The scent of brine and fish wafted in the breeze as it rushed through the seaside town of Hargeon. The salty air traveled over and between market stalls at the pier hawking the day's catch and up to the bustling commercial areas that bordered the harbor. Citizens and travelers alike wandered the flagstone streets and gravel-paved alleyways going in an out of shops and taverns. As the scent from the foam below wafted upwards, it soared over the larger buildings built upon the incline of a massive hill. Businesses were run in this portion of the town. Printing enterprises, trade routes, and ship manufacturing were all masterminded in this portion of Hargeon. The sour scent finally made its way past the nostrils of a man reclining on top of the awning overlooking the entrance to a particularly prestigious produce company. Apparently, they supplied most of the region's larger markets and restaurants. Not that the individual using the building as a bench cared much. He only ate for sport, after all, and never could figure out how to create taste buds properly. So everything usually wound up tasting just plain wrong. Of course, when one spends over 5,000 years without having touched any form of food one tends to forget how it's supposed to taste in the first place. For the first few months, the man figured that was what everything was supposed to taste like and considered his experiment a full success. Until he once described a bowl of chocolate ice cream -- a treat he had never encountered in his previous life -- as "delightfully salty" only to be corrected by the waiter who presented it to him.
"Ha..." the man chuckled softly, his ash gray mane shifting in the breeze, "That was one far out night, man."
The figure reminisced to himself, still laying upon the awning. He craned his neck forward, peering down the street through his mirrored aviator sunglasses. At the end of the road stood a gigantic palace of a building. The sign, not that he could see it from where he was, depicted a mermaid breaching from the ocean's waters. The hall for the wizard guild known as Lamia Scale. It was a fairly new concept to him, wizard guilds. The shaggy-headed man came from a time of war. There was no room for setting up guilds and running around handling middling tasks with magic. Every effort from the moment you were born to the moment of your death was spent in service to the Emperor and the defense of Ning from the Kragol menace. By comparison, the time he now lived in was utterly peaceful. Even if there were talks of conflicts about the land in his eleven months back in the mortal world. He wasn't even certain if Ning existed anymore. No one seemed to have heard of it, at least. He often wondered if the world he created this body in was even the same one he perished in those thousands of years ago. Perhaps he made a mistake and chose a different world altogether? It was difficult knowing. Especially when, even as a lesser god in Purgatory, he knew nothing about the other worlds that existed.
Now was not the time to dwell on melancholy things, however. If Ning existed on this world he would find it. Or at least find out what happened to it. Now was a day to enjoy the sea and salt. In a way, it reminded him of his small island country. He felt at home in Hargeon after the long trek he took to get there and he was going to enjoy it.
Slipping a leg out from the edge of the awning, the man slid himself off of it and onto the ground below. With a surprisingly light impact, his wooden sandals clacked upon the stone street and his baggy clothing settled after his landing. After straightening his messy tie -- which didn't really change anything -- he looked around, adjusting his glasses. It seemed a few people were suddenly startled by his landing. The man raised a hand and grinned sheepishly.
"Yo, boys and girls! Sorry about that. Should've said somethin' first." he paused in thought, his expression -- or what they could see of it under his glasses and hair -- morphing into one of concern, "Maybe somthin' like... look out below! Yeah. That would have worked."
He spoke more to himself than to the people around him.
"Go about your day, my brothers and sisters!" he said more loudly after another pause. He placed his hands firmly in his pockets, fiddling with a bit of loose thread inside one of them as the concerned citizens began to resume their routes. As he scratched his head through the canopy of hair on top of it, the man turned to look down an alleyway leading south. With an audible "clack" of his heel on the flagstone, the twig-like man began to shuffle off towards the harbor.
"Ha..." the man chuckled softly, his ash gray mane shifting in the breeze, "That was one far out night, man."
The figure reminisced to himself, still laying upon the awning. He craned his neck forward, peering down the street through his mirrored aviator sunglasses. At the end of the road stood a gigantic palace of a building. The sign, not that he could see it from where he was, depicted a mermaid breaching from the ocean's waters. The hall for the wizard guild known as Lamia Scale. It was a fairly new concept to him, wizard guilds. The shaggy-headed man came from a time of war. There was no room for setting up guilds and running around handling middling tasks with magic. Every effort from the moment you were born to the moment of your death was spent in service to the Emperor and the defense of Ning from the Kragol menace. By comparison, the time he now lived in was utterly peaceful. Even if there were talks of conflicts about the land in his eleven months back in the mortal world. He wasn't even certain if Ning existed anymore. No one seemed to have heard of it, at least. He often wondered if the world he created this body in was even the same one he perished in those thousands of years ago. Perhaps he made a mistake and chose a different world altogether? It was difficult knowing. Especially when, even as a lesser god in Purgatory, he knew nothing about the other worlds that existed.
Now was not the time to dwell on melancholy things, however. If Ning existed on this world he would find it. Or at least find out what happened to it. Now was a day to enjoy the sea and salt. In a way, it reminded him of his small island country. He felt at home in Hargeon after the long trek he took to get there and he was going to enjoy it.
Slipping a leg out from the edge of the awning, the man slid himself off of it and onto the ground below. With a surprisingly light impact, his wooden sandals clacked upon the stone street and his baggy clothing settled after his landing. After straightening his messy tie -- which didn't really change anything -- he looked around, adjusting his glasses. It seemed a few people were suddenly startled by his landing. The man raised a hand and grinned sheepishly.
"Yo, boys and girls! Sorry about that. Should've said somethin' first." he paused in thought, his expression -- or what they could see of it under his glasses and hair -- morphing into one of concern, "Maybe somthin' like... look out below! Yeah. That would have worked."
He spoke more to himself than to the people around him.
"Go about your day, my brothers and sisters!" he said more loudly after another pause. He placed his hands firmly in his pockets, fiddling with a bit of loose thread inside one of them as the concerned citizens began to resume their routes. As he scratched his head through the canopy of hair on top of it, the man turned to look down an alleyway leading south. With an audible "clack" of his heel on the flagstone, the twig-like man began to shuffle off towards the harbor.
Shine down, Spark up
