[h3][center][color=navajowhite]One Month Ago[/color][/center][/h3]

Out in the wastelands was the only place Ivan felt somewhat normal, the only thing there was to see being sand, dust, and dirt stretching on for miles. If it weren't for the absence of a sky, he could have believed for a moment his eyes had returned to the way they'd been long ago. With a grin underneath the plain hood over his face, Ivan smiled as a short fit of coughing overtook him, temporarily ruining the stillness of the figure sitting at the edge of The Big Empty.

Soon as he recovered, Ivan straightened his back again and looked out into the vast desert before him, trying to remember for a moment what a sunset looked like. The day was close to ending, as it had been long enough now that Ivan could feel the temperature beginning to drop and he knew it had been daylight out when he fled Isolone. For a moment, he could feel the creeping loneliness that always made itself known after leaving a settlement, like a looming shadow that worked into the back of his mind.

Wishing to keep such thoughts away for now, Ivan reached behind him and removed his backpack from his shoulders, dirt falling from the space on his back that now felt naked and exposed. The discomfort distracted Ivan from what loneliness he felt, and from one of the side pouches he pulled a small bundle of cloth which was gently placed on the ground before him, only a foot from the sheer drop off of the mesa. Quickly he put his pack back on, shrugging uncomfortably as he tried returning it to exactly how he'd worn it a moment ago. 

With his bag back on and his cape covering it once more, the man brought his attention to the little bundle of cloth he had placed before him. Carefully, he unwrapped the bundle to reveal a plain glass pipe and rusted lighter, both objects covered in grime, ash, and dirt. Faintly, Ivan could see where the small pile of substance he'd acquired in the town rested on the cloth which was now like a place-mat for some fine meal. It was an odd substance; apparently some kind of fungus that had recently been discovered by those living in Isolone. Where it grew must have been somewhat unpleasant, as the mycelium was visible to Ivan meaning it was dirty. The texture reminded him of sponge as he began pulling apart the odd toadstool and placing it in his pipe, and as he finished preparing to light up the idea that he had been sold a lie crossed his mind. 

"Guess I'll find out," he murmured, his voice hardly a whisper as he raised the pipe to the slit in his hood meant for his mouth. With the flick of his thumb the heat of the lighter told him it had caught, and he quickly brought the flame to his pipe to avoid wasting fuel. The smoke entered his lungs as he inhaled deeply, the substance burning up at an alarming rate which result in him burning his thumb on the rising flame. He wanted to curse, but held it in so the smoke could stay in his lungs for longer.

After about thirty seconds Ivan let go, smoke pouring out of his hood first from just the mouth slit but eventually from his eye holes too. Happily he grinned, unable to see the vapors but feeling their warmth against his face and their scent in his nose. He would have taken another hit but all that was left in the pipe was burnt grime, so somewhat disappointed he did his best to smoke what was left before putting away his things and returning to the still pose he had been in before. 

He could feel it was close to dark now, the temperature having dropped dramatically, and while he waited for whatever he'd just smoked to take effect Ivan opened one of the pockets at the side of his vest for his flute. The metal felt cool in his hands as he pulled out the two pieces and screwed them together, the instrument barely fitting one of the pouches even while in half. He was glad he could make it work though, as the instrument being easy to access brought him comfort that he had become so used to and was now sure he couldn't live without.

His mind beginning to drift he licked his lips before placing them upon the instrument, still without taking his hood off as the mouth slit was just large enough to let him play through it. To start he just blew, a shrill note echoing out into the emptiness around him which Ivan silently blessed before continuing. His song of choice tonight was one he remembered his people used to play, often after a long week of work when men and woman returned home from Ironhold. Though he didn't sing, the lyrics passed in his mind like a choir of distant echos; voices that had once belonged to people he knew.

[i]"The sand, she burns. The wind, she turns. The storm- it soon shall pass. And we alone, will live on through song. Long forgotten, our souls at last..."[/i]