alsih2o
First Post
Porter lifted his face to the sky, trying to keep his eyes open as the rain washed the grit from his face and eyes.
As the morning’s light began to gather in the east the raindrops continued to fall cold and heavy on Porter. He knew the area well. Unfortunately the area knew him well. He had traveled the same circuit for better than a decade selling barrels and casks. He could not pass any road he knew without some innkeeper or house servant knowing him on sight. Being so tall this sight extended quite a ways through a crowd.
Without the familiar roads and paths between the towns he inhabited Porter quickly became lost. He had never really been in the woods past the logging camps where he occasionally chose wood. It wasn’t long into the day when hunger began to gnaw at him.
He looked about for berries or nuts but it was spring and spring brings few fruits to the untrained. He rubbed the stamp of Malius the bear, his birth sign, on his hammer and laughed at the possibility of bringing down game with no bow. He had always been poor with a bow anyway.
He tried to keep the sun on his right but it hid from him most of the day. At night he looked to the stars frequently, not for direction but with a silent hope. He walked non-stop for fear of pursuit. He even forgot his hunger, eventually.
The rain saturated him, the thick calluses on his feet softened from the wear and constant water. When they separated form his skin his boots leaked blood and rain with every step.
He looked east as the sun broke the horizon and the rain stopped. Porter realized he did not know what day it was Porters brow unfurled for the first time in days. He looked around himself at the sea of mud and decided he could press on. He decided he could make it somewhere, somehow.
And then it began to rain again. The kind of soaking deluge that presses into you with a weight all its own.
“WHY?” Porter screamed, his neck bulging with veins.
“WHY?” He shook his hammer at the sky.
“WHY? Tell me why!” Porter dropped his hammers handle to the ground as lightning sprung from cloud to cloud.
Cold anger filled his heart. It welled up to a grimace on his face and tightened across his chest. His hands shook from his grip on his hammer. He staggered blindly through the mud and began to sob.
He fell to his knees twisting and aching for breath. He tried to scream, his face contorted, his mouth opened, his lungs burned but nothing issued form his mouth. He turned quickly, desperately trying to remember which direction the river was. He slogged through the mud on his knees trying to beat the confusion and the image in his head. He wanted the river. He would crawl out into it and sleep. Just breathe deeply and sleep.
“WHY?” he screamed to the skies. “Why?”
He rested his hammers handle in the mud and placed his forehead on the head. His knees sank deep into the shifting mud and possibly, for a brief moment, he slept.
Porters broad back arched out as he relaxed. His head on his hands, his hands on his hammer, his weight on his knees he spoke.
"If'n any of you Gods is real and think I got a life worth living and saving, send me a sign." He said with the calm of resignation.
The rained ebbed and then stopped.
Porter prepared to climb to his feet when he heard a noise. He lifted his head to see the sun shining. Coming towards him as a thin man in a green robe.
Porter looked to the sky. “Good ‘nuff.”
As the morning’s light began to gather in the east the raindrops continued to fall cold and heavy on Porter. He knew the area well. Unfortunately the area knew him well. He had traveled the same circuit for better than a decade selling barrels and casks. He could not pass any road he knew without some innkeeper or house servant knowing him on sight. Being so tall this sight extended quite a ways through a crowd.
Without the familiar roads and paths between the towns he inhabited Porter quickly became lost. He had never really been in the woods past the logging camps where he occasionally chose wood. It wasn’t long into the day when hunger began to gnaw at him.
He looked about for berries or nuts but it was spring and spring brings few fruits to the untrained. He rubbed the stamp of Malius the bear, his birth sign, on his hammer and laughed at the possibility of bringing down game with no bow. He had always been poor with a bow anyway.
He tried to keep the sun on his right but it hid from him most of the day. At night he looked to the stars frequently, not for direction but with a silent hope. He walked non-stop for fear of pursuit. He even forgot his hunger, eventually.
The rain saturated him, the thick calluses on his feet softened from the wear and constant water. When they separated form his skin his boots leaked blood and rain with every step.
He looked east as the sun broke the horizon and the rain stopped. Porter realized he did not know what day it was Porters brow unfurled for the first time in days. He looked around himself at the sea of mud and decided he could press on. He decided he could make it somewhere, somehow.
And then it began to rain again. The kind of soaking deluge that presses into you with a weight all its own.
“WHY?” Porter screamed, his neck bulging with veins.
“WHY?” He shook his hammer at the sky.
“WHY? Tell me why!” Porter dropped his hammers handle to the ground as lightning sprung from cloud to cloud.
Cold anger filled his heart. It welled up to a grimace on his face and tightened across his chest. His hands shook from his grip on his hammer. He staggered blindly through the mud and began to sob.
He fell to his knees twisting and aching for breath. He tried to scream, his face contorted, his mouth opened, his lungs burned but nothing issued form his mouth. He turned quickly, desperately trying to remember which direction the river was. He slogged through the mud on his knees trying to beat the confusion and the image in his head. He wanted the river. He would crawl out into it and sleep. Just breathe deeply and sleep.
“WHY?” he screamed to the skies. “Why?”
He rested his hammers handle in the mud and placed his forehead on the head. His knees sank deep into the shifting mud and possibly, for a brief moment, he slept.
Porters broad back arched out as he relaxed. His head on his hands, his hands on his hammer, his weight on his knees he spoke.
"If'n any of you Gods is real and think I got a life worth living and saving, send me a sign." He said with the calm of resignation.
The rained ebbed and then stopped.
Porter prepared to climb to his feet when he heard a noise. He lifted his head to see the sun shining. Coming towards him as a thin man in a green robe.
Porter looked to the sky. “Good ‘nuff.”
