(no subject)
[Pre-Milliways: So many worlds.]
The door does not open, precisely. It is closer to say that where the door was becomes a shimmering wall of light. From the light steps a figure, shadowed against the glare for a moment until the door becomes just a door once again.
He is no longer a young man, this figure, and yet appears even more aged than he is. Haggard and drawn, with windswept hair and tired lines creasing his face. His clothes are well-worn, little more than threads in places. Calloused hands wipe the sweat from his brow as he surveys the room.
What surprises him most is the lack of awe or fear at his arrival, to which he has become so accustomed in other worlds.
What manner of place is this, where such things are commonplace? he wonders.
And then he steps toward the bar, determined to find out.
[ooc: Not at all plot-locked! Please tag away!]
The door does not open, precisely. It is closer to say that where the door was becomes a shimmering wall of light. From the light steps a figure, shadowed against the glare for a moment until the door becomes just a door once again.
He is no longer a young man, this figure, and yet appears even more aged than he is. Haggard and drawn, with windswept hair and tired lines creasing his face. His clothes are well-worn, little more than threads in places. Calloused hands wipe the sweat from his brow as he surveys the room.
What surprises him most is the lack of awe or fear at his arrival, to which he has become so accustomed in other worlds.
What manner of place is this, where such things are commonplace? he wonders.
And then he steps toward the bar, determined to find out.
[ooc: Not at all plot-locked! Please tag away!]