Day One - Part 2

[Gildarts]

Well, that had proven eventful. Time was ticking slowly by as the crackle of lumber loomed over him. The Prime noted the weighted branches hanging by the threads above, the fact that he was utterly enclosed on the inside of a freshly spun shell, and deducted he was soon to be either crushed to oblivion or 'webbed' to death.

Had his skin come directly in contact with the string, he would have found it nearly impossible to rip free from. However, his mind was still stuck on the casualties of this battle: His leather boot, stuck in a hardened puddle of string, as well as a chunk of his cloak that was now worn by the tree.

The echoing creaks continued and Gildarts had few options to escape his jail-like confines. A spliced branch cracked and fell almost too close to him before delicately landing on his duffle. With a swift swipe he was able to snatch it before the dangerous and glue-like substance had a chance to mesh into it.

After he flung the duffle over his shoulder, he saw it. His solution to everything. In fact, it practically prodded him in the back. The stray branch that now snagged his cloak made him see the crashed and propped up branches as stairs. They were at an angle and not entirely covered in goo, so there was a chance the Prime could use the purple string shooters' own advantage to escape. The man with two prosthetic limbs climbed the layers of lumber up and hoped the height would be enough to take him over the walls that prevented him from escape.

The wobbling wreckage of their battle shook with his steps that pounded with heavy haste. A beat of his heart was skipped as he felt electricity surge into his bones and the branch beneath him caved. With a weak jump, the middle-aged mage managed to jump to the next before they too would crumble underneath his weight. With his last effort his body was flung into the trees, dodging the patches of string and scraping his bare foot against the jagged bark.

His descent was marked with an ungraceful fall, followed by a grunted, "Oof."

That had been too close.

Up, over, and now on the ground, he felt the sack shrugging off his shoulder. The Prime's good hand went to it, and he picked up the pointed half of his broken fish spear. It was bloodied with a purple mess and there was no way he could use it for something edible; still, it made a handy knife and the Prime wasn't willing to part with the sentimental object in which he had shared his first meal.

The man stood up with his bag loosely dangling on his stylish shoulder blades and decided it was time for a stroll.