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They're all over you, these things. Holding you down, holding you back. You drop your sword, and then your sword belt. You peel off your HyperPoking glove, and unbuckle the other belt holding your spell reagents. You shed your heavy cloak, and your pack full of adventuring supplies under it. You take off the wide floppy hat that perpetually shrouds your appearance and let it tumble to the ground far below. You undo the ties holding your combat robes and let them fall away as well. You kick off the travel-worn sandals, which are admittedly pretty useful but right now they're stopping you from making fists with your toes in the soft grass under your feet. Last but not least, you peel off your Spider-Man underoos and carefully fold and place them on top of the pile.

It is done. You are free. You feel the sun on your skin, and it illuminates the words you cannot find. You no longer have any inhibitions. You can live with arms wide open. Today is where your book begins, the rest is still unwritten.

Except... no... that's not quite right. Your book didn't begin here. It began when an error attacked you. And the rest is not unwritten. In your divested and rarefied state you can see it stretching before you, the many paths you walk, trailing away and curling back on themselves. How many times have you done this already? How many times will you continue to do so?

Is this why people tie themselves down, so they cannot lift their eyes to see the wheel that grinds them? And what shall you do now? The paths ahead lie before you, but how can you choose when you know no true choice exists?

Level 6 WIP Options