4.

Trudging through the ferns and undergrowth the traveller considers the words given to him by the old wizard. The item bestowed by the magic user had become one of his most valued posessions, and if he had not followed Elminsters advice then he surely would have lost more than he can find in there. Once the fighting was over and the traveller decided upon a life of solace among the other realms, he felt no burden of weight upon his back, no sweat from over exertion for the tote he carries with him. Only keeping the bare essentials at his ready, his sword, his wits, his determination and a bag of holding. The bag needs only to hear the incantation spoken by its Master and it will produce or stow away the item of which its Master speaks. He had seen the Kender use a bag like this many times but never thought it would come to his aid. He smiled when he remembered the time the Kender had used the bag as his own method to evade capture by guards. The Kender had jumped into the bag himself, as a means to escape the gate sentry's ravens glance on the passing group. The bag of holding was a treasure amongst theives, but to the traveller it is merely a way to store his unnecessary items for further use.

As the day grew, and the sound of crashing waves fell far behind, his eyes began to cast a look of adventure and intrigue as he wandered towards the uprising mountains in the distance that were far beyond his sight at the moment. The dense foliage has blocked everything in its webbing of green, he was well into the city of wooden towers that soared above him. His senses attained a liking for the sounds sights and smells of this lush canopy as the citizens of the forest bring to life their home. Birds of colour swooped the skies as he heard in the distance echoed cries of creatures performing their daily rituals.

Daily rituals. The old wizard had shown the traveller a daily ritual he was to remember and accept as a part of life from the time he was shown. This was as good a place as any. He entered a clearing with a small flowing stream running through it, took out a large rug from this bag and placed it in a beam of the suns light on the ground. Here he sat with his hands resting in his lap, eyes shut, calming his mind and slowing down his sense of time. Breathe. Exhale. Breathe. Exhale. No longer did he bother to pay attention to where he is or what he was doing. He remembered where he had been, and where he was going to. He makes connection once again with the idiom of the traveller, repeating to himself, "Theres no place like home. Home is in my heart. My heart is in its place. Theres no place like home . . . ."
BENDER "STARF✩CKER" Calm - 16 years, 10 months, 3 days ago

3.

As he lay in the soft damp of the sand and cool onshore breeze from the open sea, his mind wandered to thought of the days events. What to plan on doing. Procrastination will only serve to make his path longer than it has to be, so on with the job. Propping himself up on one elbow, he traces circles in the sodden sand until he reached the dry grains underneath. Turning his head to follow the coastline he sees the orange hue of the sun creep into a lighter shade. The heat will soon follow. The hydrogen glow in the sky begins to peak between the cloudline and the surface of the waves. The deranged pattern of cloud falls into a beautiful combination of dawns light. Taking in it breathless beauty for as long as it takes, he has a good look around the shore and plots a path to begin.

One last final task is needed to seal his fate. With ceremonial precision, he lays out his belongings from the boat in order along the green growth at the edge of the forest. Having taken the remaining items from its wooden home of the past few months, he takes one last look at the old girl. He will miss Her. Faithful to the end, the vessel that brought him to this lost abandon is no longer necessary, and is his only reminder of a greater will that tried to destroy him so many times. Dropping the sail and folding the canvas neatly into a square, salvaging all the rope and bindings, removing the talisman of the sea to which he owes his good fortune and safe passage to, he gazes upon her fondly. Taking his ships lantern in hand, he fills it to the brim with the remaining oil he had kept aside for this occasion. Lighting the wick, he began to recite his favorite quote . . .

I saw a thousand fearful wracks:
A thousand men that fishes gnaw'd upon:
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,
Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels,
All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea.
Some lay in dead men's skulls; and in those holes
Where eyes did once inhabit there were crept,
As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems,
That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep,
And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by.

. . . and with that, he tosses the naked flame into the boat, watching his beloved Portabello Belle burn for an hour before he turned to look towards the mountains which lay beyond the green inferno . . .
BENDER "STARF✩CKER" Calm - 16 years, 11 months, 6 days ago

2.

Rain. Unmistakable. His hunger quenched. the rations dwindling, water at a minimum, and it starts to rain. The skies had misled him into a false sense of security with its lack of cloud and wind. Sated and lying on the beach, watching the stars slowly circle the endless black beyond their timeless light, he closes his eyes only to be woken up by the patter of water on his forehead. Still, he doesn't move. The cool refreshing sensation of precipitation drowning his senses is a welcome relief from the constant sea spray and endless motion of waves. Lying still on the sand with the sweet aroma of rain.

The embers of the fire glow no longer, their fuel spent and damp with heavenly moisture. The traveller can only tell this because the rain no longer makes a noise as it falls on the charred remains. Motionless, with his eyes closed until the shower stops, dreaming of where he has been and where he wants to be. Time no longer matters, no person or thing matters apart from himself now. A man purged of external responsabilities. He owes this to himself.

Opening his eyes, he lays there not moving till he sees the clouds start to break and the first signs of an impending star rise begin to move the animals and birds to stir from the shades of sleep.......
BENDER "STARF✩CKER" Calm - 16 years, 11 months, 9 days ago

1.

Through the mist across the beach a boat appears on the shoreline. Battered by the surf, it's occupant jumps into the water and drags the vessel through the foamy white onto the sand, comming to a rest on the shore of his destination. Taking a deep breath , he begins to breathe easy. He is at a journeys end, and a tales beginning. Months at sea with nothing but the birds and fish for company have laid way to a new beginning, a new home.

The traveller looks to the visable horizon, with a lick of green poking above the treeline giving him the impression of mountains. High ground. It is here he decided he must reside, for the rain, for the view, and for the winds of change to flow over his home. Life has forced him to act irrationally, and now it is only rational thought that will save him from the mistakes of past generations of adventurers who push their limits. The traveller has pushed his limits. Pushed them to the edge of another world where he stands sodden and hungry for the basket of the forest to provide him with his first meal on unbroken soil.

He forages for firewood and makes a bonfire on the sand. A clear sky to the ends of the land and sea gives him comfort in a good nights rest under the stars . . .
BENDER "STARF✩CKER" Calm - 16 years, 11 months, 10 days ago