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“Where the Hell is this place…?” Hisoka rasped softly, taking yet another arduous step up the dune before him. The blazing sun, high overhead, beat down on him mercilessly. Below, cascades of sand tumbled down the incline, a cruel reminder of his slow progression through the desert. And, all around, the shimmer of desert heat played tricks with his mind. It almost appeared as though he were standing on a single island of sand, surrounded by a deep, blue ocean. Yet, even the Jester’s sun-broiled mind knew it for fantasy. That, no matter how far he chased those dreams, only more sand awaited him.
He regretted listening to that old fool in Karim. Sun-darkened from a life-time of desert life, bald-pated, and nearly toothless, the peddler had assured him that Uruk had laid no further than a day or so of travel in this direction. That, even if he were a little bit off, the gleaming walls of the city of gold would put him back on track. Was it all a lie? Had that peddler known what Hisoka was here for? Or was there another reason he could not find the city? Some sort of… defense against hunters?
With practiced will, Hisoka shook those thoughts from his head. Whether he’d been lied to or not, the only path to survival lay in moving on. Many days had passed since he’d left Karim, and to go back would ensure his death in these damnable sands. He had to press on and hope that salvation lay ahead. And, besides, thinking just took too much energy. EVERYTHING took too much energy on this world. Not for the last time did he curse the Arbiter who created Mesa Roja.
Cresting the dune, the Jester looked about himself in dismay. Nothing. Nothing but more sand. Golden mountains as far as the eye could see. Small eddies of sand swirled about in the air, abrasive and hot, a wind that neither comforted nor cooled. Trying to steel his will against the travels ahead proved beyond Hisoka. His knees wobbled, then buckled. The descent from the heights of the dune was quick and painful. But he barely felt it at all. He had long since passed his own limits, and there was nothing left to him. Nothing but oblivion.
He had killed countless people. Infiltrated prisons and fortresses to find his prey. Even descended into the maddening depths of Inverxe and made sport with his doppleganger. Yet, this was where he was broken. This was HOW he was broken. No great enemy. No glorious battle. Just the heat and dryness of a world that was trying to make it abundantly clear that it wanted nothing to do with life. It didn’t take long for the uncaring sands to begin burying the corpse that used to be Hisoka Morrow.
He regretted listening to that old fool in Karim. Sun-darkened from a life-time of desert life, bald-pated, and nearly toothless, the peddler had assured him that Uruk had laid no further than a day or so of travel in this direction. That, even if he were a little bit off, the gleaming walls of the city of gold would put him back on track. Was it all a lie? Had that peddler known what Hisoka was here for? Or was there another reason he could not find the city? Some sort of… defense against hunters?
With practiced will, Hisoka shook those thoughts from his head. Whether he’d been lied to or not, the only path to survival lay in moving on. Many days had passed since he’d left Karim, and to go back would ensure his death in these damnable sands. He had to press on and hope that salvation lay ahead. And, besides, thinking just took too much energy. EVERYTHING took too much energy on this world. Not for the last time did he curse the Arbiter who created Mesa Roja.
Cresting the dune, the Jester looked about himself in dismay. Nothing. Nothing but more sand. Golden mountains as far as the eye could see. Small eddies of sand swirled about in the air, abrasive and hot, a wind that neither comforted nor cooled. Trying to steel his will against the travels ahead proved beyond Hisoka. His knees wobbled, then buckled. The descent from the heights of the dune was quick and painful. But he barely felt it at all. He had long since passed his own limits, and there was nothing left to him. Nothing but oblivion.
He had killed countless people. Infiltrated prisons and fortresses to find his prey. Even descended into the maddening depths of Inverxe and made sport with his doppleganger. Yet, this was where he was broken. This was HOW he was broken. No great enemy. No glorious battle. Just the heat and dryness of a world that was trying to make it abundantly clear that it wanted nothing to do with life. It didn’t take long for the uncaring sands to begin burying the corpse that used to be Hisoka Morrow.