"Fucking again..."
Hoarse from a dry throat the voice echoed in the darkness of the chamber, bouncing between the storage rooms naked, damp walls.
"Couldn't leave well enough alone." the man muttered as he sat up and with a groan leaned back against a rotted out set of stairs. Enough times he had felt that heavy pull as all air left his lungs and dragged him back through the cosmos. Far too old to go chasing between dimensions after some lofty goals of magics and powers, no all he had wanted was to die in peace on a world not too dissimilar from home. Home, does it even mean anything? He asked himself as he sat slumped over, accompanied by the drips and drops of what he hoped was just water.
A cursory feel made sure it was all mostly still there, even the l- no, still gone. Some days he could swear he could feel his toes and the weight of his corduroy pants against his skin. The replacement seemed to also have been lost to the space between time. Not the first, or last time I guess. Shirt was fine, as was cloak, hat's a gonner though. Everything added to the ever growing mental list of things to fetch before he could begin the cycle anew.
"Ain't no rest for the wicked." he grumbled and got up, body creaking and shivering from the aftershock of re-emerging. This would be the last time, he always told himself that, constantly looking for that one last thing. A final quest if you so will, then the weary bones could rest at last.
Hoarse from a dry throat the voice echoed in the darkness of the chamber, bouncing between the storage rooms naked, damp walls.
"Couldn't leave well enough alone." the man muttered as he sat up and with a groan leaned back against a rotted out set of stairs. Enough times he had felt that heavy pull as all air left his lungs and dragged him back through the cosmos. Far too old to go chasing between dimensions after some lofty goals of magics and powers, no all he had wanted was to die in peace on a world not too dissimilar from home. Home, does it even mean anything? He asked himself as he sat slumped over, accompanied by the drips and drops of what he hoped was just water.
A cursory feel made sure it was all mostly still there, even the l- no, still gone. Some days he could swear he could feel his toes and the weight of his corduroy pants against his skin. The replacement seemed to also have been lost to the space between time. Not the first, or last time I guess. Shirt was fine, as was cloak, hat's a gonner though. Everything added to the ever growing mental list of things to fetch before he could begin the cycle anew.
"Ain't no rest for the wicked." he grumbled and got up, body creaking and shivering from the aftershock of re-emerging. This would be the last time, he always told himself that, constantly looking for that one last thing. A final quest if you so will, then the weary bones could rest at last.
