ATLANTIS.
My home.
It is a dimi'taji* now. Like all of those I knew within. Like everything I did, every breath of its air. All I have left to me is instinct, the knowledge a calamity cannot erase.
And my name.
My secrets, my culture, has gone from a sprawling mass of knowledge and arts, to a half-whispered myth absorbed by the so-called "modern world". The Internet reveals this to me as a stark truth.
... Everything about this world I have awoken to makes no sense to me. What i consider mundane, they consider magic. Everything they take for granted, is alien to me.
Still. I am cast adrift without my brethren or my home to guide me. Not even my memory. Tales of blood drinkers fill this city's buildings, libraries... those and some other humans that hearken, though vaguely, to my own Pja'ri.
Into the night. I must know more of this world if i am to survive in it.
Adrift
Single-writer in-character stories and journals.
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- Posts: 1
- Joined: 26 Feb 2015, 16:36
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