Idiosyncrasy, This won't end well. Options

[Petra Arkanian]

Okay, so I've been unactive for a while (yeah, yeah, underestimated, more like 3 months, which is a long time), and most of the reason why is because I've been trying and trying to come up with good ideas for my other story (Concerned but powerless), and sadly, I have - for the moment - failed. Utterly and completely. I have realized that I was playing the same old card like fifty times, and... yeaaaaaaah. Anyway. Rambling. So, basically, long story short, I have decided to start a new story and yeah I can see where this is going because it's such a common trend with me, as I have a ton of books that I've started and never finished. Yep. Okay, now for the story.

CHAPTER 1

Run, run, run. Toward the deer, away from the deer, just run.

I vault over a large fallen tree, knock an arrow, and try to aim at the buck while sprinting. My arrow sprouts out of it's neck, and I slow my pace to a walk as I go to fetch my kill. The arrow is snapped in two, which I expected, since the buck had fallen on his left side, which is where the arrow was. I shove the deer over onto its back, with its legs lolling out aimlessly, and I try to dig the shaft out of the smooth, tan hide. A young buck - that's good. I haven't had meat for a while, since the Blackwood is relatively devoid of animals, but flourishing with plants. And let me tell you, living off plants is no party. I once knew a few people (they're dead now) who'd live of anything besides meat. And I'll never understand why.

As I gather wood for a fire, I begin to contemplate where I'll go next. I've always wondered what it's like in Bruma, but really, I don't really fancy the cold, and in any case, I'm not much of a people person. I like dead people okay, but live ones? Definitely not. They talk too much. It's the same with pretty much every kind of humanoid. Self-centered and unrealistic. So I stay away from them as much as possible. The other ones I kill. Not always, but usually.

The crackling fire illuminates the now dark forest around me.

Ahh, the Panther River, where game grows on trees.

I walk back to my deer, take out my trusted hunting knife, and begin skinning it, as it's too large for me to drag back to my fire. And in any case, the fire is so close by that it's hardly worth it. And if I had made the fire here, in the clearing, then the smoke would definitely have alerted someone that I was nearby. And then some stupid 'Imperial Legioner' would have come to get me and I'd have to kill them.

So I try to steer clear of these weirdos.

The carcass is mostly skinned, and the only parts with fur are the head and paws, and since I don't eat those anyway I cut them off with my knife and begin slicing the buck into sizable chunks.

I wrap these in the skin and bring them to the fire, skewer one on a burned stick, and wait for it to heat up. It will take a while, so I begin an inventory of my current items. A few knives; about two dozen arrows (I'd better come across a bandit archer soon); several large edible nuts whose name I still don't know, but which I call treenuts; one last pair of camouflage patterned clothes; a short sword; two black capes, one of which is mostly in tatters; and a large waterskin. Empty, of course.

I'll need to find a stream, and soon, but for now I think I'll just rest and wait for the meat.

In about an hour, I have two large pieces of venison roasted and ready for eating, and so I begin. They taste like heaven, if heaven tasted like deer meat. Which I bet it doesn't.

Full and rather sleepy, I retire to my small sleeping bag, which I carry around, because sleeping on moldy acorns and wet leaves isn't very enjoyable. I would know.

***

I wake up, feeling more refreshed than usual. No dreams tonight. This comes as a relief - nearly all of my dreams are nightmares, and I always flail about when I sleep, so I usually awake with bruises. This being said, I don't sleep too often.

I pack up my things, smother the fire with the abundant rocks, and stretch. I begin walking, chewing on a wad of the inside of pine bark, which tastes a lot like mint, and continue to contemplate the question that I'm always facing: Where next?

Perhaps I'll just look for a bandit camp and ambush people and settle down for a while. In fact, I decide that's exactly what I'll do; and I head out to a famous one that people somehow always pass and somehow always forget to bring their weapons: Fisherman's rock.

It's about a days journey, and I almost dread having to turn back to the Blackwood, but I persist. It's the perfect camp.

So with my pack full, my stomach settled and my mind made, I hurry on, anxious to find the camp.

This post has been edited by Petra Arkanian: Mar 14 2011, 07:39 PM