Night 29: Intercom, Beginning of Night
It wasn't too long before the intercom crackled back on, though now there was a heavy static that came with it. It was worse than most nights, with loud feedback interspersed among the overpowering static
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Of course, the moment he did, his demeanor changed dramatically. He was in an unfamiliar room, on an unfamiliar bed. Startled, the sorcerer stumbled off the bed and pressed himself against the wall. Where was he? What was this place? And what was he wearing? Incredulously, he grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled it up and out for a look at it.
These weren't his clothes. These were remotely like his clothes. These were tasteless, ugly, and grey. Who had dared to kidnap him, undress him, then redress him in a style they chose? And with nothing to cover his hair at that! That was the least of his problems when he realized that a far more important article of clothing was missing.
His gauntlet was nowhere to be seen.
Sure, there was a glove on his skeletal arm, but it wasn't his gauntlet. It was a plain, non-magical glove, the purpose of which Mozenrath could not see beyond hiding the deformity. "No,..." He stated aloud, as if that would change anything. A pang of worry shot through his body, followed closely by rage.
"MY GAUNTLET!" He cried, turning back to the bed he had been in and tearing it apart. "WHERE IS MY GAUNTLET?!" A frenzied assault on the bed yielded nothing and Mozenrath turned his attentions to taking apart the austere room. Every drawer, every closet, every hiding spot was checked. He would have smashed the furniture open to search for secret chambers, but he didn't have the physical strength to even beging to try. His Gauntlet was nowhere to be found.
But the door was open, he realized. Reasoning be damned, he was going to find his gauntlet and find out where he was. It wasn't as if there was any way for him to leave until he wore it on his arm again, anyhow. Stalking purposefully and irate, he exited the room.
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