Post by Deleted on Dec 7, 2014 8:48:04 GMT -5
Part 1
Lush green grass extended for as far as the eyes could see. A literal sea of green, creating waves as the wind blew across the grass. Scattering the landscape was various rocks and fallen, dried trees. Perhaps the beginnings of a forest had begun here only to have their chances of life snuffed out by some occurrence of fate. Many of the dried trees lacked branches, yet not by an natural means. Many branches had been torn off, while some trees had been cut down rather forcefully. These trees would have made no use in carpentry, only being good for creating fires.
Amongst the field was a single man all by his lonesome. Slumped down on the ground gazing off into the distance, he rested his back against an unnaturally large weapon. It appeared to be a sword, yet it was far too large. Too massive, too heavy, too blunt. It looked more to be a slab of raw iron in the shape of a sword. The white haired man gazed off into the horizon with a single eye. He only had one eye, the other torn out from his skull only a couple months prior.
The man, whose name was simply Garret, raised the dried meat to his mouth and took a bite. Dried venison, from a deer he had taken down two days ago. It was the last little bit of it and he needed the energy from eating to get through the night. Surrounding the man were six mounds of dried wood, all from the dead trees in the surrounding area. From memory he remembered that tonight would be the night of the new moon, meaning he would have no light unless he lit a fire. With the way Garrets nights were he was going to need be able to see all around him, thus the circle of fire pits he had made.
With a gulp he finished what remained of the venison, washing it down with cold spring water he acquired earlier in the day. Being undead had its perks, mainly being Garret could not contract mortal illnesses from eating undercooked meat or drinking straight from a river. Was a blessing in disguise and made foraging so much easier. There was somethings Garret had eaten that he would rather he never have, but he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
The landscape was painted orange as evening grew later and closer to the night. Garret got to his feet, reaching into his travel bag and removing cylinder shaped device, given to him by one of those Shinigami that belonged to that womens' squad. From what Garret understood it was some sort of tool used to create fire. Dragging his finger across the switch, a small flame burst into life. Using it he began to light the fire pits one by one, allowing them to slowly build up as the evening slowly began to grow darker. Returning to his place in the center, Garret took a breath.
It would take a few minutes for the fires to get started, giving Garret a few minutes more of rest. How long had he been walking today? He didn't know where he was, nor did he necessarily care, but was curious of the amount if distance he traveled. Turning around, the man grasped his sword by its thick hilt, pulling it from the ground. Repositioning it in his hands he pointed the blade straight into the air, gazing at it. This will be a long night... He thought. He held the six foot blade, before sighing and hooking back into its position on his back.
Garret was tired. So very tired. A level of exhaustion few would ever experience. The endless nights were rough. How many people could deal with it? How many people could endure what Garret experienced every night? Once that sun went down, a battle would begin until it rose above the horizon. What did that woman call it again? An Osen. Garret was afflicted with some sort of plague, some sort of curse, that made normal life impossible.
Whatever it was called, it was an affliction that made not worth living. For most people, anyways. The Osen only activated at night, from dusk to dawn. Garret didn't know how to explain it but the way that woman had described it was that at night something inside Garret would change. Some sort of inner energy would be altered into something similar to a bait. And they would come. Each night they came. In droves they came because of the smell. They came for Garret.
The Hollows. The white masked monstrosities that represented the damned souls of those left within the Human World. They were corruption, nothing more than the nightmares you heard about in stories that needed to be put down. After what they had taken from him, Garret was happy to oblige. They took it all from him. They took her from him. Just thinking about it Garrets upper lip became to curl upwards into a vicious snarl. Frown began to furrow and his breathing began haggard. Reaching upwards he put his hand upon the place where his right eye should have been.
Remembering it. Remembering the last thing his right eye saw was enough to send him over the edge. Thinking about it was enough to awaken that hellfire inside him, ready to lash out and consume everything. Garret could never get over this. He could never forgive them. Every single one of them would die. For her. For a better future. They would all die. Each and every one of them would die by his own sword. Cassandra...] Removing his hand from his eye the behemoth took a breath, wiping the newly formed sweat from his forehead.
He didn't have long now. The fires had begun to burn and the sun was touching the horizon. A new night, a new battle, was abut to begin. A desperate fight for survival against the hungry demons. Garret would not submit to them, Garret would endure. He wouldn't stop till they were all dead. His sword would end their lives and stop their souls. Hollows deserved no forgiveness, no atonement. He would use that thing living within his right eye socket to see his revenge through. The sun began to sink down beneath the horizon. It would soon be time.
Lush green grass extended for as far as the eyes could see. A literal sea of green, creating waves as the wind blew across the grass. Scattering the landscape was various rocks and fallen, dried trees. Perhaps the beginnings of a forest had begun here only to have their chances of life snuffed out by some occurrence of fate. Many of the dried trees lacked branches, yet not by an natural means. Many branches had been torn off, while some trees had been cut down rather forcefully. These trees would have made no use in carpentry, only being good for creating fires.
Amongst the field was a single man all by his lonesome. Slumped down on the ground gazing off into the distance, he rested his back against an unnaturally large weapon. It appeared to be a sword, yet it was far too large. Too massive, too heavy, too blunt. It looked more to be a slab of raw iron in the shape of a sword. The white haired man gazed off into the horizon with a single eye. He only had one eye, the other torn out from his skull only a couple months prior.
The man, whose name was simply Garret, raised the dried meat to his mouth and took a bite. Dried venison, from a deer he had taken down two days ago. It was the last little bit of it and he needed the energy from eating to get through the night. Surrounding the man were six mounds of dried wood, all from the dead trees in the surrounding area. From memory he remembered that tonight would be the night of the new moon, meaning he would have no light unless he lit a fire. With the way Garrets nights were he was going to need be able to see all around him, thus the circle of fire pits he had made.
With a gulp he finished what remained of the venison, washing it down with cold spring water he acquired earlier in the day. Being undead had its perks, mainly being Garret could not contract mortal illnesses from eating undercooked meat or drinking straight from a river. Was a blessing in disguise and made foraging so much easier. There was somethings Garret had eaten that he would rather he never have, but he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
The landscape was painted orange as evening grew later and closer to the night. Garret got to his feet, reaching into his travel bag and removing cylinder shaped device, given to him by one of those Shinigami that belonged to that womens' squad. From what Garret understood it was some sort of tool used to create fire. Dragging his finger across the switch, a small flame burst into life. Using it he began to light the fire pits one by one, allowing them to slowly build up as the evening slowly began to grow darker. Returning to his place in the center, Garret took a breath.
It would take a few minutes for the fires to get started, giving Garret a few minutes more of rest. How long had he been walking today? He didn't know where he was, nor did he necessarily care, but was curious of the amount if distance he traveled. Turning around, the man grasped his sword by its thick hilt, pulling it from the ground. Repositioning it in his hands he pointed the blade straight into the air, gazing at it. This will be a long night... He thought. He held the six foot blade, before sighing and hooking back into its position on his back.
Garret was tired. So very tired. A level of exhaustion few would ever experience. The endless nights were rough. How many people could deal with it? How many people could endure what Garret experienced every night? Once that sun went down, a battle would begin until it rose above the horizon. What did that woman call it again? An Osen. Garret was afflicted with some sort of plague, some sort of curse, that made normal life impossible.
Whatever it was called, it was an affliction that made not worth living. For most people, anyways. The Osen only activated at night, from dusk to dawn. Garret didn't know how to explain it but the way that woman had described it was that at night something inside Garret would change. Some sort of inner energy would be altered into something similar to a bait. And they would come. Each night they came. In droves they came because of the smell. They came for Garret.
The Hollows. The white masked monstrosities that represented the damned souls of those left within the Human World. They were corruption, nothing more than the nightmares you heard about in stories that needed to be put down. After what they had taken from him, Garret was happy to oblige. They took it all from him. They took her from him. Just thinking about it Garrets upper lip became to curl upwards into a vicious snarl. Frown began to furrow and his breathing began haggard. Reaching upwards he put his hand upon the place where his right eye should have been.
Remembering it. Remembering the last thing his right eye saw was enough to send him over the edge. Thinking about it was enough to awaken that hellfire inside him, ready to lash out and consume everything. Garret could never get over this. He could never forgive them. Every single one of them would die. For her. For a better future. They would all die. Each and every one of them would die by his own sword. Cassandra...] Removing his hand from his eye the behemoth took a breath, wiping the newly formed sweat from his forehead.
He didn't have long now. The fires had begun to burn and the sun was touching the horizon. A new night, a new battle, was abut to begin. A desperate fight for survival against the hungry demons. Garret would not submit to them, Garret would endure. He wouldn't stop till they were all dead. His sword would end their lives and stop their souls. Hollows deserved no forgiveness, no atonement. He would use that thing living within his right eye socket to see his revenge through. The sun began to sink down beneath the horizon. It would soon be time.
