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Description
*Reality: Chapter One*
*Old ways (Part One)*

----------------------------------------
We go though our lives oblivious to the world around us, reality is therefore relative...
----------------------------------------

Someone once said there are dreamers, and there are doers. James Wilt had always been the former, it was one of the main reasons he decided to become an animator. Of course such an occupation did not pay very well, unless you knew the right people, or worked your way up from the bottom. As for him the only work he could get with his newly finished degree, was at a rather shady office building. That however did not deter him, his dreams far more ambitious then his current lot in life. Every day he would run home, jumping on his computer and spending hours trying to perfect this creation or that. Sometimes he would post his work on the internet, other times he added it to his growing portfolio.

One night after a particularly exhausting workday, James decided to take a shortcut home through an old colonial alleyway situated next to the office. He normally avoided the place, lack of streetlights making him far too anxious. It was a series of long winding paths with multiple alcoves and alternate roots, which one could easily get lost in if they didn’t pay attention. Most tended to stay clear of it for that exact reason, only the occasional drunk or neerdowell frequenting the foreboding place. It did however, cut nearly a half-hour from his journey, and after today’s pink slip fiasco he wanted to get back to the apartment block as quickly as possible.

As James made his way though the alley the distinct feeling of being followed washed over him. Brushing it off as nerves, he continued working his way to the other side. Just about to exit onto the brick-road home, three dark figures standing off in an alcove ahead caught his attention, 'Its probably just some junkies hoping to score. They won’t bother me'. Nevertheless the thought made him pick up his pace. Upon approaching the hooded figures, they stopped and stared at him until he passed by...afterwards James could have sworn he could hear them whispering to each other. The rest of the trip was thankfully uneventful, even so a feeling of unease remained. Some quick relaxation in the shower, and he decided it was not worth worrying. Grabbing a drink from the kitchen, headed for his office.

From the books of Tolkien and Martin, to the games of Elder Scrolls and Divinity, to the adventures of DnD, James had been fascinated by the world of fantasy from an early age. Although getting into other genres like science or historical fiction as he grew older; Dwarves and elves, Orcs and Goblins, Magic and especially dragons continued to hold a place in his heart. His long time friend, Hunter, offered him a side job a year prior helping to animate a fantasy game he was working on. The pair having met within the burrows of internet forums, they connected over their mutual interest in dragons. This was to be the first project he and Hunter had been involved with. Even if it never went anywhere, or made much money, he would at least be able to point to the videos showing the game to any future employers.

The game was light-fantasy, were everything one might consider magic was carefully written to appear as plausible in the real world as possible. Much of the story itself was rather generic, orphaned chosen one, exiled knight fighting once more for righteousness, evil army of darkness threatening to destroy the world...except for one thread. The catch of the game being, when the hero had their final encounter with the knight, their mentor, it is revealed to them that they weren’t really an orphan but instead a dragon who's parents left to the knight for protection. Whatever species the player having started with, simply being a disguise crafted by an alchemist during their childhood. The rest of the game would be played from two perspectives, one the humanoid player, and another the dragon player, fighting for the same goal of saving the world.

Most of the animating was done except for the dragon and the player’s transformation, only the unfinished models having been sculpted. James was having some trouble creating a realistic animation, being that he had little to base the transformation, and subsequently the dragon itself, off of; not to mention a good degree of perfectionism on his part. He spent months working on it trying to create a base model let alone the animation, and Hunter was unsurprisingly starting to get frustrated. An ultimatum, a dead-line for him was set at the end of month to get his part of the project finished and ready to implement for beta testing.

Popping the top of a soda, sipping on it as he quickly checked his email, James finally stretched and opened up his modeling program. Three files were waiting for him, each a different concept. The first being closest to Hunter’s vision, a classical western dragon in design, broad and strong with six limbs-four legs and two large wings. The second being his favorite, closest to the wyvern of medieval hierarchy, slightly smaller with four limbs-two legs and two wings ending in pseudohands. Third being more of an afterthought, Asian in design long and sleek with four limbs-all legs using wind currents to fly instead of normal wings. Cracking his knuckles, opening up the first file about to begin, he was interrupted by a message from Hunter,

[7:16:08 PM] Hunter: sup

[7:18:45 PM] James: Just got home, what do you want?

[7:19:17 PM] Hunter: talk?

[7:21:05 PM] James: Can it wait please

[7:21:58 PM] Hunter: no

[7:23:34 PM] James: Fine

[7:24:21 PM] James: Give me a sec

Grumbling James grabbed his headset and threw it on, 'Why the hell does he want to talk now? I need to get these stupid animations finished'. Minimizing the modeling program, he downed the rest of his soda and waited for the call. A few minutes later Hunter sent the invite, distinctive chime filling his ears. James, not taking any time to inquire once they were both connected, “What do you want Hunt?”. A low chuckle followed, “Hello to you too”. It sounded as if Hunter was in a car, probably just getting off of work like James, “I'm not in the mood, can you just tell me what you want? I got work to do so I can get to bed”. You could almost hear Hunter’s eyes roll as he responded, "Touchy aren't we?" James wasn’t having any of it, not today, “I'll ask again, what do you want?”

A long silence followed, only the faint static ridden sound of a car coming to a stop and door opening. Hunter finally responding a few minutes later, sarcasm could be heard in his voice, "FINE, I'm sorry. I just thought I’d let you know, got your animation pack and wanted to congratulate you-that's all". Blinking, sitting back and starring at the screen scratching his head, James had no idea what to say, 'Did I send him something by mistake?'. Fumbling with his mouse, he checked his email again, specifically the sent mail. Nothing. Soon the confused man stammered out, “Dude I...I didn't send you anything. Uh, I haven't even g-gotten to finishing the models yet”

Another short pause followed, the sound of a computer fan starting up in the background on Hunter’s end, before the static was broken, “Yes you did, I got it right here. Look”. A request for screen share then popped up on James’ monitor. Frowning and slowly clicking the accept button, his breath instantly vanished. Looking at Hunter's screen, although the latency could have been better, he could see a near perfectly animated dragon model. It was like someone had pulled it out of his dreams. After a long while he finally snapped out of what could only be described as a trance, "That um, looks like my current model”, he said glancing to the minimized modeling program, “...but I haven’t got around to f-finishing it let alon-". Cut short as the power in the apartment went out, computer going dark as dim moonlight cast a long shadow across James’ desk.

Jumping up with an unintelligible expletive, James stumbled into the kitchen, digging around in his junk drawer for a flashlight. Pulling one out and clicking the metal button a few times, before tapping on the bottom, nothing happened. The loud creak of a door outside and down the hall made him fumble before he could check the batteries. Dropping the dead device, it rolled under the sink, 'This night just keeps getting better and better'. Making his way back into the bedroom, and sliding open the window curtain, faint moonlight grew to fill the room. Resting arms against the windowstill looking down, the street below was dead, bushes and loose papers still in the windless night. Vaguely making out the silhouette of a van near the end of the street, there was not a single other living soul or vehicle in sight.

The click of a lock, swish of cloth, and groan of wood finally made him turn around, three hooded figures starring at James from across the room. Eyes going wide, he felt incredibly un-easy as they began to speak one after another, voices ringing in his ears with a low hiss, "Yesssss...look what we have here". The middle one stepped forward, each holding their head down like medieval monks, “There wassss worry you would never leave work”. About to respond, he was cut sort by another one, “Did you like the animatttion? My brother worked very...hard on it?” The center one nodded with a sharp sneer, “He ssssaw your work on the digital webpage called Your-Tube, and basssed it off that”. Glancing to his blackened monitor, before turning to the figures, James tried to figure out who they even were, 'What the fuck, what the fuck. Did...did those junkies follow me home?'

Upon thinking that James felt a sharp ache in his head, like a dagger to the temple. Clenching the sides with a pained expression, a stray thought not of his own slipped to the forefront, 'We can hear you, you know?' Responding through closed teeth, “How the-”, he was cut sort as the two on either ends rushed forward. Adrenaline flowing through his veins, head still throbbing, he simply reacted, dashing over to his bed. A small pistol, gift from his late grandfather, should have only been a few seconds from his hand, hidden away inside his night stand. Yanking open the drawer however, only the faint outline of a barrel and grip in dust met his vision. Turning to look at the once-center figure, they held up the pistol shaking their head. The two others catching up shortly after, he was tackled to the ground, flailing until feeling a small pinch in his neck, body falling limp.

The rumble of tires on pavement, whish of wind past metal frame, hours passed as captors haul their game out of the city and down the interstate. Finally awoken by a bump on the road, eyes blurry as James looked around the near pitch-black van, unable to see more then ten centimeters in front of him. Trying to stand, the clank of chains forced him put, a bang from the front cabin of the van in response. It seemed both his feet and arms were chained to the side wall, ‘I never did anything wrong to those...I’m in some horror movie aren’t I?’ Shaking his head with a grumble, not wanting to think further about that idea, or his abnormal kidnappers, he instead sat there in panic ridden silence.

Heart racing it wasn’t until nearly an hour later, or at least what felt like an hour, before James finally calmed down enough to contemplate what was happening. First, they were watching him on his way home. Then he gets a message from Hunter mentioning a completed model, ‘Why would they even bother with that?’ If they wanted to kidnap him they didn’t need to go to the trouble of finishing his work, ‘Maybe they just didn’t want me missed anytime soon? No, that doesn’t make much sense either’. He gave up that line of thinking after a while, moving on to what else happened. The figures cut off power to the apartment building, sneaking to his floor, and into his home before blocking his escape. Their voices sounded, odd to say the least, ‘And why were they covering themselves...its not like I could give a description to anyone’.

James remained there contemplating his predicament, riding chained up for some time, eventually the sound of the road underneath changing to dirt and gravel. His attackers having pulled off the interstate down country roads, it wasn’t long before the van came to a screeching halt after rounding a corner. Doors opening, footsteps growing distant, he could just barley make out a group arguing, sharp hisses inbetween the mostly indistinguishable words. From what he was able to piece together, it sounded as if they were trying to figure out what to do about a block in the road. The sounds finally stopping, a single set of footsteps returned to the van, banging coming from within the front cabin, “Found bolt cutterssss!”

Before the source of the voice could return to the others, an explosion rocked the van, the vehicle tipping on it’s side. Now hanging in the air, James’ wrists and ankles strained against the chains. Groaning, he squirmed trying to futilely get his hands loose. Interrupted by gunfire, several automatic weapons and what he guessed was a shotgun, it was intermixed with shrill screams. Ears ringing by the time of yet another explosion, this time more distant, a small amount of smoke seeped into his prison. Eyes watering, he let out a series of short coughs. The sounds finally ceasing as quickly as they began, only the ringing and faint static of a radio was left. Several minutes passed, smoke dissipating the instant the doors to the van were flung open, light blinding him more then he was already.

Blinking, eyes red as sight soon returned, standing in the entryway a man in a black greatcoat cocked his western styled hat. Tossing something on the ground, he hopped inside the van, metal bending under his weight as the mysterious stranger approached James. In his off hand was a pair of bolt cutters, which he used to cut the chains and cuffs free. Falling face down, James groaned, trying to push his way up before the stranger grabbed the back of his shirt. Being hauled to his feet and dusted off, he noticed something silver poking out from under his rescuer’s shirt. Quickly stuffing it back underneath, the stranger spoke, “That looked like it hurt. You alright?”. Nodding slowly while being helped out of the van, he used one hand to shield his eyes from the sun, red circles around both his wrists. About to respond, he stopped short starring at the scene around him.

Description
*Reality: Chapter One*
*Old ways (Part One)*

----------------------------------------
We go though our lives oblivious to the world around us, reality is therefore relative...
----------------------------------------

Someone once said there are dreamers, and there are doers. James Wilt had always been the former, it was one of the main reasons he decided to become an animator. Of course such an occupation did not pay very well, unless you knew the right people, or worked your way up from the bottom. As for him the only work he could get with his newly finished degree, was at a rather shady office building. That however did not deter him, his dreams far more ambitious then his current lot in life. Every day he would run home, jumping on his computer and spending hours trying to perfect this creation or that. Sometimes he would post his work on the internet, other times he added it to his growing portfolio.

One night after a particularly exhausting workday, James decided to take a shortcut home through an old colonial alleyway situated next to the office. He normally avoided the place, lack of streetlights making him far too anxious. It was a series of long winding paths with multiple alcoves and alternate roots, which one could easily get lost in if they didn’t pay attention. Most tended to stay clear of it for that exact reason, only the occasional drunk or neerdowell frequenting the foreboding place. It did however, cut nearly a half-hour from his journey, and after today’s pink slip fiasco he wanted to get back to the apartment block as quickly as possible.

As James made his way though the alley the distinct feeling of being followed washed over him. Brushing it off as nerves, he continued working his way to the other side. Just about to exit onto the brick-road home, three dark figures standing off in an alcove ahead caught his attention, 'Its probably just some junkies hoping to score. They won’t bother me'. Nevertheless the thought made him pick up his pace. Upon approaching the hooded figures, they stopped and stared at him until he passed by...afterwards James could have sworn he could hear them whispering to each other. The rest of the trip was thankfully uneventful, even so a feeling of unease remained. Some quick relaxation in the shower, and he decided it was not worth worrying. Grabbing a drink from the kitchen, headed for his office.

From the books of Tolkien and Martin, to the games of Elder Scrolls and Divinity, to the adventures of DnD, James had been fascinated by the world of fantasy from an early age. Although getting into other genres like science or historical fiction as he grew older; Dwarves and elves, Orcs and Goblins, Magic and especially dragons continued to hold a place in his heart. His long time friend, Hunter, offered him a side job a year prior helping to animate a fantasy game he was working on. The pair having met within the burrows of internet forums, they connected over their mutual interest in dragons. This was to be the first project he and Hunter had been involved with. Even if it never went anywhere, or made much money, he would at least be able to point to the videos showing the game to any future employers.

The game was light-fantasy, were everything one might consider magic was carefully written to appear as plausible in the real world as possible. Much of the story itself was rather generic, orphaned chosen one, exiled knight fighting once more for righteousness, evil army of darkness threatening to destroy the world...except for one thread. The catch of the game being, when the hero had their final encounter with the knight, their mentor, it is revealed to them that they weren’t really an orphan but instead a dragon who's parents left to the knight for protection. Whatever species the player having started with, simply being a disguise crafted by an alchemist during their childhood. The rest of the game would be played from two perspectives, one the humanoid player, and another the dragon player, fighting for the same goal of saving the world.

Most of the animating was done except for the dragon and the player’s transformation, only the unfinished models having been sculpted. James was having some trouble creating a realistic animation, being that he had little to base the transformation, and subsequently the dragon itself, off of; not to mention a good degree of perfectionism on his part. He spent months working on it trying to create a base model let alone the animation, and Hunter was unsurprisingly starting to get frustrated. An ultimatum, a dead-line for him was set at the end of month to get his part of the project finished and ready to implement for beta testing.

Popping the top of a soda, sipping on it as he quickly checked his email, James finally stretched and opened up his modeling program. Three files were waiting for him, each a different concept. The first being closest to Hunter’s vision, a classical western dragon in design, broad and strong with six limbs-four legs and two large wings. The second being his favorite, closest to the wyvern of medieval hierarchy, slightly smaller with four limbs-two legs and two wings ending in pseudohands. Third being more of an afterthought, Asian in design long and sleek with four limbs-all legs using wind currents to fly instead of normal wings. Cracking his knuckles, opening up the first file about to begin, he was interrupted by a message from Hunter,

[7:16:08 PM] Hunter: sup

[7:18:45 PM] James: Just got home, what do you want?

[7:19:17 PM] Hunter: talk?

[7:21:05 PM] James: Can it wait please

[7:21:58 PM] Hunter: no

[7:23:34 PM] James: Fine

[7:24:21 PM] James: Give me a sec

Grumbling James grabbed his headset and threw it on, 'Why the hell does he want to talk now? I need to get these stupid animations finished'. Minimizing the modeling program, he downed the rest of his soda and waited for the call. A few minutes later Hunter sent the invite, distinctive chime filling his ears. James, not taking any time to inquire once they were both connected, “What do you want Hunt?”. A low chuckle followed, “Hello to you too”. It sounded as if Hunter was in a car, probably just getting off of work like James, “I'm not in the mood, can you just tell me what you want? I got work to do so I can get to bed”. You could almost hear Hunter’s eyes roll as he responded, "Touchy aren't we?" James wasn’t having any of it, not today, “I'll ask again, what do you want?”

A long silence followed, only the faint static ridden sound of a car coming to a stop and door opening. Hunter finally responding a few minutes later, sarcasm could be heard in his voice, "FINE, I'm sorry. I just thought I’d let you know, got your animation pack and wanted to congratulate you-that's all". Blinking, sitting back and starring at the screen scratching his head, James had no idea what to say, 'Did I send him something by mistake?'. Fumbling with his mouse, he checked his email again, specifically the sent mail. Nothing. Soon the confused man stammered out, “Dude I...I didn't send you anything. Uh, I haven't even g-gotten to finishing the models yet”

Another short pause followed, the sound of a computer fan starting up in the background on Hunter’s end, before the static was broken, “Yes you did, I got it right here. Look”. A request for screen share then popped up on James’ monitor. Frowning and slowly clicking the accept button, his breath instantly vanished. Looking at Hunter's screen, although the latency could have been better, he could see a near perfectly animated dragon model. It was like someone had pulled it out of his dreams. After a long while he finally snapped out of what could only be described as a trance, "That um, looks like my current model”, he said glancing to the minimized modeling program, “...but I haven’t got around to f-finishing it let alon-". Cut short as the power in the apartment went out, computer going dark as dim moonlight cast a long shadow across James’ desk.

Jumping up with an unintelligible expletive, James stumbled into the kitchen, digging around in his junk drawer for a flashlight. Pulling one out and clicking the metal button a few times, before tapping on the bottom, nothing happened. The loud creak of a door outside and down the hall made him fumble before he could check the batteries. Dropping the dead device, it rolled under the sink, 'This night just keeps getting better and better'. Making his way back into the bedroom, and sliding open the window curtain, faint moonlight grew to fill the room. Resting arms against the windowstill looking down, the street below was dead, bushes and loose papers still in the windless night. Vaguely making out the silhouette of a van near the end of the street, there was not a single other living soul or vehicle in sight.

The click of a lock, swish of cloth, and groan of wood finally made him turn around, three hooded figures starring at James from across the room. Eyes going wide, he felt incredibly un-easy as they began to speak one after another, voices ringing in his ears with a low hiss, "Yesssss...look what we have here". The middle one stepped forward, each holding their head down like medieval monks, “There wassss worry you would never leave work”. About to respond, he was cut sort by another one, “Did you like the animatttion? My brother worked very...hard on it?” The center one nodded with a sharp sneer, “He ssssaw your work on the digital webpage called Your-Tube, and basssed it off that”. Glancing to his blackened monitor, before turning to the figures, James tried to figure out who they even were, 'What the fuck, what the fuck. Did...did those junkies follow me home?'

Upon thinking that James felt a sharp ache in his head, like a dagger to the temple. Clenching the sides with a pained expression, a stray thought not of his own slipped to the forefront, 'We can hear you, you know?' Responding through closed teeth, “How the-”, he was cut sort as the two on either ends rushed forward. Adrenaline flowing through his veins, head still throbbing, he simply reacted, dashing over to his bed. A small pistol, gift from his late grandfather, should have only been a few seconds from his hand, hidden away inside his night stand. Yanking open the drawer however, only the faint outline of a barrel and grip in dust met his vision. Turning to look at the once-center figure, they held up the pistol shaking their head. The two others catching up shortly after, he was tackled to the ground, flailing until feeling a small pinch in his neck, body falling limp.

The rumble of tires on pavement, whish of wind past metal frame, hours passed as captors haul their game out of the city and down the interstate. Finally awoken by a bump on the road, eyes blurry as James looked around the near pitch-black van, unable to see more then ten centimeters in front of him. Trying to stand, the clank of chains forced him put, a bang from the front cabin of the van in response. It seemed both his feet and arms were chained to the side wall, ‘I never did anything wrong to those...I’m in some horror movie aren’t I?’ Shaking his head with a grumble, not wanting to think further about that idea, or his abnormal kidnappers, he instead sat there in panic ridden silence.

Heart racing it wasn’t until nearly an hour later, or at least what felt like an hour, before James finally calmed down enough to contemplate what was happening. First, they were watching him on his way home. Then he gets a message from Hunter mentioning a completed model, ‘Why would they even bother with that?’ If they wanted to kidnap him they didn’t need to go to the trouble of finishing his work, ‘Maybe they just didn’t want me missed anytime soon? No, that doesn’t make much sense either’. He gave up that line of thinking after a while, moving on to what else happened. The figures cut off power to the apartment building, sneaking to his floor, and into his home before blocking his escape. Their voices sounded, odd to say the least, ‘And why were they covering themselves...its not like I could give a description to anyone’.

James remained there contemplating his predicament, riding chained up for some time, eventually the sound of the road underneath changing to dirt and gravel. His attackers having pulled off the interstate down country roads, it wasn’t long before the van came to a screeching halt after rounding a corner. Doors opening, footsteps growing distant, he could just barley make out a group arguing, sharp hisses inbetween the mostly indistinguishable words. From what he was able to piece together, it sounded as if they were trying to figure out what to do about a block in the road. The sounds finally stopping, a single set of footsteps returned to the van, banging coming from within the front cabin, “Found bolt cutterssss!”

Before the source of the voice could return to the others, an explosion rocked the van, the vehicle tipping on it’s side. Now hanging in the air, James’ wrists and ankles strained against the chains. Groaning, he squirmed trying to futilely get his hands loose. Interrupted by gunfire, several automatic weapons and what he guessed was a shotgun, it was intermixed with shrill screams. Ears ringing by the time of yet another explosion, this time more distant, a small amount of smoke seeped into his prison. Eyes watering, he let out a series of short coughs. The sounds finally ceasing as quickly as they began, only the ringing and faint static of a radio was left. Several minutes passed, smoke dissipating the instant the doors to the van were flung open, light blinding him more then he was already.

Blinking, eyes red as sight soon returned, standing in the entryway a man in a black greatcoat cocked his western styled hat. Tossing something on the ground, he hopped inside the van, metal bending under his weight as the mysterious stranger approached James. In his off hand was a pair of bolt cutters, which he used to cut the chains and cuffs free. Falling face down, James groaned, trying to push his way up before the stranger grabbed the back of his shirt. Being hauled to his feet and dusted off, he noticed something silver poking out from under his rescuer’s shirt. Quickly stuffing it back underneath, the stranger spoke, “That looked like it hurt. You alright?”. Nodding slowly while being helped out of the van, he used one hand to shield his eyes from the sun, red circles around both his wrists. About to respond, he stopped short starring at the scene around him.