new body would await the arrival of his soul, each and every one of his possessions stripped from the last one to the new. His tormented mind had little else to contemplate. During the Journey, he had all the time of an instant to simply think. It was any wonder he had a mote of sanity left to him.
All too quickly, yet none too soon, he emerged from the clutches of his Journey on one knee with the [Musashi] clutched in his right hand, in the exact same pose in which he had departed in. He tried to steady himself as his senses reeled from the sudden onslaught of once again being alive. His nose filled with the scents of a planet that brimmed with life; decayed leaves, nutritious soil, the musk of animal life. His eyes were squeezed shut, but he briefly caught a glimpse of greens and earthy browns. He could hear birds, the skitter of bugs and the pitter-patter of rodents. The tip of his blade sank an inch in to the dirt before he realized he had used it briefly as a crutch.
With an annoyed frown, he very slowly cracked his eyes open. The sunlight shafted through the canopy and bathed his position in bright mid-morning sun. The trunks all around him were thick and covered in mosses and lichens, which mean this particular grove of trees was older than most recorded history. Ferns and bushes dotted the forest floor, and the odd horse-sized boulder could be seen as it protruded from the earth.
Jericho stood slowly and extracted the Musashi from the dirt, his eyes and ears on a swivel, searching for anything that might be a threat. Fortunately, the area seemed quiet enough. The animals were small, and the insects were even smaller.
‘Good, not another Krosa,’ he thought to himself. The absolute last thing he needed after having left Becca in such a state was a world where the weakest of beasts could maul a family of adult grizzlies. It always seemed his home Terra had been the only planet with a semblance of normalcy. Every successive world had been stranger and deadlier than the one from which he was born; whether it was shades and ghosts, demons, dragons, religious zealots, armies of advanced technology, or vicious beasts, Jericho had seen and fought them all. He had his share of scars to show for it, though. A long, knotted scar was slashed across his back from hip to shoulder. A ragged line was etched in his flesh from elbow to mid-deltoid. He had at least half a dozen others, each with a story of struggle and survival.
Jericho felt a little safer, so he decided it was time to make tracks. Without a single bat of an eyelash, the long katana disappeared from existence with a soft whoosh of air. He held out his hand with his palm up, and in a similar rush of air appeared a long [knife], completely black with two separate blades that fit together like one. He gave it a nonchalant twirl in his palm before he turned and dug the tip into the bark of the nearest tree. Jericho scored a square the size of a child’s hand at roughly eye-level in case he needed to find his way back.
His mind switched over to autopilot as he moved through the trees as silently as he could, marking the stoic trunks every ten strides or so. As he walked, his consciousness slipped to more mundane musings about the planet and any items he may need to acquire. He already had a vast array of camping equipment and a large stock of dried meats, but he only had one canteen of potable water left. While he lived with Becca, fresh water had never been an issue. He cursed himself as a fool for not being prepared for the day the Journey would finally find him. If indeed this planet had a solar year similar to that of Terra, Jericho had enough jerky to last him through to the next month, but only enough water for two, maybe three days.
Suddenly, Jericho was face-to-face with a man that had appeared from thin air, a wide, confident grin directed straight at him. Jericho was forced to take a few steps back to get out of arm’s reach, even though the stranger had made no aggressive movements.
“Good day, stranger,” the man said as he touched his brow with his middle and index finger in salutations.
Jericho’s ears pricked and he turned his head from side to side. Five other men stepped from behind bushes and boughs, out of sight to snare the unsuspecting traveler. Jericho played it cool, his knife hidden from view.
“Good day yourself,” Jericho replied curtly.
The man fingered his belt, which drew attention to the long dagger that hung at his waist. It was an attempt at intimidation, but Jericho was instead intrigued.
“What might bring you to our neck of the woods,” he asked courteously. Jericho knew the question was loaded like a mousetrap. If he said he was just passing by, they would assume he was afraid and attack. If he said he had business elsewhere, they would know he had money on his person. When dealing with highwaymen, there was only one sure method to use.
“My business is my own. If you could get outta my way, it would be really appreciated.”
Gruff words, something these brigands were unused to hearing from what they perceived to be prey. The five closed in as the first laughed and gave a signal with his left hand.
“Well now, you see to pass through here, you’ve got to pay the toll. Half of all the stuff you have, or your life,” his said as his eyes narrowed and he drew his dagger from its leather sheath. All at once, everyone had a weapon out, and a few chuckled menacingly. The first man paused when he could see a smile underneath the brim of Jericho’s hat.
“Nice knife.”
Jericho raised his arm and produced the Eldritch Knife with a flourish, held over his head as he raised his gaze to the eyes of his attackers.
“Give it to me.”