Ellef Ringnes Island, 2010
Ellef Ringnes Island, together with Amund Ringnes, Borden, Brock, King Christian, Lougheed, Mackenzie King and Meighen Islands; constitutes the most barren part of the high arctic region.
It's barren nature captured in the words of Stefansson, on visiting Ellef Ringnes in June 1916, wrote “I did not see a blade of grass and the district struck me as the most barren I had even seen”
Ellef Ringnes probably supports fewer forms of life than any other ice-free arctic land mass of comparable size
Why would anything come to this region of Canada? Why would anything endure the arctic climate or the complete lack of food?
Well, the answer would be a Frankenstein monstrosity heavily laden in his own torment, fleeing from it and from all life. And in this barren place with nothing to harm, for the moment, he finds peace from his turmoil and flux.
Micco lives in a hand dug cave in the tundra, camping without supplies by a perpetually frozen river. What he hunts, he kills and consumes, leaving gnawed carcasses to litter about his camp. He is half-feral in this state of tepid toil, barely using his conscious mind.
Micco gives no thought to appearing human, as he can be this, but there is no point. Nothing human exists on this island other than a weather station and abandoned oil rigs...which he avoids.
So Micco hobbles through this landscape on uneven limbs, his sutured and nailed together corpse flesh exposed to the world, a freakish man made of many stolen body parts and bits of metal. On this particular day, hunting is scarce, so he sits upon a cliff ledge, legs folded beneath himself as the snow piles around him. He is uncaring of the cold, or the nude skin he allows to be frost-bitten by the blizzard's winds.
Micco might look like a monk undergoing some form of extreme discipline of mediation, if not for the dirt, blood, and almost nudity he covers himself in.
Pain is fleeting, his body can withstand it. All merely a test of it's composition, scourging away the impurities too weak to survive.
He has been sitting this way for twenty-eight hours, waiting for the storm to pass. Or for something to interrupt his time in the wastes.
Ellef Ringnes Island, together with Amund Ringnes, Borden, Brock, King Christian, Lougheed, Mackenzie King and Meighen Islands; constitutes the most barren part of the high arctic region.
It's barren nature captured in the words of Stefansson, on visiting Ellef Ringnes in June 1916, wrote “I did not see a blade of grass and the district struck me as the most barren I had even seen”
Ellef Ringnes probably supports fewer forms of life than any other ice-free arctic land mass of comparable size
Why would anything come to this region of Canada? Why would anything endure the arctic climate or the complete lack of food?
Well, the answer would be a Frankenstein monstrosity heavily laden in his own torment, fleeing from it and from all life. And in this barren place with nothing to harm, for the moment, he finds peace from his turmoil and flux.
Micco lives in a hand dug cave in the tundra, camping without supplies by a perpetually frozen river. What he hunts, he kills and consumes, leaving gnawed carcasses to litter about his camp. He is half-feral in this state of tepid toil, barely using his conscious mind.
Micco gives no thought to appearing human, as he can be this, but there is no point. Nothing human exists on this island other than a weather station and abandoned oil rigs...which he avoids.
So Micco hobbles through this landscape on uneven limbs, his sutured and nailed together corpse flesh exposed to the world, a freakish man made of many stolen body parts and bits of metal. On this particular day, hunting is scarce, so he sits upon a cliff ledge, legs folded beneath himself as the snow piles around him. He is uncaring of the cold, or the nude skin he allows to be frost-bitten by the blizzard's winds.
Micco might look like a monk undergoing some form of extreme discipline of mediation, if not for the dirt, blood, and almost nudity he covers himself in.
Pain is fleeting, his body can withstand it. All merely a test of it's composition, scourging away the impurities too weak to survive.
He has been sitting this way for twenty-eight hours, waiting for the storm to pass. Or for something to interrupt his time in the wastes.
The Man in Gold was far, far too old to be working this much. He was in the confines of his fortress, washing his own blood off of his armor after just returning from a very, very poor decision; he had tried to kill one of the other players, and he had failed, miserably. Considering how many other things had unexpectedly gone south in the recent days, he figured that he needed to catch his breath, clear his mind, and go somewhere that he could be alone at. His planet was out of the question; sure, everyone else there was long dead, but he had too many memories to concentrate.
So, when he had his servant bring him maps of several planets on which he had operatives, a small area in the far north of Canada caught his attention. He raised an armored finger to the chain of islands floating above the country and decided on his location. The place was far from any listed settlements, so there would be few people there to bother him.
The next morning, he packed a chest of basic provisions and belongings and then took a portal to the island. When he arrived, a moment later, he was standing among a group of snow-coated buildings in the bitter cold. His armor would keep him warm, but he would have to stay in it for most of his journey unless he found a warm place to stay. With the wind whipping against him and the snow already beginning to flake up against his armor, he decided to move into the buildings to check for any inhabitants, but found them desolate. Bully for him.
Until something or someone came along to distract him, the Man in Gold continued to walk away from the buildings and further inland on the island. He would find a nice place to sit down and just think for a while.
So, when he had his servant bring him maps of several planets on which he had operatives, a small area in the far north of Canada caught his attention. He raised an armored finger to the chain of islands floating above the country and decided on his location. The place was far from any listed settlements, so there would be few people there to bother him.
The next morning, he packed a chest of basic provisions and belongings and then took a portal to the island. When he arrived, a moment later, he was standing among a group of snow-coated buildings in the bitter cold. His armor would keep him warm, but he would have to stay in it for most of his journey unless he found a warm place to stay. With the wind whipping against him and the snow already beginning to flake up against his armor, he decided to move into the buildings to check for any inhabitants, but found them desolate. Bully for him.
Until something or someone came along to distract him, the Man in Gold continued to walk away from the buildings and further inland on the island. He would find a nice place to sit down and just think for a while.
Micco suddenly sat ramrod straight, something finally breaking his listless sitting. This sensation was hunger. His body had boiled down the last cells of fat that it could spare to give right now, he needed more. His eyes roved. The snow was not as harsh now as it had been a day ago. Animals would still be hiding however. But that could work to his advantage, if he perhaps found a den.
He stood, and began to move. Animals would take shelter in the warmest places. That would be the derelict drilling sites. He began to stride down the rocky path of the cliff, his eyes locking on the nearest derelict in the distance.
His feet picked up pace. Though his body was starved of energy, he found his humors writhing and boiling. He pulled them to the surface, feeling his starved muscles harden as his feet picked up pace. His skin tightened upon his precious, reconstructed body until it hardened as well. He was like a battering ram, an avalanche, a force of nature that barreled down ths mountainside heedless of danger.
If he broke, he would heal from the next time it stormed. The Pyros assured this.
What would not heal...was the stone monolith that stood in his path as he charged. He struck it hard, and the rock shattered free of where it was moored in the earth, rolling down the mountainside along with it.
He stood, and began to move. Animals would take shelter in the warmest places. That would be the derelict drilling sites. He began to stride down the rocky path of the cliff, his eyes locking on the nearest derelict in the distance.
His feet picked up pace. Though his body was starved of energy, he found his humors writhing and boiling. He pulled them to the surface, feeling his starved muscles harden as his feet picked up pace. His skin tightened upon his precious, reconstructed body until it hardened as well. He was like a battering ram, an avalanche, a force of nature that barreled down ths mountainside heedless of danger.
If he broke, he would heal from the next time it stormed. The Pyros assured this.
What would not heal...was the stone monolith that stood in his path as he charged. He struck it hard, and the rock shattered free of where it was moored in the earth, rolling down the mountainside along with it.
The wind whipped at his armor and snow was coated against him, but he continued slowly through all of it. There had to be somewhere above it all, somewhere that he could sit down and think, but right now, he was just trying to get to higher ground so he would know the lay of the land around him. Above the scream of the wind, though, he heard a loud crash and quickly turned to where the sound had emanated from. It was distant, but not too distant, so after setting his gaze on a hill in the same direction as the sound had come from, the Man in Gold threw a portal before him and, in a moment, was atop the hill looking out at a large mountain.
There was, indeed, something moving down the mountainside, although the snow kicked up by the moving object made it hard to see just what exactly it was. He clutched at the hilt of his sword, but made no attempt to get closer to the moving object. It would come to a stop, and then he could take another portal to it, but this place had seemed desolate and peaceful before; if there were others here, he would either want to get away from them or find out just why they were out here.
Finally, it seemed, the object was nearing the base of the mountain. He settled on a cliff near there and took himself to that spot through a portal, after which he closed the portal behind him. Standing on the cliff, his gold armor flaked with white, his helmet's black horsehair wig and his tattered red cape being blown around wildly by the gusts, he waited for the object to finish its move to the clearing below him.
There was, indeed, something moving down the mountainside, although the snow kicked up by the moving object made it hard to see just what exactly it was. He clutched at the hilt of his sword, but made no attempt to get closer to the moving object. It would come to a stop, and then he could take another portal to it, but this place had seemed desolate and peaceful before; if there were others here, he would either want to get away from them or find out just why they were out here.
Finally, it seemed, the object was nearing the base of the mountain. He settled on a cliff near there and took himself to that spot through a portal, after which he closed the portal behind him. Standing on the cliff, his gold armor flaked with white, his helmet's black horsehair wig and his tattered red cape being blown around wildly by the gusts, he waited for the object to finish its move to the clearing below him.
The object was a frosted over shaft of stone...
But the Man in Gold had other problems from the creature racing down the mountain after it.
It was a hideous creature, of that there was no doubt. Micco in his natural state loped along, having to hobble due to the fact his left leg was about three inches shorter than his right. But he maintained a sprinters pace despite that handicap. His skin was reddish, the color of rust, and stretched too tightly over his frame. Even from the distance the Man in Gold was standing, he could see the nature of the creature...his body parts didn't match, his right arm was a good deal longer and thicker than his left. But it was more than that, from the surgical scars and metal nails, and the malformed nature of his chest...the whole creature looked to have been stitched and bolted together of many different pieces.
And he caught sight of the Man in Gold, and a terrible anger boiled down deep, and that boiling rage became a cresting froth of hatred mixed with animal hungry and the need for the hunt. His turmoil surged to the surface along with more of his fiery humors. He bellowed as the images of humans waving guns, knives, and blunt instruments. His vision clouded red as the memories of bloodshed, pain, and betrayals welled up inside.
Make a kill...
That was all his mind screamed at him, as he adjusted his charge directly at the man in gold armor, wanting to break him and cannibalize his flesh.
But the Man in Gold had other problems from the creature racing down the mountain after it.
It was a hideous creature, of that there was no doubt. Micco in his natural state loped along, having to hobble due to the fact his left leg was about three inches shorter than his right. But he maintained a sprinters pace despite that handicap. His skin was reddish, the color of rust, and stretched too tightly over his frame. Even from the distance the Man in Gold was standing, he could see the nature of the creature...his body parts didn't match, his right arm was a good deal longer and thicker than his left. But it was more than that, from the surgical scars and metal nails, and the malformed nature of his chest...the whole creature looked to have been stitched and bolted together of many different pieces.
And he caught sight of the Man in Gold, and a terrible anger boiled down deep, and that boiling rage became a cresting froth of hatred mixed with animal hungry and the need for the hunt. His turmoil surged to the surface along with more of his fiery humors. He bellowed as the images of humans waving guns, knives, and blunt instruments. His vision clouded red as the memories of bloodshed, pain, and betrayals welled up inside.
Make a kill...
That was all his mind screamed at him, as he adjusted his charge directly at the man in gold armor, wanting to break him and cannibalize his flesh.
The Man in Gold observed this new encounter very curiously; despite the man's tacked-together appearance, he seemed to move with a surprising fluidity and force. However, while Micco may have dispatched the stone shaft with little difficulty, the Man in Gold weighed nearly a half-ton with his armor on, and the armor itself was tough enough to have lasted the more than 13,000 years that he had worn it with little damage outside of a small broken piece of the right boot and a dent in both the helmet and the right pauldron. The Man in Gold gave a short sigh, moved one leg backwards, and then put himself into the stance for taking a heavy blow.
There was no rage, no malice at all, in his action; he simply didn't care enough to get into a fight with this being, but he could certainly understand how, if this place was the sanctuary for him, the man would attack an interloper. The man was closing in now, and the Man in Gold was more than ready to take the blow. It might hurt, even fracture one of his brittle, over-aged bones, but that was nothing he wasn't used to by now. What he was not expecting, however, is getting knocked over; he'd taken cannonballs to the chest before, fired from a mere hundred yards away, and not get pushed down. Unless the creature was immensely strong, there wouldn't be much of a reaction, and if there was a reaction, it might have been time for the Man in Gold to retreat to safety.
He was far past his prime, anyway, and melee combat was far, far too fast and physically demanding for him to keep up for a long time. He could have thrown a spell up, to knock the being into the air, or melt the snow under his feet to try and trip him up, but the Man in Gold knew that he was the intruder here, not the other way around.
There was no rage, no malice at all, in his action; he simply didn't care enough to get into a fight with this being, but he could certainly understand how, if this place was the sanctuary for him, the man would attack an interloper. The man was closing in now, and the Man in Gold was more than ready to take the blow. It might hurt, even fracture one of his brittle, over-aged bones, but that was nothing he wasn't used to by now. What he was not expecting, however, is getting knocked over; he'd taken cannonballs to the chest before, fired from a mere hundred yards away, and not get pushed down. Unless the creature was immensely strong, there wouldn't be much of a reaction, and if there was a reaction, it might have been time for the Man in Gold to retreat to safety.
He was far past his prime, anyway, and melee combat was far, far too fast and physically demanding for him to keep up for a long time. He could have thrown a spell up, to knock the being into the air, or melt the snow under his feet to try and trip him up, but the Man in Gold knew that he was the intruder here, not the other way around.
Micco gave no heed to the man getting ready to accept his blow. Had he been in his right mind, that would've warned him off. But it was going to take time to reach that state.
Micco was panting heavily as he launched himself at the golden armored figure, his shoulder down and in a tackling position. Very few things had withstood his battering ram charge in the past.
So it was greatly to his surprise when the man managed to do it. Micco impacted against the man, and his inertia died. The impact was mighty, as a low crack heralded a broken collarbone for Micco. The Frankenstein had managed to make the whole of the golden armor let forth a resounding vibrating clang as he struck it. The corpse-man crumpled, looking up at the Man in Gold with a mixture of shock and awe as his brain wrestled with what this could mean. No human had a chance of withstanding a blow like that. But what did that mean...
This man must not be human...but what could he be then? His brain poured through Promethean heresay and tales, and then notes of early instruction him left by Mother. He was not disembodied...but the gold...
He suddenly looked frightened, and scrabbled backwards with a wimper, scarred lips muttering a single word. "Qashmallim!"
Micco was panting heavily as he launched himself at the golden armored figure, his shoulder down and in a tackling position. Very few things had withstood his battering ram charge in the past.
So it was greatly to his surprise when the man managed to do it. Micco impacted against the man, and his inertia died. The impact was mighty, as a low crack heralded a broken collarbone for Micco. The Frankenstein had managed to make the whole of the golden armor let forth a resounding vibrating clang as he struck it. The corpse-man crumpled, looking up at the Man in Gold with a mixture of shock and awe as his brain wrestled with what this could mean. No human had a chance of withstanding a blow like that. But what did that mean...
This man must not be human...but what could he be then? His brain poured through Promethean heresay and tales, and then notes of early instruction him left by Mother. He was not disembodied...but the gold...
He suddenly looked frightened, and scrabbled backwards with a wimper, scarred lips muttering a single word. "Qashmallim!"
The impact had hurt, no question about it, but it hadn't pushed him back. The Man in Gold hadn't even budged an inch from the collision, and indeed, he wondered if the corpse man was alright. However, when the creature spoke, he let out a start; this being, whatever he was, could speak, and therefore, was capable of thought. What he had said, though, was a mystery; he didn't even know if it was in a language he could understand, nor did he know what it meant, but as it was addressed to him with a frightened expression, he assumed that there would be no further attacks from whomever this man was.
He brought an arm up to his chest, wordlessly, and placed it there for a moment. He could feel an intense pain emanating from his ribs; the impact must have fractured one, and now he was trying to pinpoint the source. Fourth rib, left side; that would need him returning to the fort and seeking medical attention there, but he could stay here for a while longer. His armor would keep him together, and in any case, he'd been through far worse.
Now that the creature seemed to be frightened of him, perhaps it would be best if the Man in Gold tried to set him at ease. He wished to avoid any further conflict, and while he would have preferred isolation, perhaps this other being would be enlightening to talk with.
"Rest, man, and do not attack me again; I come here not to harm you, but rather to clear my mind. If you can understand me, do say something in response."
The wind continued to whip at him, and he wondered if there wasn't somewhere else that he could go. He really wanted to sit down, remove his helmet, catch his breath, and maybe get something to drink, tea maybe, but he had to find out what this creature was all about, and why he had said what he had said.
He brought an arm up to his chest, wordlessly, and placed it there for a moment. He could feel an intense pain emanating from his ribs; the impact must have fractured one, and now he was trying to pinpoint the source. Fourth rib, left side; that would need him returning to the fort and seeking medical attention there, but he could stay here for a while longer. His armor would keep him together, and in any case, he'd been through far worse.
Now that the creature seemed to be frightened of him, perhaps it would be best if the Man in Gold tried to set him at ease. He wished to avoid any further conflict, and while he would have preferred isolation, perhaps this other being would be enlightening to talk with.
"Rest, man, and do not attack me again; I come here not to harm you, but rather to clear my mind. If you can understand me, do say something in response."
The wind continued to whip at him, and he wondered if there wasn't somewhere else that he could go. He really wanted to sit down, remove his helmet, catch his breath, and maybe get something to drink, tea maybe, but he had to find out what this creature was all about, and why he had said what he had said.
"This Created...Understands." The corpse-creature scrabbled his way back on his knees, trying to get himself little distance. "Of...course, I...understand." His speech was labored, careful and full of gaps and pauses. His speech was that of a man that needed to give careful introspection to every single utterance. "Why does...Qashmallin...want this...tormented...soul?"
There was a intelligence behind those eyes, a frightening one. This creature had a fine mind, one could see it in the carefully plotting introspective glances of his eyes, looking over the Man in Gold. If this man showed any weakness, the corpse-stitched monster would know it nearly instantly and exploit it.
"Are...you not...displeased?" He narrowed his eyes, which where...upon close examination...two different eyes. Specifically, first, they where different shades of brown and different patterns in the cornea, and secondly, they were different shapes. But it took a careful look to see that. "I have...fled the... pilgrimage. Broken before...human... cruelty. Abandoned the...great work...as a coward. And retrea..retreated...to torment. Is...Qashmallin...displeased?"
There was a intelligence behind those eyes, a frightening one. This creature had a fine mind, one could see it in the carefully plotting introspective glances of his eyes, looking over the Man in Gold. If this man showed any weakness, the corpse-stitched monster would know it nearly instantly and exploit it.
"Are...you not...displeased?" He narrowed his eyes, which where...upon close examination...two different eyes. Specifically, first, they where different shades of brown and different patterns in the cornea, and secondly, they were different shapes. But it took a careful look to see that. "I have...fled the... pilgrimage. Broken before...human... cruelty. Abandoned the...great work...as a coward. And retrea..retreated...to torment. Is...Qashmallin...displeased?"
The Man in Gold listened quietly to all of this, and finally when the creature had stopped speaking, he thought for a moment before raising a hand for peace and clarification. There was little tactical advantage in being mistaken for this "Qashmallin" that the creature seemed to think he was, as he had no concept of what that name meant or what anything the creature had mentioned. Faking his way through the conversation would not be possible with the lack of knowledge, so it was best if he just made things clear for both of them.
"Listen carefully, fellow, I am not this Qashmallin of which you speak nor do I understand what you speak of about this pilgrimage, or the great work. I am an interloper on this world, an alien so to speak, but I know it well; if you are not of the people here, these...humans," he said the term with a certain disgust, "then I will speak with you freely, if you desire it. This cold hurts my joints, though, and my arthritis hurts something terrible. There were buildings around me when I arrived, and I would like to get somewhere that is not so cold. Will you accompany me, through a portal to there, or...you look fairly strong, and the cold does not seem to affect you. Perhaps I can take a portal there and you can get to those buildings on your own?"
He did not particularly care that the man had tried to attack him, or that he had grown fearful and prostrated himself in front of him; the mention of humans as a group separately than himself, as a group that was cruel, that caused him to wonder what he had stumbled upon.
"Listen carefully, fellow, I am not this Qashmallin of which you speak nor do I understand what you speak of about this pilgrimage, or the great work. I am an interloper on this world, an alien so to speak, but I know it well; if you are not of the people here, these...humans," he said the term with a certain disgust, "then I will speak with you freely, if you desire it. This cold hurts my joints, though, and my arthritis hurts something terrible. There were buildings around me when I arrived, and I would like to get somewhere that is not so cold. Will you accompany me, through a portal to there, or...you look fairly strong, and the cold does not seem to affect you. Perhaps I can take a portal there and you can get to those buildings on your own?"
He did not particularly care that the man had tried to attack him, or that he had grown fearful and prostrated himself in front of him; the mention of humans as a group separately than himself, as a group that was cruel, that caused him to wonder what he had stumbled upon.
"An alien?" Micco looked confusedly up at him, stitched together face furrowed with his thoughts. "Yes...No Humans...here. We are...in the...Wastes." He looked towards the buildings, his lips curling back over perfectly white human teeth. Perhaps the only things unmarred on his body. He growled heavily, shaking his head. He took a long moment of heavy breathing to calm down. "Yes. I can...Get there. No...Portal. Need food...first..."
He looked around, sniffing at the air. A small transformation came over Micco, as he drew his temperamental humors to the surface once more to give him strength. His veins swelled, pulsating beneath his skin, and reddened to a deep vermillion. His muscles swelled, tensed, and looked at the Man in Gold. "You...will...Explain. Share. Question...for Question. You...have some..." The corpse-creature was perceptive, nay, even smart. There was cunning behind those mad eyes of his. He turned from the man, and leapt. This single bound took him nearly sixteen yards from their position, as he headed towards the buildings in the distance.
He looked around, sniffing at the air. A small transformation came over Micco, as he drew his temperamental humors to the surface once more to give him strength. His veins swelled, pulsating beneath his skin, and reddened to a deep vermillion. His muscles swelled, tensed, and looked at the Man in Gold. "You...will...Explain. Share. Question...for Question. You...have some..." The corpse-creature was perceptive, nay, even smart. There was cunning behind those mad eyes of his. He turned from the man, and leapt. This single bound took him nearly sixteen yards from their position, as he headed towards the buildings in the distance.
As the creature departed, the Man in Gold watched his movements and grumbled. There was strength in the being's body, and speed as well, but he didn't feel the least bit threatened; whatever had spoken to him had possessed intelligence, curiosity, and emotions, and therefore he would have questions for the thing on their next encounter. He held his hand up and a swirling blue rift materialized in the air before him; stepping through it brought him to the snowy ground just next to the buildings. As he turned around to look for the creature, he closed the portal behind him and leaned against a wall of one of the buildings with a low groan.
The snow was getting to him, coldness seeped beneath his armor through the space in his right boot; a plate that had once interlocked with his greaves had long since broken off, through tremendous force no less since the armor was made of nearly-indestructible adamantine. As the feeling stabbed through his mithril chainmail underarmor, he stretched his arms and legs to the best of his ability, arthritis shooting even more pain through him as he did so. Warmth and a place to sit would be much needed soon, because no matter how resolute he may have appeared from the face forged on his helmet, he was suffering inside.
The snow was getting to him, coldness seeped beneath his armor through the space in his right boot; a plate that had once interlocked with his greaves had long since broken off, through tremendous force no less since the armor was made of nearly-indestructible adamantine. As the feeling stabbed through his mithril chainmail underarmor, he stretched his arms and legs to the best of his ability, arthritis shooting even more pain through him as he did so. Warmth and a place to sit would be much needed soon, because no matter how resolute he may have appeared from the face forged on his helmet, he was suffering inside.
Micco would take two hours to finally meet the Man in Gold again, though it took him much less time if he had gone straight to the abandoned oil rigs.
But hunting took a long time to give even the smallest results. Most animals on the island where here merely as a migratory search for food and nothing more. But, something had occurred to him, one of the first things to occur to him in all the time he had been in these wastes. How long had it been since he retreated here...a month...a year? In these frozen places, it all felt like it was always winter.
But the man had been curious, and there was much that would take too long to explain without help.
So it was, that Micco took a trip back to his cave and gathered a thread-bare, ratty little cloth sack. He carried it with him as he hunted...till he found a simple rabbit weathering the cold. It was a good meal, even if the bones where unusually hard.
Micco came to the abandoned buildings, looking for the Man in Gold. He wore the strains of blood on his lips, where he had consumed the rabbit raw and half-alive, and in his hands he carried a the ratty sack and a book. The book was a hard spined, hand-bound, leather-covered number...the leather on the cover had a black burn mark like it had been struck by lightning or other massive dose of electricity. The pages where stained along their edges with dirt till they looked nearly the same color of mahogany, if not for where spots of yellowed paper peeked out of the layer of deeply ingrained use.
But hunting took a long time to give even the smallest results. Most animals on the island where here merely as a migratory search for food and nothing more. But, something had occurred to him, one of the first things to occur to him in all the time he had been in these wastes. How long had it been since he retreated here...a month...a year? In these frozen places, it all felt like it was always winter.
But the man had been curious, and there was much that would take too long to explain without help.
So it was, that Micco took a trip back to his cave and gathered a thread-bare, ratty little cloth sack. He carried it with him as he hunted...till he found a simple rabbit weathering the cold. It was a good meal, even if the bones where unusually hard.
Micco came to the abandoned buildings, looking for the Man in Gold. He wore the strains of blood on his lips, where he had consumed the rabbit raw and half-alive, and in his hands he carried a the ratty sack and a book. The book was a hard spined, hand-bound, leather-covered number...the leather on the cover had a black burn mark like it had been struck by lightning or other massive dose of electricity. The pages where stained along their edges with dirt till they looked nearly the same color of mahogany, if not for where spots of yellowed paper peeked out of the layer of deeply ingrained use.
The Man in Gold wasted no time waiting on Micco to arrive, and forced his way through the boarded-up doors into the buildings. Once inside, he cast his gaze over the dusty furniture sitting neglected in the darkness. The sound of the wind howling against the building, and through the opening behind him, was comforting as he entered the relative warmth of the place; it was a reminder that he was safe from the elements, to a degree, in here, and so he closed the door behind him. The boards had been broken and cast aside but, to his surprise, the door had either been left unlocked or the lock had broken in the cold; therefore, he had left the thick metal door unharmed and had merely pushed it open when he entered.
After shuffling his feet for some distance, stirring up clouds of dust, he placed a hand on a chair sitting at a table with its mates. The legs were metal, seat plastic, and featured a general lightweight construction and cheapness that ensured that he would crush it if he so much as tried to sit on it; the Man in Gold tossed it aside, stirring up even more dust, and pulled the table out to slowly lower himself onto. The thing held, although the wooden top cracked under his weight, and he took the opportunity to remove his helmet. Under the golden facade, one would find that his face was a deep shade of blue, interspersed with purple hues. Across his left eye was a particularly disfiguring scar that ran from above his split eyebrow and through his eye down to his lips, giving him a permanent scar on that side of his mouth. His left eye was red, completely red with no features that might give away where he was looking, and dark compared to his right eye, which was bright and even seemed to glow a little in the darkness.
He sighed, which came out as a gravelly, almost guttural sound, and waited patiently in the room for Micco to arrive. After twenty minutes, the table did break under him, so he slowly made his way into the next room and, to his great relief, found a metal transformer box that seemed to hold his way just fine. In there, he waited until the creature had entered the building through the now-accessible door.
After shuffling his feet for some distance, stirring up clouds of dust, he placed a hand on a chair sitting at a table with its mates. The legs were metal, seat plastic, and featured a general lightweight construction and cheapness that ensured that he would crush it if he so much as tried to sit on it; the Man in Gold tossed it aside, stirring up even more dust, and pulled the table out to slowly lower himself onto. The thing held, although the wooden top cracked under his weight, and he took the opportunity to remove his helmet. Under the golden facade, one would find that his face was a deep shade of blue, interspersed with purple hues. Across his left eye was a particularly disfiguring scar that ran from above his split eyebrow and through his eye down to his lips, giving him a permanent scar on that side of his mouth. His left eye was red, completely red with no features that might give away where he was looking, and dark compared to his right eye, which was bright and even seemed to glow a little in the darkness.
He sighed, which came out as a gravelly, almost guttural sound, and waited patiently in the room for Micco to arrive. After twenty minutes, the table did break under him, so he slowly made his way into the next room and, to his great relief, found a metal transformer box that seemed to hold his way just fine. In there, he waited until the creature had entered the building through the now-accessible door.
Micco eventually limped his way through the building, drawn there by the sound of the shattering table, he moved swiftly on his mismatched legs. He approached each room with a snuffling shiff and by peeking his head sheepishly about corners as he moved through the place. Eventually he came upon the Man in Gold.
He entered, limping up to the mysterious being. He sat down on his haunches before him. He pulled the sack to his side and from it pulled out a gore-splattered bit of fur, meat and bone...a haunch torn from his rabbit meal. Micco silently held it out, offering it to the Man in Gold quietly.
It was impolite not to share.
He entered, limping up to the mysterious being. He sat down on his haunches before him. He pulled the sack to his side and from it pulled out a gore-splattered bit of fur, meat and bone...a haunch torn from his rabbit meal. Micco silently held it out, offering it to the Man in Gold quietly.
It was impolite not to share.
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