The Road of Irresponsibility….
A/N: I might be goin' overboard stressing the unrealness of the "Vortex" that Serge finds himself, if so I appologize, but I have to admit it is kinda fun. I tweeked events a little here, yes, I know you're supposed to sneak in, but I like it better this way.
The tree stood straight and tall. It had thick frongs that clicked and clattered at an unfelt breeze and was -unlike everything else here- the right color. No garish pink of swirling azure marred the brown of it's trunk, and it neither burned from the top down nor flowed from the bottem up. He'd wandered the length and width of this pink island, his eyes seared by the alien landscape and what was left of his shaken mind was boggled by the stubborn defience of "reality" at every turn.
Standing, looking down, he considered the palm tree that could have come from his home world. It flourished and grew tall and proud. It's leaves stired over an abyss though, and it's trunk jutted out at a mathmatically precise ninty degree angle. Unaware of it's own outre state the palm had grown long and proud. The tree as if in the grip of playfull breezes and it's long leaves teased the sky that was neither up nor down, but slowly burning. Wrenching his gaze away he turned and he would have ran. But the body he'd been chained to was strange, it's gait wasn't right. Memories of how he ran and how he'd seen Lynx run -Half bent, two legs and a hand pushing agains the earth. One hand gripping the bone staffed scythe...- failed him. His feet tangled on violet hued garments, then his tail got tangled in the mix and he let out a howl of pain.
His beastial cry echoed on nothing, thundered against the courdors of the alien reality, and came back as a mad, disjointed, peal of thunder.
The rumbles started only to trail off, then rolled from the center to the begining crack only to end in roaring silence and begin again. He cringed back, pads of his paws pressed against his ears, willing with all his soul that this was a bad dream... He'd wake up any moment now.
Drawn claws scrabbing on the polished floor, of Viper Manor... Scraping over the stone floor with it's learing stone dragons... A glint of light catching steel and making the fire touched stone burns his eyes...
Slowly he let his hands drop. Impossible how a whisper cut over the disjointed roaring of heaven. Still it did, and he turned in response, neverminding all the impossibilities of the moment.
Hunched, the form was bent double... almost consuming it's whole frame due to it's stoop. clad in dun brown, it contrasted with the rosy, vibrant, hues of the world. It was a stark figure, and despite it's deminitive stature and soft voice it was an authoritive soul. Extending one bandaged hand the hooded creature hissed at him.
"Come, we don't have much time. Lightning hits the lowly things first, not the tallest. This place... it's not like home."
To that, Serge could not help but agree.