[center][h2][color=LemonChiffon]Dreamscape[/color] | A World Forgotten[/h2][i][color=silver]A Post-Apocalyptic Fantasy Roleplay | GM'd by [color=LemonChiffon]Leslie Hall[/color]
[sub]Inspired by Dark Souls, Undertale, Journey and heavily influenced by the beautiful culture of the Indigenous Australian people[/sub][/color][/i]

[img]https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-6pjcprwnZKA/VMZiU9aizuI/AAAAAAAAEDc/v4wV9peOR-Y/w800-h800/photo%2B10.JPG[/img]
[i][color=silver]Amazing artwork by [url=http://vennom07.deviantart.com/]Vennom07[/url] on DeviantArt![/color][/i][/center]
[h3]Chapter 1 | [color=LemonChiffon]A New Horizon[/color][/h3]
[indent][indent]"[i][color=LemonChiffon]When you throw stones against the glass sky, the shards rain down upon you.[/color][/i]" [b]Anonymous[/b], 32 Cycles after the Silence.[/indent][/indent]

The first rays of dawn sliced through the violet sky with rays of amber, creating a gradient of warm hues that splashed across the sky in an instant. The dwindling light of the stars above flickered out one by one while the grazing Ngarlak raised their heads to the warmth of a new day. Their powerful jaws ripped through the dry grass of the Moodja like butter. The sun struck the Ansharin Oasis, blanketing the horizon in a mirage of sparkling lights. The sight was truly a marvelous one to behold; though no Ansharin would pay attention to it on this morning. This morning marked the last day of the dry season, which meant the ending of another Cycle. There was work to be done all across the oasis, the embers of last nights fire smoldering away inside the fire pit in front of the Elder's hut while the busy Ansharin moved about in preparation for the feast. Tonight would not just be any celebration of a new cycle though. Tonight was a special night that marked the passing of another one hundred cycles. Children worked eagerly with the farmers to harvest delicious crops, dancers applied body paint expertly in preparation for a restless night of merry performances, and the hunting parties prepared themselves for a big haul of delicious, succulent meat that would surely please every man, woman and child in the tribe.

The excitement surrounding today was too much for the eager young Kwenda, who had been awake well and truly before dawn. The young man had already readied his spear and begun his morning patrols. Even in the early morning, the soil beneath his feet was scorching hot. If he hadn't spent his life walking around the Moodja, then he would perhaps have been disturbed by the heat. His amber eyes darted from side to side, keeping a look out for anything out of the ordinary. The herd of wild Yakkuls trampled through the plains, the horse like beasts blaring their ferocious horns at anything stupid enough to get in there way. The smaller herd would be coming through soon as well, which Kwenda assumed would be the target of the hunters. The Yakkuls would be hibernating for the wet seasons, so today would be the tribes last chance to enjoy them. Other than the occasional Bubukari soaring up above, looking for food, there wasn't really anything worth mentioning. The Ngarlak rested by the oasis, Durabu's swam lethargically in the waters and the creatures that Kwenda was named for, small marsupials with large, beady eyes,  scurried across the plains in the blink of an eye. A quiet day to end the Cycle; Kwenda wouldn't want it any other way.

Though it seemed he had resolved himself to an uneventful morning too soon. As he began his trek back to the tribe, he felt a strange, leathery substance underneath his foot. Looking down, he originally thought that someone had dropped a piece of hide. Not wanting to just let it go to waste, Kwenda picked it up only to find that what he held was not just a scrap of leather. The leather encased what felt to be a sturdy wooden box. He slowly turned over the cover of the journal, peeking inside to see many dirt stained pages scrawled over in black ink similar to his tattoos. He couldn't understand what was written, or what it was supposed to be, but it was definitely interesting. He tucked the journal into the leather strap around his waist, covering it with his pelts. If the elders saw him with such an item, they'd definitely confiscate it. He wanted the chance to go through his discovery before giving it up. With an excited grin, Kwenda sprinted across the plains as fast as his young legs would carry him. At his pace, it wouldn't be long before he reached the oasis as the hunting party prepared to leave.