A team of white horses was slowly pulling forward a crude wooden carriage accented in gold; the rhythmic pounding of their hooves eclipsed the sounds of the forest around them as they travelled the well-worn paths.
Inside, the carriage was modified with crudely shaped wood planks to create a rough bed closer to a stretcher than anything resembling a bed in modern times. Atop this poorly made fixture was a pile of straw, and a young boy who looked just to be entering his teens rested upon this so-called 'bed.' The child had messy, short blonde hair that exposed his ears and wore fitted quality black riding leathers, but on his head was a large gash that had only recently scabbed up; the wound was still weeping slightly. The boy's eyes were closed, and he was as pale as the dead; however, the rising and falling of his chest proved that life still ran through him.
The coachman driving the carriage looked to be in better shape than the boy within, but not by much, wearing undyed linens that tightly hugged his lightly muscled shoulders. His eyes scanned the edges of the forest and the road for movement; snake season was in full swing, and the early spring had made the nasty vipers more prevalent than usual. Even with his years as a coachman, the dastardly things were hard to spot.
A flick of movement ahead on the road caused him to tug on the reins, and the horses quickly came to a stop. Grabbing his snake staff, a long hooked piece of wood, he jumped down from the carriage and began to sweep the area ahead of them. He swung the stick in large, sweeping motions, leaving lines in the dirt where he passed. It was time-consuming, but the only way to consistently find the vipers without making a costly mistake.
One of his sweeps hit something, and with practiced ease, he flicked the tip up and out into the bush; a brown-mottled snake hissed as it flew through the air. The creature's camouflage was excellent but slow-changing, thankfully.
With one snake taken care of, he continued checking the area, tossing one other snake off the road before climbing back into the Carriage; a flick of the wrist later, and the horses were back in motion.
-
Marcus felt HORRIBLE as he woke up. His head was pounding; his back was itchy; his clothes felt wrong, and the small jarring motions were maddening. He should be in his comfy bed at home, not whatever this thing is.
He hesitantly reached up to touch his forehead and flinched when the pain spiked as his fingers made contact with something sticky.
"Fucking hell, what happened to me?" he cursed.
He looked at his hand and saw dark blood on his fingertips and couldn't help cursing again.
"Shit, what hit my head?."
Letting his hand fall back to his side, he felt something prick his palm. He flinched away and reflexively attempted to sit up; however, a wave of weakness followed by dizziness made him close his eyes and lie back down. Idly scratching his itchy hand, Marcus attempted to piece together what happened to him. However, it all came up blank.
When the world stopped spinning, Marcus opened his eyes to look around. He was in a wooden box. It was unadorned, and the patina showcased the wood's age. He mentally prepared himself to sit up with nothing else to see but the unremarkable wood. With a mix of a groan and a gasp of pain, he pushed through the dizziness and nausea and awkwardly sat up. It turns out the reason for the uncomfortable ride and itchy palm was due to a large pile of straw covering a makeshift bench that was long enough for him to lie down on.
Just as Marcus was about to see if he could stand, he heard the sound of horses neighing outside his room. His head snapped towards the sound, causing another bout of dizziness and nausea and ending his attempt to get up.
A thought broke through his mental fog, causing him to frown: 'Is this a carriage?'
Someone knocked on the outside of the carriage, Marcus slowly turned his head to look behind him and saw a simple wooden door.
"Master Feyrus, are you alright in there?" a voice asked from outside.
"Never better." Marcus couldn't help but laugh slightly at his autopilot sarcasm. It turns out that some habits never die.
"Good to hear, Master; I will speed up. We should arrive at Castle Rio by nightfall."
"You do that."
There was the sound of footsteps again as the man outside returned to his spot at the front of the carriage, and soon they were back in motion.
Slowly adjusting, Marcus slid himself off the straw bed and onto one of the padded benches on either side of the interior. He lay down on the non-itchy surface using his arm as a pillow. It wasn't great, especially compared to what he was used to, but it was better than the hay. Despite the uncomfortable circumstances, it didn't take long for him to fall asleep.
While in the realm of unconsciousness, Marcus remained lucid. However, this was no dream where he could fly freely in the clouds. Instead, he was bound to a hard chair completely immobile. In front of him was an old-fashioned projector screen with a movie playing.
The show was in some mideval european setting about some piece of shit kid who was the worst mix between Dudley Dursley and Draco Malfoy. He was a useless playboy witihout any redeeming qualities.
The boy's father was a real piece of work too, a cruel and merciless man who doted on his son in his own sick way. Not even his supposed 'friends' were safe from his temper and greed. Eventually the nobleman sent his kid to a knights school for noble scions. While attending the school he got baited into attempting a Flying Mount while both too young and woefully unprepared. Thus he got struck in the head by the horse's hoof and went down with a great impact to the head.
The boy was then loaded into a carriage, and while being carried Marcus thought the clothing on the boy looked familiar. Then as the coach man got into the driver's seat Marcus's felt his eyes go wide and his jaw slacken.
"No way."
The 'movie' ended as it showed a scene of the boy waking up in the carriage and saying the same words Marcus did before the 'screen' went dark.
The credits of the movie began playing, and they were surprisingly short:
BROUGHT TO YOU BY THE LIGHT OF THE ETERNAL DAWN.
Afterwards, a roulette wheel appeared with 10 options. Marcus tried to struggle; however, he was still bout to this odd chair in this dream. Only he was beginning to think that this might not be a dream after all.
The wheel with 10 different coloured options began spinning, picking up speed, slowing down and eventually stopping on a small one of the small slivers. Not the smallest ones, but small enough to know that it should be a good reward.
The 'screen' displayed a new message that changed twice.
MAJOR TALENT INCREASE.
TALENT HAS BEEN INCREASED.
As the wheel disappeared along with the writing on the 'screen' a high pitched beep sounded. An unlikely noise considering the situation he found himself in, unless he was in the matrix or something.
"BIO-CHIP 137215 STARTING ACTIVATION SEQUENCE."
A cold robotic voice sounded and Marcus was just completely flabbergasted at this point. Like how much weirder can one dude's life get?!
"ACTIVATION SEQUENCE COMPLETED. AVAILABLE STORAGE: 1 TERABYTE.."
"PLEASE NAME YOUR DEVICE."
"Groot." My impulsive brain just had to spout out the first name that came to me. I secretly cursed James Gunn for creating such an excellent movie in my mind as the robot/bio-chip thing accepted the name.
"BIO-CHIP 137215: GROOT IS NOW FULLY OPERATIONAL."
"WOULD YOU LIKE TO ACTIVATE MEMORY Would you like to analize memories?
Just as that wild ride ended, Marcus found himself back in the world of the waking as someone was shaking him roughly.