#thebeastofthorns

(Continuation from here)

“That is an easy enough question to answer. I’ll be taking you both back home, my home,”  he said, dodging the other question.

Honestly, finding specific horizons he’d never been to was much harder than he made it out to be. He never normally tried to find specific ones, so much as just payed attention to the worlds between the gaps. The worlds showed themselves to him at random intervals, and he simply made a note of their... coordinates, so to speak. So actually hunting down the home of the binary soul, was... hard. To say the least.

That said, eventually, he did manage to find a place that seemed to fit the bill. A Subcon Forest that was both alive and full of magic? Not many of those. Most Subcons were dead, with barely enough plant life left there to sustain anyone, at least anyone that happened to be alive.

Moving through shadows, Edwin had discovered, was more complicated than it seemed. A wrong turn wasn’t as easy or simple as it was with streets - make a wrong turn in the shadows, and you end up somewhere else entirely. Had Moonjumper ever gotten lost, he wondered idly, in his zipping back and forth to and from the void?

A thing to ask him,if he ever got the time.

Somehow, he’d wound up back in Subcon. It itched, somehow, to be back here - itched in a way he didn’t like. Not to mention - there was nobody here. Nobody with a soul, anyway, not one he figured he could remove. Not that he wanted to remove any. Right?

“Dark and damp and full of sadness.” He grumbled. “I prefer Mafia Town. There’s actually people there, people I can play tricks on. And those mafia men never fail to run into the traps - even though they’ve been paranoid about walking around lately! Now.. How do I get home from here? It wouldn’t be good to be lost once I return to normal.” Edwin rambles to himself, decided that for now, he’d pick a direction and move.

After what feels like an eternity of nothing but open water the King finally pauses in front of a sandbar. It looked perfectly normal, all brown and sandy, except for what appeared to be an old drain made of cobblestone to the right. It was sealed shut by a rusted grate. What was strange was that it was covered in some odd glyphs, the paint untouched by time.

While this might seem an obstacle for most people, to Mortem this was an invitation. With a wave of his hand, the glyphs lit up and the grate rolled to the side like it was made of tin. He swam forward, the tunnel a perfect fit for his large size.