Hi. Guess who's back. Back it again. Nymm's back. Tell a friend.
= Wake up.
Your eyes snap open as you awake, feeling the moist grass beneath yourself, and staring up at the azure sky. In the distance you hear waves crashing into the shore and the sound of gulls. You pull yourself to your feet, groaning as you notice your clothing is completely soaked through and glance around. Tall grass grows in small sparsely spaced clumps around the massive field, and you see an enormous herd of cattle grazing. Small flowers in golds and reds dot the landscape, and as you look at your feet, you see a large pack sitting at the edge of a small, clear pond. While pretty, this is no place to be sleeping. How did you even get here? You can't remember, but now that think of it, you can't remember much at all. You try and think of something, anything that might explain why you are here, or even who you are. Nothing comes to mind.
= Look at your self.
You kneel over the bank of the pool and see a young man staring back at you, dark brown hair sticking up in the back, the tips looking like they might just. Your face is rather tanned and dotted with faint freckles splashed over the bridge of a slightly over long nose. A slightly long blue T-shirt covers your slim frame, but you can see you're still rather muscular. A name comes to mind. Steve? Yes. Your name is defiantly Steve. And if it isn't, it is now dammit.
= Check in the pack, Steve.
You sit down in the grass and pull over the bag, happy that the voice in your head has at least decided to call you by a proper name. You'll figure out a surname to go with it later. You open the bag, noticing that it seems to be made of a sort of heavy fabric, canvas maybe. It has two large straps that you assume are supposed to go under your arms. In essence, it is an overlarge backpack. You wonder why you didn't figure that out unzip the single compartment and feel a draft of warm, dry air rush out, as if you had opened a oven door. You look into it and realize that you can't see anything.
= Reach into the bag.
That sounds like an awful idea.
= Reach into the bag.
No.
= Reach into the fucking bag, Steve.
You sigh, and reach into the fucking bag. Something tells you that no matter what you do, you'll end up reaching into the bag. The inside is comfortably warm and as you feel around the inside, surprisingly, your fingers don't feel the bottom. In fact, they don't touch anything except for a bundle of rough textured something.
= Pull it out.
Well duh. Your hand grasps the bundle and pulls it out. It appears to be a pile of torches tied together with a strip of red cloth. They appear to be rather crudely made, nothing more than coal strapped to sticks with more cloth. You count them and find that there are twelve in all.
= Look for more things.
You reach your whole arm in, and you pull out a large loaf of crusty bread. It looks very good, but you decide to keep it for later. Theres no telling when you'll find food again. You search through the bag and find one more object; A large pick axe with the head made out of crudely shaped stone. It's bound with something that looks like the same cloth as the torches. As you run your fingers over it, you realize it's felt, probably made of wool.
= Find shelter.
You place the bread, and the torches in the fucking bag, and get back up, brushing the dirt from your pantlegs as you do so. Carefully, you hoist the bag over your shoulders and find that the bag is far to light for something holding so many things. In fact it doesn't really feel like your carrying anything at all. Then again, it is a bag that appears to be bottomless. You heft the pick over your shoulder and look to the horizon. Not too far away there's a forest. You start walking.