Finished Prologe.. Really its done

Alright guys. Lemme have it... Honest truth:



It had been a nice speech. The man with no name found a rock that was clear of snow and sat on it, unshouldering his pack. He didn't fully understand what was happening but he had an idea. He had died and this was hell.

He closed his eyes and strained to hear the eulogy once more. Who had given it? Had it been a brother? Best friend? The man had dark brown hair that seemed to glint blood red in the church's stained light. He had tear filled brown eyes, much lighter than his hair, and was dressed in his Sunday Best, most depressed. Although his face wavered, his voice didn't.

"...he had his problems like any man. But he was honest and honorable," he spoke to the partially filled pews. Or had they been full? Much was unclear except for the speech. "He defied the rule of 'Never trust a junkie.'" This part was new, or he didn't remember it. Junkie? Had he really been a heroin addict? If he had he found no sign of track marks at all on his body and no craving for junk. Things must be different here that’s all. Yes that’s all. That’s all. All.

Snap out of it he thought to himself violently, Concentrate damnit!

"...have trusted my life to *CRSHHHH*" a large static filled his ears. He was getting used to this now. In all these fragmented memories it seemed whenever someone said his name he would not permitted to hear this. He was used to it now but still managed to cringe like a small boy receiving a vaccination from a hypodermic needle. The voice continued in his head, body flinching at the bursts of static.

"He would have given his life up for me without thought. If I could have done the same for him I would have. People like *CRSHHH* are hard to come by. They have serious problems but leveling with you is not one of them. *CRSHHH* always told me when he wanted to borrow money for his junk habit. I found that to be more commendable then someone totally straight who lied when it suited them. He stagnated... withered... Let's not remember him that way. Let us remember *CRSHHH*" Now it was just irritating, "as he was before. Happy, smiling, loving and caring. Let that be the way we remember Thomas Joseph Renton"

That last sentence hadn't been there before and it rang in his ears like a hive of bees. He looked at the sky, head swimming, and got a strange sense of vertigo although everything was still. Something as simple as his name had sent him spinning. But why? He reached into his bag and pulled out a splif and tried to forget his own funeral. TJ Renton got high in hell.

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***
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Shortly after lighting up he realized this wasn’t like any other weed he had ever had before. Shortly after this epiphany he realized that he would never smoke anything more potent than this. And still shortly after this realization he understood that he had smoked too much of this Turbo-Grass. He had only a quarter of the joint left when it went out from it’s own resination. After several minutes Tom discovered he couldn’t untie his pack knot, much less save the roach in it. He flicked it across the snowy field and observed his surroundings. Something was definitely wrong here. The sun beat down on him at a temperature of at least 95° but somehow there was snow everywhere that showed no sign of melting. He reached out to touch this white powder to confirm its reality. Unfortunately his intoxicated boy went with the hand and he was looking at the sky in no time, feeling the snow slowly soak into his clothes. The feeling of vertigo returned, overpowering him and sending him reeling into unconsciousness.

***
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“Am I dead?” a voice asked. He tried to place it and was not surprised to find it was his own. Ok so I’m talking involuntarily he thought, Just open your eyes… open them… OPEN!!! For the love of God!!! He was screaming franticly in his own head now.

“Yes… You have passed on.” The voice was heavy, almost omnipresent and filled with a lack of emotion.

No, no, no!!! Oh God, I’m not dead, no please God

“Is this hell?” he heard himself ask. Then an image began to appear in front of him, like a projector warming up slowly. He felt out of place looking at this scene. His mind was suddenly silenced by the image of himself, pale as death (Of course your pale, he later thought, You are dead) sitting across from a table with what looked like an old army pack on it. Is this a dream or…

Then he saw the other voice and found all rational thought slowly fleeting away. The voice belonged to what he could only describe as a knight. “The Knight” was at least six and a half feet tall and wearing some kind of white suit of armor. His head was covered by a horned helmet that looked like something out of a fantasy B-Movie. Its basic shape was that of a Viking helmet with an extended face guard made up of intricate crescents of void and sharp arrows of metal. The two horns protruding from the helmet looked like they came from a creature that Renton didn’t care to imagine. The face behind the helmet was covered in darkness, as if a mini black hole lay behind it, sucking away all light waves that entered it. On top of his armor was a type of clerical robe that fell between his legs and appeared to be made of some cotton-silk hybrid. Renton couldn’t be sure but it looked like there was silver in the white fabric and it shimmered and pulsed with every tiny movement the knight made. But what really caught his attention was the sigil emblazoned on that lower portion. It looked like a peace sign from hell.

Something tells me I should remember that symbol. Its bound to be important later on.

His eyes drifted then to what the “knight” had in his hand. A long silver pole that extended in either direction, perpendicular to the ground. One end tapered to a point that rested on the ground and the other ended above his head with a 12 inch curved blade of blue steel. The “knight” knight was and wasn’t. Renton had no idea what he meant by that but he knew it was right. His dead self spoke again, “What is this place? If I’m dead shouldn’t I be in heaven… or hell?”

“What your people call heaven and hell, we call Kordin and Zoria. This is neither. Death is not the end of life but the end of life’s beginning. There are many existences and countless lives traveling between.”

“Hold up,” Renton interrupted. “Your telling me that when we die, we just pop into another world?”

“Not normally. When we die, our souls travel to another world and wait for a host. Once a host is conceived then our soul enters and awaits birth. We have no memories of our past lives. Normally. But you came into this existence much in the way you speak of. Your body materialized onto a patrol unit. They brought you back here to be questioned and briefed.”

“Where is here… and briefed?! I don’t even know where I am, who I am, or who the hell you are so what makes you think I’m going to help you?”

“Let me put it this way Mr. Renton. Here is Camaveis Monostary. The monastery is located in the frozen plains of the North and we are 50 miles from any outpost. How far do you think you will make it if we turn you out to the wild without so much as a bite to eat? You’re already weak from hunger and dehydration. Do you think you can make it all the way to the East without supplies, direction, or a weapon. There are beasts you know.”

“I can make it far enough…” Dead Renton sounded unsure. His stomach let out a loud rumble as if to convince him otherwise. The knight laughed, body not moving. It was a cold, dead laughter.

“Yes I’m sure you could find the tunnels in the mountains to avoid the cold. After that I’m sure you could pick your way through the caves that lead to the forest land and avoid a cold death in a very dark place, and then navigate past to Soul Ravens to the shelter of a town in the East willing to take you in. I’m positive you can do all that, without food, fire, or weapon.” He laughed again. Dead Renton wanted to spring from his chair and disarm the “knight” and drive the spear into his chest. Living Renton wanted to help. It spoke again, “Will you hear my mission to you now?”

Dead Renton sat for a time in silence his head tilted to the ground. Then he lifted his eyes to the knight, “Tell me what I have to do.” He couldn’t see the “knight’s” face but knew he must be smiling.

***
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“So… Do we have an pact?” The knight (who Renton had discovered his name was Jozan) asked.

“Yeah… I guess so. What are my supplies.”

Jozan opened the army pack and began to pull out the supplies one by one. “First, your weapon. Were giving you a short bladed fire shot.” He held up what looked like a short sword with spiked brass knuckles on the end. It looked like a thin tube ran from the tip to the hilt. “If you press the pommel it will discharge the shot. Its only got one so don’t waste it.” He then produced what looked like wooden railroad spikes, “These are firestarters. They work like large matches only they go up very quickly. Tap the end and throw it on your woodpile. You have ten, once again make them count. Try to save them for the caves. You’ll need them there. But you also have a small piece of flint just in case. Its very old and very fragile.” Next he pulled out two bags one very small, about the size of a throwing stone and the other was larger and bulged significantly, “These are your spirit tools. You have five tablets of cacti essence and a rond of the sacred 7 pointed star grass.”

Renton perked up. He didn’t know anything about cacti essence but he knew what 7 pointed star grass was, “You mean marijuana?”
Jozan paused a moment, “I don’t know what that word is. I’ve not heard it before. But if you can make the association I’m sure they are at least similar. We must move on though. Time is now of the essence. We are also giving you a woolen blanket, a loaf of bread, and flort of Hiatchi meat. It should take you all the way to town. Only a little is needed to nourish the body. Finally we’re giving you two full water skins and a small pot. If you run out of water, boil snow 3 times and fill your skins. That’s all.” Then Jozen turned and looked right at Living Renton and a bright pain shot through his being.

His eyes opened to stare at the bright blue sky, which was now tinted with streaks of red. The day had been burning hot but it was now quite apparent he would need to make a fire or freeze. He sat up, took off his soaked shirt and looked for firewood.

 

Wow, that was very well-written.
I love it!