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~ [i]Animation[/i] ~[/center]

Plastic carrier bag clutched in one hand, he made his way up each slate step in the evening chill, and along a path or decorated stone towards a large, relatively worn but seen discernibly modern building, just off the outskirts of the city. They liked to keep the place out of the way, either to keep the patients from hearing the sound of traffic constantly, or to keep the crazy away from society. In either way, it was a pleasant walk up from the car park, just far enough of a distance to let him into a calm mood, on the off chance the visitation didn't go as planned.

She had already been locked up within the Harrison Private Psychiatric Hospital for four years now without signs of recovery. Some days she seemed to be a tad better, but any disparity in her condition reverted within the next couple days. For a few years Joshua had blamed himself; maybe if he was a better older brother, maybe if he had stood up to their father, or just been there more through their foster years, she wouldn't be in the state she was.

He couldn't let himself think like that, though. Couldn't harbour those kinds of beliefs and emotions. All they would do was hurt Emily. What if one day he could't visit her, or something else happened, while he was in his own self hatred? She could have another episode. If she was taken to a state hospital, who knew what they would do to her? It was a scenario Joshua simply wasn't willing to entertain. 

But every step he took seemed to sound more hollow. As though the earth beneath each slated section of path had fallen away, deleted from under his feet. The world seemed to spin, the trees in all directions molding and warping in a psychedelic kaleidoscope of greens, and blues, and the oranges of the setting sun against a backdrop of grey clouds and white light from the city. It rained and snowed and thundered and the sun shone and detonated in a million sparkling stars shifting like a wave of diamonds that rained down on the planet and obliterated everything in their path to make way for a new reality.

His stomach lurched as he sat up, from those slated pieces of path surrounded on all sides by grass and trees, and the giant, wavering, illusory old but modern building. His clothes were soaked through from the rain, and the smell of pine and oak trees tickled at the back of his nostrils in protest to his location. The sky sat overcast, glaring at its newly procured victim with sneering beads of sunlight.

Yet the closer he looked, the more he let his eyes focus on the dim-lit sky and the rich, deep green trees, something clogged his view, blocking the passage of reality to his brain. No trees existed here. No overarching building of wood and glass, old yet new. No ornate path to the psychiatric hospital he had visited for the past four years. No grass. No glinting sunlight through dark thunderclouds.

Smoke and ash and blood and decay lingered in the air round his every molecule, filtering past his eyes and nostrils, the facade of a real world blemished with torment. This place wasn't real. He had just fallen unconscious, maybe slipped in a puddle on his way up the stairs. The life essence of human beings clung tightly in fabric to his skin, tarnishing his skin incarnadine. Turquoise eyes pierced the fog of war like a lighthouse beacon, radiating through the deaths of hundreds, and the burning of the churned and demolished land to see what he wanted.

For Joshua wanted nothing more than to see anything else. Bodies littering a wasteland of darkness, eclipsed in smoke from fires long since extinguished by time. The dull ring in his ears, taking in his surroundings from an upright position, letting feeling return to his legs and arms and brain to make sense of everything. Where, on Earth, had he ended up? Feeling the panic crawl its way into his throat with ragged breathing, caught on his windpipe, forcing out a cough from asphyxiation.

And a scream. A scream that drew his head instantly, despite the migraine that implanted itself deep into his brain. Even in an addled and vacant state of mind, Joshua had a duty; he couldn't let a person in pain or trouble to their own devices, especially not on the field of battle. The though had barely crossed his mind before he reached his feet and sprinted in the direction of the man.

Wounded, barley conscious, with his arm severed at the shoulder, collapsed against the bloodied corpse of a horse; the stench of decay clawing at his nostrils, forcing him to swallow down gag reflex time and time again. Just like that time. 
[colour=DarkTurquoise]"H-hey, hey, its okay."[/colour] his voice shook as he spoke, still recovering from the dehydration in his mouth intermixed with the metallic tinge of blood, [colour=DarkTurquoise]"Help![/colour] he felt himself shout, against his misgivings, [colour=DarkTurquoise]"Th-there's a wounded here!"[/colour] he took the cloth from the man and pressed it tight to the wound, attempting to stop the bleeding; he had basic medical training, but not for this. Not a severed limb or a... a sword wound. 

Taking another glance around the field, everything seemed to slow. Corpse after corpse piled high against mud and dirt, peppered with smouldering fires trickling smoke high into the miasma of the sky. Horses lay strewed periodically, punctured with arrows and swords, much the same as the ones every soldier seemed to carry. Their weapons, their outfits... Where? Where the hell was he?