return: olvoski
He woke up cold, with the startling sensation of the expanse sprawling out all around him - no walls, no ceilings. He sat right up, hands scraping loudly against gravel.
The world was gray, vast, and bleak. After counting twelve heartbeats, he drew a deeper breath and held it.
Pine. Dust. A foul, rotting odor. The back of his neck tingled, causing his shoulders to shake in a shudder as he exhaled. The feeling diminished immediately.
No magic.
He found he couldn't stand still for long; the feeling of sharp, unyielding ground had been long absent in that world of soft grass and softer soil. It was as if his body had forgotten itself, but each deep breath returned its memory, bit by bit. Even so, his feet were going to bleed until they were freshly calloused. He was going to hate that, he knew.
The roiling in his stomach only worsened as he stood, shifting weight foot-to-foot, facing the wind and squinting out toward the fuzzy line of trees beyond. He squinted, but saw no tell-tale signs of humanity. No campfires, no watchtowers, no castles...His stomach did another heavy flip, then clenched, threatening to cramp up. His throat, too, began to tighten; it only made him try and swallow more and grimace.
One more deep inhale.
No magic.
He turned away and stared at the sprawling rock landscape he'd woken in. It bowled out at a distance, curving upward like waves parted and frozen in place, tipped with stony teeth. Camlang's Maw. He needed only a second to realize. The sound that escaped him came out as a grim croak, stifled by a snort, his impulse to laugh out his disgust. His jaw tightened and silenced him, lip curling up with the swell of anger that began in his belly and set his blood afire. He wanted to hit something.
A loud, sharp whistling sent his limbs to quivering, almost causing him to stagger as he whirled about and looked, following the pale green light as it streaked high into the sky. It ended in a POP, a faraway sprinkling of black powder.
Rallying point. They were already on the trail of something.
An old, familiar itch began to crawl across his body, and he dimly recognized the warm feeling of the medal resting on his breast. He used to imagine he could hear the laughter before it was ever real; the same thought returned and split his mouth into a sour smirk. It wasn't glee that came with it that time around. He wanted to throw up.
He saw the second flash out of the corner of his eye, but missed the formation. He had no idea who was on their way to the rallying point. One way or the other, though, it was going to be weird to explain. Not including the absent vest, he wasn't even in the right shirt...
As he ran, loose stone crackled and flew like dust, and the gusts that blasted against him ripped the water out of his eyes, made it itchy and hard to see, but he only stopped when he got to the tree line to furiously rub them and regain his vision.
The thick-knit pine wood was dark and gloomy, yielding little. To him, it was a threshold; he squinted up at the pale, sunless sky, and then back over his shoulder.
No castles.
He began to run.