Act 0 Chapter 1 - Fall
Salt plagued the air, the ocean darkened with every stroke of the paddle. Behind, just sky. In front, an unfamiliar towering wall, eclipsing the Sun creating a shadow that can only be described as ominous. It wasn’t always like this, it used to have cliffs, beaches, a view. Now unrecognizable. And yet, he returned to the place he called home.
He approached the country gate, the ocean practically black; his reflection that once showed his exuberant young face, stylish black-green hair, the brown collar of his patterned khaki shirt was non-existent. He gazed up at the tower, he could only utter the words “Home, sweet home”. He docked at the side of the country gate, there is no port. Why would there be?
He climbed out awkwardly as the gate opened for him, of course he expected company but nothing, just open fields. He wasn’t expecting party poppers, or even a warm welcome but at least the existence of grassland was a comforting feeling. It was odd for a country that, in recent years, had vastly increased security measures and yet no one manned the gate.
There was no sign of intelligent life, not for miles. Not a cart-horse which was customary for this country, or even a car if they had kept up with any industrial advances from the past hundred years. Even the grass felt untouched.
As if confirming that his situation was in fact bizzare, a hooded figure seemingly apparated in front of him, startling him forcing him to look up from the ground with a grunt. Even more bizzare, the proportions were that of a child. The child reached out to help him up, he couldn’t help but take note of their dainty hand, contrasting to his large calloused hands. It was clear this child had never worked a day in their life, but curiously they had scars that looked to have been chemical on their wrist.
“Thanks” he muttered gruffly, still dazed from the earlier impossible apparition “Now, I’ve got a lot of questions Miss-” before he could even ask a single question, the girl thrusted a stave of a peculiar design into his hands “You’re going to need this” she said in a quiet yet unmistakably malicious voice, she followed this with a stomach-churning grin and pushed him back with her other hand, concealed in a glove patterned with a glowing gemstone, one that was similar to the one embedded in the stave.
Once more he fell, but he kept falling, to the point where he was perpendicular to the ground, looking out to see a purple, hazy sky in front of him, and a fractured crystallised version of the country walls. That outrageous scenario almost made his battle-hardened body puke, but he knew there was no time for such inconsequential bodily functions when his death was practically imminent.