Posts : 454 Join date : 2010-04-23 Age : 30 Location : Under your bed.
Subject: The Endless Road Mon May 24, 2010 8:17 pm
The Endless Road
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~Prologue~
Merchants and slavers were crowded throughout the roads within the unnamed town. Sida was well known for its slavery. Slaves lined up in rows of one, their hands tied together while wearing rope-collars. People passing by studied them like livestock.
A man named Jerry slowly made his way through the roads on the back of a brown horse, wearing a dark cloak with no hood and odd looking mask. The horse had scars covering it's legs, visible through the short fur. On the animal's left leg was the name "Nibbles" branded into its flesh.
He remained still, slightly hunched over as if asleep, his hat tipped just enough to hide his eyes.
Wielding a nine inch dagger beneath his cloak, hesitant to lower it as people brushed by. Thieves were something to expect, especially here. Jerry's eyes were covered by old goggles which went over the mask's eye sockets. Although dark, the sockets contained a small glow of color. The right blue and the left red.
Around his neck were two tags made from Lucium, one had the symbol of a demonic being, while the other, an angelic one.
The horse neighed quietly as it made its way through the crowed, Jerry simply nodded in response. They passed through the town's gateway. Beyond the small concrete walls laid the desert that was Sida. He kept one hand on his blade, let the horse's reins fall loose. Out here, danger would have a hard time to hide and his companion would alert him if it was necessary. As the horse took control of where they were heading, the man tipped his hat forward another inch before falling still. It was a long wait until they'd reach another town.
As he fell still, Jerry's mind began to filter through memories; how he had ended up how he is now, the people he had met and how many of them had died, some by his own hand. It was all very meaningless to him, though most of his past was a giant void.
It was all meaningless to him now, all he was after was solitude and a place to call home.
~Chapter One~ Enter Jerry Lothurn
The dry desert air began to rise, dust unsettling itself along the long plains of pure nothingness. Sida was not a place to be in near sun set, especially not this far from the town or camps.
Jerry was still traveling by horse through the area, his posture suggesting that sleep has not been generous in his favor.
The horse neighed quietly which Jerry replied by gently kicking it's sides, causing it to jump into a slow gallop.
Jerry, waking up from his usual mid-day daze, looked to his left. The usual emptiness from the desert lands began to grow old for him. A man can only take so much sand in his life before growing insane, but he rather enjoyed the solitary feeling.
He sighed, looking down to his belt as the horse began to climb a small dune, reaching down and detaching a small canteen half filled with water. He poured a small glass full into his hat which leaked slowly, offering it ahead of the horse so it could drink.
The animal refused, he emptied the hat put it back on, the cool soaked feeling that the water had left behind cooled him off slightly.
Hours passed, the horse began to hack and heave dryly. Jerry sighed, worried that the animal's condition was declining. The horse was literally his only companion since he had left his older home.
The horse paused it's steps and gave a shallow heave before collapsing onto it's knees. Jerry slidding off the saddle and walking to it's side. He brushed his gloved hand down its neck, watching as the animal struggled for air but refused to drink.
Night soon crept over the desert.
Jerry was sitting near a small campfire, the horse settled near it, the saddle off. He watched, seated right next to it, as the animal's eyes fluttered uneasily.
He continued to pet the horse's neck, watching it struggle to survive slightly longer than it should.
A few moments passed and the horse laid its head down near Jerry's leg, closing its eyes before falling quiet. Jerry continued to stroke its mane. The fire dimming slowly.
He reluctantly got up after a while, and took his shovel from the bag he lugged around.
As morning came, he was already kneeling in front of a makeshift grave, a small stone placed at its head with a name carved into it: Nibbles.
He slung his bag over his shoulder, kicking sand into the campfire. He took a last look at the grave, tipping his hat to it before resuming his walk to better lands.
Mon May 24, 2010 8:17 pm