Into the Dark

[Roger Smith]

As he crossed through the portal, he felt a tightening in his gut, the world swung around crazily, whiteness giving way to a swirling mass of dark colors, and as the world spun crazily he staggered, falling flat upon his face with a groan.

And there he lay for some time, before his senses came back to him clearly. Slowly, he pulled his uninjured arm under him, managing to get his palm flat against the earth, and push himself up, though it took him some time, given his lingering disorientation. He shook his head in a useless attempt to clear his thoughts. For a moment, the aching confusion and rage receded, leaving him...almost clearheaded. Clearheaded enough to take a long, slow look at his surroundings.

Nothing within sight that looked at all familiar. But no longer any trace of the blank expanse of whiteness, either.

With careful, shaking fingers he reached down to the earth and took hold of his sword again. With an effort he pulled it back up, using it almost as a walking stick to help him along, his footing still unsteady. All of the rage, fear, adrenaline, and especially the pain had left him rattled and shaking, weak and aching literally everywhere. It was nearly all he could do to stagger dumbly along in no particular direction, his sword making a clear thunk every time his staggering, awkward walking forced him to plant it heavily in the earth.

His breathing came out ragged, and for the first time since his arrival, he managed to choke out something not a mindless scream. "....need....rest...."

And on he went, so slowly it would be a wonder if he could find anything approaching aid before he simply dropped.