Not so much the earthquake or how everything goes nauseatingly sideways with a sound that makes his ears ring terribly and sets off a headache he could really do without. Nor how it's suddenly daytime, and it was evening about thirty seconds ago.
And his house is missing.
... His entire house is missing.
AND HIS FIG TREE IS GONE.
Knives Millions, scourge of humanity decades upon decades past, stares blankly at where there should have been an adobe structure and now was just rocks and dirt and no sign life had ever been there at all. Replacing the tree was out of the question, as was replacing the home. He squints balefully upward at the ever scorching suns, then takes a slow look around and picks a direction. If he recalled correctly, some iles in that direction would be a town. As much as he'd rather not deal with humanity at all, there might be some answers as to what the hell that was and where his house had went.
And who had cried out in a way that tore at memories he'd rather leave in the past with sharp claws of urgency.
For anyone familiar with him, he still looks recognizably "Knives", but the devil is in the details; black hair and not blond, a chapped weathering of visible skin as if much time has been spent in the wind and sand, a fine tracing of wrinkles of all things - nor does he look like the mid twenties young adult he in theory 'should'. He could pass for pushing forty, not helped by the subtle limp in his stride. Even his clothes have seen better days, faded and careworn but comfortable, once possibly fashionable but now merely serviceable.
While his pace isn't particularly hurried, it is relentless. Somewhere in this direction is a town, and they better have the answers he wants.
Somewhere Out There
It brought back memories.
Not so much the earthquake or how everything goes nauseatingly sideways with a sound that makes his ears ring terribly and sets off a headache he could really do without. Nor how it's suddenly daytime, and it was evening about thirty seconds ago.
And his house is missing.
... His entire house is missing.
AND HIS FIG TREE IS GONE.
Knives Millions, scourge of humanity decades upon decades past, stares blankly at where there should have been an adobe structure and now was just rocks and dirt and no sign life had ever been there at all. Replacing the tree was out of the question, as was replacing the home. He squints balefully upward at the ever scorching suns, then takes a slow look around and picks a direction. If he recalled correctly, some iles in that direction would be a town. As much as he'd rather not deal with humanity at all, there might be some answers as to what the hell that was and where his house had went.
And who had cried out in a way that tore at memories he'd rather leave in the past with sharp claws of urgency.
For anyone familiar with him, he still looks recognizably "Knives", but the devil is in the details; black hair and not blond, a chapped weathering of visible skin as if much time has been spent in the wind and sand, a fine tracing of wrinkles of all things - nor does he look like the mid twenties young adult he in theory 'should'. He could pass for pushing forty, not helped by the subtle limp in his stride. Even his clothes have seen better days, faded and careworn but comfortable, once possibly fashionable but now merely serviceable.
While his pace isn't particularly hurried, it is relentless. Somewhere in this direction is a town, and they better have the answers he wants.