06-06-2022, 03:23 PM
@Kuhn, but AW!
Combat. Madness.
He did not know who or even what he was within this dream, within himself; only that he must fight. For himself? For others? It didn't matter. And fight he did, against the odds. Against the madness. Against old foes, shapeless and nameless. Against dissenting once-allies.
Death eluded him, whether he wanted it to or not. Through otherworldly powers, through technology, time and time again he was denied the peace of unbecoming. And though different now, it seemed he would be denied that peace once again.
Hank awoke with a start, disheveling cold wetness from his would-be resting place onto the ground. Cold... why was it cold? Frigid, even? This was a foreign sensation to him. The world was tinted red, but he for some reason did not even think to question this, like the world being red was normal to him. Pale, reddish clumps of The Cold clung to his fur. Sweeping a glance around, he found that it clung to everything it touched. A word flashed in his brain: snow. For some reason, he knew what snow was despite having never seen it first-hand before. Strange. Hank heaved himself to his feet— of which there were four, he noted. Something in his core told him this was unusual. When he was a dream, he did not have four feet. He had... two? Yes, two.
Upon taking his first step in this foreign body...
he fell. There was nothing but air immediately beneath his foot. The shift of his weight caused the something supporting him to crack and give way. His heart sank with him as he entered freefall before colliding with the ground. It was a fairly long fall, but fortunately the snow piled high here, wherever he was. It cushioned his fall, though it still wasn't the softest landing. His body carved a deep, Hank-shaped hole in the snow, of which he ungraciously wrenched himself from with much effort. Snow was strange, somewhere between a liquid and a solid. He hadn't decided whether he liked it or not, yet. Somehow, despite having just broken its surface, he was now able to stand on top of it. Snow was magical stuff. Hank shook out his pelt— another action some core part of himself told him was foreign. He was not accustomed to having hair anywhere, yet here he was now, utterly covered in the stuff. He'd better get used to it.
Craning his neck, he looked at the spot he'd fallen from. His aspen cradle up in the treetops had given way; a fragile thing, it was a miracle it'd held his weight at all. He was a sizable fellow, heavy yet well-muscled. That was one thing that hadn't changed, and he was grateful for it. Turning his attention back to the terrestrial, Hank felt at a loss. What now? Where would he go? What was there in this world but him, the snow and the trees? What was his purpose here?
Well, he supposed he'd just have to find out.
the staff team luvs u