After finishing Last Laugh, I turned my attention to the second piece of micro-fiction for the month. While I’ve already selected the genre, a fantasy, and who would be the primary figure, Ramas, I didn’t know what to do as far as creating this story. However, after a few days and a surprising rainstorm, I had an idea. Why not highlight Ramas’s abilities a little more than I have previously? So with the question firmly entrenched in my mind, I went right crafting the tale.
As Ramas wanders about the unforgiving wilderness during his travels, it’s with a mix of awe and unease. Because he is cursed with the Sight, he’s a wanderer of old paths. A figure whispered about in stories told beside fires, where truth and myth often blur. No one truly knows what drives him, or his kind. They only know what happens to those who dare to get in their way. So alone he travels through storm and silence alike, calling upon the power his curse gifts him, surviving where others would succumb.
This tale highlights an instance where Ramas is at the mercy of the elements, caught in the grip of a brutal storm. Yet, even as the rain assaults him and the wind howls, he refuses to yield. He isn’t a grand wizard capable of flashy incantations. Rather, he is a quiet and resolute master of his curse. A skill that allows him to carve safety from the earth with his will. In this moment of solitude, amidst the chaos of the storm, we glimpse the core of who he is: not a hero seeking glory, but a survivor—crafting warmth from ruin, and peace from desolation.
Come, sit down and allow me to give you a mini-escape and kindle your imagination.
The wind howled past the wanderer’s helm as he pulled his cloak tighter. Despite the rain’s continued assault, Ramas pressed on across the muddy ground with soaked garments. Each step was a slog through mire and misery. Mid-stride, he froze, his breath catching in his throat. For a moment, he stood motionless, as if carved from stone.
As lightning split the sky, a guttural growl rumbled from his chest. When thunder washed over him, he exhaled and lowered his foot while the storm continued its relentless assault on the earth. Ramas turned and scanned the empty landscape.
.
.
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