Post by Tebooleh on Sept 20, 2023 13:44:51 GMT -5
Tebooleh wasn't lost. Things, perhaps, would have been more understandable and fine if he was lost, because then he would have been able to imagine that he was getting closer to his goal. Instead, Tebooleh was well aware of where he was, and how far away from the Western Continent he was drifting. He could sense the ki of a handful of fighters and people that he'd encountered, and triangulate his position with a bit of mental math. It was a task that he did from time to time, while floating away on his raft made of junk and salvage.
It had seemed like a simple plan. He just gathered a few empty drums made of some sort of plastic, a few pallets of wood, some nails and vines to lash it all together and a sail, made of tarp. He also carved himself an oar out of the driftwood that had carried him back to Papaya Island's beach. He even had a little mast, and some food and water that he'd managed to collect at the outskirts of the town and homes of the island. In all, he'd thought himself well prepared! When he had set out, the seas had been calm and the day cloudless.
Despite this initial calm, on the second day, a great wave had swept over him and his boat. The raft had floated back to the surface, it was kept buoyant by the drums. However, the food and water that Tebooleh had gathered had been washed off the raft, and Tebooleh had been unable to recover the supplies.
Then came the storm that had snapped the mast, as winds howled and waves roared and Tebooleh's raft was flung every which way. And that had left Tebooleh, hungry and thirsty, with only a paddle. While he'd still had his full strength, Tebooleh had been able to make great distance with the paddle, moving faster than most motorboats... but somehow, he'd drifted into a surface current without realizing it, and he'd lost nearly all of the distance he'd made before he became too weak to paddle.
It had been about a week, and Tebooleh found that he'd run out of the rainwater from the storm. So he'd taken to meditating, trying to block out the heat of the sun and the salty spray of the water. Perhaps, if he waited, he could outlast the elements and hit land. There he could repair, or improve, his raft and get more food and water. Unless a passing ship came upon him, and was willing to take him along to port. If only he was permitted to fly...
Tebooleh banished these thoughts from his mind, and cleared his head. It would not help, wishing for other rules for his journey. It would not help, wishing for more food and water. What would help was slow breathing... slow beating of the heart... opening his mind and soul to the world outside, to feel it as one felt their own skin and hands. He would be ready for anyone that came, conserve his strength... And hopefully survive.
It had seemed like a simple plan. He just gathered a few empty drums made of some sort of plastic, a few pallets of wood, some nails and vines to lash it all together and a sail, made of tarp. He also carved himself an oar out of the driftwood that had carried him back to Papaya Island's beach. He even had a little mast, and some food and water that he'd managed to collect at the outskirts of the town and homes of the island. In all, he'd thought himself well prepared! When he had set out, the seas had been calm and the day cloudless.
Despite this initial calm, on the second day, a great wave had swept over him and his boat. The raft had floated back to the surface, it was kept buoyant by the drums. However, the food and water that Tebooleh had gathered had been washed off the raft, and Tebooleh had been unable to recover the supplies.
Then came the storm that had snapped the mast, as winds howled and waves roared and Tebooleh's raft was flung every which way. And that had left Tebooleh, hungry and thirsty, with only a paddle. While he'd still had his full strength, Tebooleh had been able to make great distance with the paddle, moving faster than most motorboats... but somehow, he'd drifted into a surface current without realizing it, and he'd lost nearly all of the distance he'd made before he became too weak to paddle.
It had been about a week, and Tebooleh found that he'd run out of the rainwater from the storm. So he'd taken to meditating, trying to block out the heat of the sun and the salty spray of the water. Perhaps, if he waited, he could outlast the elements and hit land. There he could repair, or improve, his raft and get more food and water. Unless a passing ship came upon him, and was willing to take him along to port. If only he was permitted to fly...
Tebooleh banished these thoughts from his mind, and cleared his head. It would not help, wishing for other rules for his journey. It would not help, wishing for more food and water. What would help was slow breathing... slow beating of the heart... opening his mind and soul to the world outside, to feel it as one felt their own skin and hands. He would be ready for anyone that came, conserve his strength... And hopefully survive.
WC: 516
Tebooleh has entered the thread! PL: 24,000
No items!
No transformations active!
Tebooleh has entered the thread! PL: 24,000
No items!
No transformations active!