C'mon you punks, i am not so 1337 that this is an untouchably brilliant piece of prose. Heck, if it helps, think of it as a D+D game, choose a character you want to play, and write in that character's actions as appropriate. Someone can 'play' the DM. No dice rolls necessary. It took me under 15 minutes to write what's currently there, so step up to the plate and take a swing. --Nick 'Maybe i'll start calling these GroupStoryTellingGames? instead' Johnson
Igio was tired and hungry. And hot, very hot. The sand dunes rose around him as he wearily stumbled down into the next trough, the swells threatening to capsize him. In front of him, Anturio cursed as he fell to his knees in the hot sand. Igio squinted up at the figure of Cwellya, already to the dunes top and waiting patiently. One more, he thought, then one more after that, and... and... he sighed, soon it wouldnt matter.
Coming here had been the dumbest thing they ever did. Not that they could go back, they weren't even sure where here was. That blasted mage had escaped through a dimensional portal, taking The Voice of Souls with him. That unholy book gave him an uneasy feeling just looking at it, but the prophecies contained therein could help save his world, and thinking it would be a simple matter to track him down the party had followed him. And that had landed them here, in the middle of a vast, trackless desert.
Not that being in a desert would have been that bad. They had acquired an interesting array of items over their adventures. The operative word, of course, being had. But the bag of holding had ruptured for some mysterious reason as he stepped through the portal, spilling its contents somewhere in the ethereal plane. At least they had had some food in a backpack, or they would have starved already, but the food was 3 days gone, and the water merely drops in their skins.
Shortly after they had come through and realized the gravity of their situation, Cwellya had decided that it was important to understand the lay of the land and move towards something. He and Anturio had nodded consent, surely the elf wizard could figure out where they were and where the mage had gone to. But as she reached the end of her fly spell she gasped suddenly in pain, as if the world was extracting a blood price from her for the use of magic. Cuts opened up on her arms and a gash stretched across her cheek. The pain ruined her concentration, and the spell fizzled at her fingertips. That was when they had realized they werent on their plane anymore. That first evening, as the sun set behind the endless sand dunes, Cwellya had conjured a little light so they could talk. It pained her a little, but it worked - magic was possible in this hellhole, there was merely a price, and that price was steeper the more powerful the spell. They looked at her, and then looked away; neither he nor Anturio would ask her to endure that unless she truly had to.
And now look at them, their clothes rags, their armor left behind on some forgotten dune. The elf was enduring better than either of her companions, needing much less nurishment than they did, but even she was displaying the sunken cheeks of starvation now. He'd sell his sword for a haunch of beef, and he bet Cwellya would give her last spellbook for a skin of water. Anturio had already left his great sword behind, it was far too heavy to carry.
Suddenly Cwellya was looking behind her in surprise. By the Seven Gods what now? There was a low rumbling sound suddenly, and then Cwellya was frantically scrabbling back down the dune past Anturio, who had almost topped it. She yelled something unintelligible, her voice throaty and raspy from lack of water. Anturio looked over the dune, only to come tumbling back down the dune with an arrow in his shoulder. Igio drew his sword. Madness, he thought, this is utter madness.