A cold, blustery wind was blowing across the wide plain of imagination. He opened his eyes to discover children playing and dancing around him. Their laughter rang out into the nothingness around him. Ringing at his ears, loud yet soothing as they tossed a small ball back and forth. The ball rolled his way, a small inscription of a kitten on one side of it. He reached for it only to have sink through the ground. He looked up as the children's laughter became more high pitched only to see them do the same as their kitten ball.
He raised himself off the ground to find that there was no ground. Only a dark void of silence, raking at his sanity. He walked as steadily as he could muster. All the way up to a building he could've swore wasn't there a second ago. He was vaguely away of a strangely familiar smell as he awed at the size of this very familiar palace he used to call home. The monstrous white home was a sight to behold as the doorknob was growing to his size and greater. He staggered inside, now intoxicated by the now overwhelming smell of something diseased. He now tripped over his own feet to get to the source of the smell. Stronger and stronger it got, he was not far from vomiting at this point. He saw the children again, now welcoming him to a door with no knob near the end of the hallway. They threw the ball at the door and it became the knob that hadn't been their. His senses were screaming at him to run, yet the smell, however terrible, had a seductive taste to it. Drawing closer, the door opened itself and there, among tangled sheets of the large pink bed lay a women. He remembered this women from somewhere, somewhere long lost to his senses. Suddenly, he remembered her name. The mere thought of the deceased women's name brought on tears of woe and sadness. The name of mother.
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Knucks woke up in a cold sweat. He looked around, dumbstruck as to were he was. He quickly remembered The bar he had entered, the beer that he drank, the sleep that toke him in the middle of a drink. Beer now covered his sweat pants and part of his shirt. He had a pounding head ache and the screaming laughter of the drunk couple next to him wasn't helping. He could barely make out in the dim light that the overweight bartender was now feeling up a cocktail waitress, the "band" had fallen to sleep with no instruments in sight, and that screaming couple had now started pushing each other into the cheap wooden tables. The impending feeling that a brawl would soon be breaking out forced Knucks to get up and out before such happened.
He tied his belongings around his shoulder, made his way past another, more " friendly" couple, and headed for the mountains. Okiyama was now boring to him, but he had heard of rumors of a great master in the mountains. He decided that he would scope out this master of the sword to see if he was indeed a master. The smell of beer still filled his nostrils from either the drunken madhouse or the beer he was covered in. He would've changed before he left, but he had nothing to change into but yesterdays clothes. Two outfits, a little money, a chipped sword and a pouch were all the supplies he had with him. His sword had always been his skill point. He had much training with it as a young child. The lessons had come in handy when he needed money, winning small back alley tournaments where if you swung your sword wrong, you could hit an array of objects from a stringy cat to a mangy, drunk, onlooker.
He passed out of the city and started his trek to the sword master. Excitement ran through him as he thought of the challenge he could have against this master. He took in a big whiff of the full-moon night and almost choked. He would definitely have to find a stream to wash in before he embarrassed himself.
He raised himself off the ground to find that there was no ground. Only a dark void of silence, raking at his sanity. He walked as steadily as he could muster. All the way up to a building he could've swore wasn't there a second ago. He was vaguely away of a strangely familiar smell as he awed at the size of this very familiar palace he used to call home. The monstrous white home was a sight to behold as the doorknob was growing to his size and greater. He staggered inside, now intoxicated by the now overwhelming smell of something diseased. He now tripped over his own feet to get to the source of the smell. Stronger and stronger it got, he was not far from vomiting at this point. He saw the children again, now welcoming him to a door with no knob near the end of the hallway. They threw the ball at the door and it became the knob that hadn't been their. His senses were screaming at him to run, yet the smell, however terrible, had a seductive taste to it. Drawing closer, the door opened itself and there, among tangled sheets of the large pink bed lay a women. He remembered this women from somewhere, somewhere long lost to his senses. Suddenly, he remembered her name. The mere thought of the deceased women's name brought on tears of woe and sadness. The name of mother.
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Knucks woke up in a cold sweat. He looked around, dumbstruck as to were he was. He quickly remembered The bar he had entered, the beer that he drank, the sleep that toke him in the middle of a drink. Beer now covered his sweat pants and part of his shirt. He had a pounding head ache and the screaming laughter of the drunk couple next to him wasn't helping. He could barely make out in the dim light that the overweight bartender was now feeling up a cocktail waitress, the "band" had fallen to sleep with no instruments in sight, and that screaming couple had now started pushing each other into the cheap wooden tables. The impending feeling that a brawl would soon be breaking out forced Knucks to get up and out before such happened.
He tied his belongings around his shoulder, made his way past another, more " friendly" couple, and headed for the mountains. Okiyama was now boring to him, but he had heard of rumors of a great master in the mountains. He decided that he would scope out this master of the sword to see if he was indeed a master. The smell of beer still filled his nostrils from either the drunken madhouse or the beer he was covered in. He would've changed before he left, but he had nothing to change into but yesterdays clothes. Two outfits, a little money, a chipped sword and a pouch were all the supplies he had with him. His sword had always been his skill point. He had much training with it as a young child. The lessons had come in handy when he needed money, winning small back alley tournaments where if you swung your sword wrong, you could hit an array of objects from a stringy cat to a mangy, drunk, onlooker.
He passed out of the city and started his trek to the sword master. Excitement ran through him as he thought of the challenge he could have against this master. He took in a big whiff of the full-moon night and almost choked. He would definitely have to find a stream to wash in before he embarrassed himself.