Welcome to An Open Book! This is a collaborative project in which anyone can join.
Here's how it works: below, there'll be a scene. When I reach a point that seems like a good place to cut it off, I'll stop, and leave it open. From there, you get to take over. Yes, you! Leave a continuation in the comments, whether it be raw or in a google doc (make sure viewing is open!), and when the time comes for me to continue, I'll choose one of the entries, and continue with that information.
I know what you're thinking: how could anyone possibly keep up with a story like that? It's like a DnD campaign, where you have to be there the whole time! Well, this story takes place in a magical realm named Rorrimeht, where things can suddenly change--even in ways that contradict one another. So, here in Rorrimeht, you can take what you read and run with it. You can add characters, characterize pre-existing ones, worldbuild, create plotlines, anything you can think of! I'll make sure to note if there are any key aspects that you need to know for the continuation of the story, such as [approaching midpoint, create conflict].
Other than that, anything goes!
-Please try to consider proper grammar, but don't be daunted by the prospect of making things perfect. This is just for fun! I'll clean things up when I translate it into the next part.
-Do not use material from copyrighted works, let's tell an original story!
In the heat, horses often died. That's just what happened when the desert stretched longer than you expected. Small villages yielded shit maps, and shit maps led to shit preparation.
Kip chewed on a piece of straw with narrow eyes, sand in every direction, the sun ruthlessly digging into his brow. The dead horse was a double-detriment: he was slower now, and couldn't use the horse's strength to carry any of his things for him.
He had a bag on his shoulder--it was already bogged down--and since he anticipated arriving at his destination by now, it was full of senseless things. Of course, there were necessities, too, but... Well, Kip didn't expect this to turn so sour.
He spat out his straw, and kicked at the horse just for good measure.
With a deep breath, he accepted the fact that he'd not have rested legs for long, his probable death, and that he had nothing to do but keep going.
Strutting north again, he reached up and wiped the beading sweat on his forehead, and fastened his bag one last time before whistling the steps away. He had a good few hours of daylight left, well into the heat, and he wagered that by that time--since he thought he'd have completed his trek across these sands by now--he'd be able to see a trace of civilization.
He froze in his tracks, sinking into an ambitious plot of sand, and turned back toward the horse.
That was good straw.
He journeyed the few steps back, picked it up, and dusted it off. When he popped it back into his mouth, he swiveled north again, and trotted to the horizon.
Dune after dune, he marched with a good rhythm, and hummed his simple song. His tongue flipped and turned the chewed-up stock of his straw, head bobbing with each beat of his tune. To be honest, when he imagined this desert like a nice beach, it didn't seem so bad. If there was a real sea in front of him, he might even be eager to spend some time in the heat!
His thighs burned with the pressure of marching up a particularly steep dune. He could have walked around it, but to be honest, he didn't trust his sense of direction anymore. Marching in one direction made it easy to ensure he was still heading north--at least until the stars came out.
As he crested the hill, he stood up tall, and stretched his tired back.