The Wanderer
The Wanderer gazed into the crimson sky. The thin terracotta clowds and the upwards slanted horizon he had grown acostumed to, seemed both menacing and comforting at once. This world was dying. Soon it would be time to leave. Luckily he had anticipated this outcome and was already in the close proximity of the Portal. The ragged figure proceded to make it's way down a steep and tretcherous path, ignoring what was unmistakably a human femur half burried in the gravel. Once he finally tore his sight from the sharp menacing stones at his feet at the bottom of the ravine, the Wanderer noticed, that he emerged much closer to the Portal, than he had predicted. Three tall pillars, triangular, whith their edges pointing towards a commom center formed this worlds Portal. 'Nothing wrong with the classic design' he chuckled. This was not the first Portal he encountered and he had seen quite the assortment of different designs and variations, each suited to the world they inhabited akin to a carefully crafted setpiece. Slowly the Wanderer lifted his hand in order to activate this places arcane purpose and be done with this place. His fingers, now dried up and almost skeletal, had oddly enough not lost any of their dexterity or force, although he long gave up on the practice of sleep and nourishement. The instant his paper like skin touched the rough stone, he felt the activation take place. Every atom in his body and the surrounding ravine shifted by an infinitessimal distance in one direction. This slight disturbance, undetectable according to multiple laws of physics yet made the skinny man in his tattered robes shudder inside. Still. After who knows how many times. He began to lift his foot to step into the focal point, then hesitated. Although there was certainly nothing more to gain in this fading world, some supperstition still tugged at him. Once he stepped into the Portal, there was no way back, that much he knew for certain. Although countless questions about these Portals remained unanswered, this rule he managed to deduce on his journey. He was not the only one. Although he had oddly enough never encountered another Wanderer. Sometimes he happened upon a world with life. Sometimes this life was intelligent. And sometimes the inhabitants of an especially prominent world knew of their Portal and how it worked. Most of them used it as a punishment, others as a tool of ascention. 'Ironic, how they were both right.' He quickly chased that thought away. The cryptic tales and notes scattered by other Wanderers, both willingly or coincidentally seemed to paint a grim picture of what each one of them was doomed to succumb to. As their understanding of the nature of these Portals grew, so did the desire to find the perfect world for oneself. And as an artist ultimately is bound to ruin his masterpiece with unending corrections and adjustments, so the Wanderer loses himself in the ultimately futile pursuit of the perfect world. Some develop violent urges with the desire to destroy a world at the first sight of imperfections. Others drivin by a maniacal craving to step through the next portal andd the next and the next, ultimately negelecting as to even lay an eye on the wonderous worlds they traverse. To somehow soothe these somber thoughts, the Wanderer kneeled down and with a gesture well engrained drew his signature into the dust infront of the portal. Maybe someone will find it, maybe someone will understand. There are those who clain that the ultimate goal is to leave something behind once you leave the world. He doubted, that the saying was meant so literally. Now, empowered by this ultimately futile gesture, the Wanderer stepped into the focal point, defined by the Portal's pillars. Again the shift, now accompanied by a blackening of the vision. ... Once his senses came back to him, he found himself standing on a field, with a light breeze sending waves through the grasses. It was a cool night with a bright fool moon illuminating the scenary with the occasional leafless tree. In the distance unnaturally twisted ruins of a once mighty castle lay. The uneven walls gave of the impression , that the stronghold was still in use for a long time after the cataclysmic event, that was responsible for the castles malformed appearence. This world was also dying. But something was different. This place was not like the one before. This world had died in the past, multiple times. A spark of curiosity ignited in the Wanderers mind, a feeling he had thought lost and forgotten in himself. A state of perpetual decay, a downward slope that leads back onto itself. Most peculiar. The only nearby sign of human inhabitance turned out to be a small stone altar, amidst the crumbling remains of a miniscule chappel. On the floor beneathe the caved in ceiling some sort of coiled sword, was thrust into the ground. Surrounding the withered weapon a small pile of bones huddled to the together covered in ash and cinder. Deep below this blackened crust some embers still emitted their faint radiance, still serving their final purpose.