Shelter.
Your first priority is to find shelter from the coming storm, that what you at least assume to be a storm. The change of the skies, it must be a primative means to express this coming storm, a means by what these lesser beings refer to the change of atmospheric conditions.
It must be a terrible storm coming, for them to be so fearful of it.
You find yourself troubled by these thoughts, by the growing clarity of thought despite the lack of direction memory and experience would grant. Troubled, by the hate that you feel towards what you percieve to be lesser beings. Almost as much as you find yourself troubled by the fact that you cannot for the life of you, figure how these beings were able to fade from your sight so easily, to obscure themselves from you.
A being of perfection.
A being, that should have been able to do much the same as they did, in more mundane manners. To obscure yourself from discovery, to strike those that were unworthy, to infiltrate, neutralise, assassinate. To smite those that stood up to you with fury both righteous and just.
Your brow furrows as you find yourself wondering if these thoughts are truly you, if they are unbidden, if they are influenced. If you are an embodiment of these qualities that bleed through into your conscious mind.
With your fingers curling up, fists balling, shoulders shrugging as you let out a huff, you resolve yourself to get on with the task at hand, to find shelter before the storm strikes. A storm you realise, as the clouds overhead thicken, must be close.
Your eyes travel from the treeline to the river, to the hills, gauging what might be most likely to provide you with shelter. Judging them for their potential.
The river you strike out almost immediately, judging that it, due to the lazy current and shallow slopes leading down to it, is unlikely to have any shelter along its banks. The likelyhood of natural features that would provide cover are also low you note. There is no sign of structure that you can see within travel distance either, no habitation, no civilisation.
The river offers little hope.
The forest on the other hand, you note, quickly grows thick enough that you would not be able to see if you were passing by habitation hidden within its confines. Added to that, you would not be able to see if you were being followed, if there were others beneath its canopy, using the bushes and trees as cover in an attempt to to catch the unwary.
The forest is potentially dangerous.
The hills however, seem to slope too gently to have any potential caves formed inside them naturally and seem undisturbed, showing no sign of tunnels within them, tunnels made by those that inhabit these lands.
The hills seem barren.
Little hope, danger and barren, those terms slowly sink in, telling you that your choice seems to boil down to risking the forest, or getting wet. A little water wouldn't be so bad, though a lot of it would be unpleasent, sap the heat from your body, run the risk of getting you sick.
Sick. That seems so laughable a threat after the fall from the sky, a fall that you know you survived as you turn back to the crater you hauled yourself from, a fall that must have broken many of your bones. Bones, that you now stand on, bones that now offer no pain. Getting sick from exposure to the rain, no, that isn't a problem.
What is a problem you do realise, is that those clouds are twisting, swirling.
Turning an angry shade of greyish red.
A rumble peals through the skies as the heavens above seem to snarl, telling you that whatever is on the way, is not a simple storm. It is something worse.
As you stare up at those angry skies, you find yourself stricken with fear inspired awe, as if deep down you know what these skies signify, even if your memories will not yield the secret to you.
The skies are changing, you need to act before it is too late, you need to decide quickly, what will your course of action be?
Author
Topic: Descent (Read 7473 times)