(no subject)
Life had been fairly calm recently. Ignoring the fact that he was on a bizarre island with increasingly bizarre inhabitants, and the odd newbie-turned-projectile here and there. It helped him think. Figure out what was going on.
He still wasn't certain, but the idea that it was simply an elaborate illusion with some sort of powerful transporter involved seemed the most feasible at the moment. Although it left the question of where they were instead of a mysterious island. And how they'd gotten him out of the coffin without knowing it. He almost wondered whether it were an accident that he were here at all.
He briefly wished the inhabitants were more helpful. The fact that half of them had given up over only a few years disappointed him immensely. What were a few years to him? What were decades? A century?
His musings were interrupted by the ground underneath his feet abruptly ending. He didn't really have an opportunity to do more than throw out his arms blindly, before he was tumbling violently down the hillside. Dizziness, nausea, and then pain flashed through his senses, as he finally crashed onto a level ground.
His head spun, and he brought up a hand to steady his vision. An angry streak of dark red sliced across his arm. The cut stung. It wasn't unbearable...not even close. But it wasn't going away.
He glared irritably at the offending limb, and clapped a hand over the wound, squeezing his arm harder than necessary. It didn't matter to him that it aggravated the pain...what mattered to him was that it had the audacity to be in pain. That the dark stain oozing through his fingers was not the precious commodity it should have been.
He cursed under his breath, and winced.
It just wasn't right. It shouldn't have been like this. Not anymore.
OOC: It's not that bad of a cut. He's irritable and overreacting, though. If you'd like to meet him, go ahead, but I can't say he's at his most gentlemanly at the moment.
He still wasn't certain, but the idea that it was simply an elaborate illusion with some sort of powerful transporter involved seemed the most feasible at the moment. Although it left the question of where they were instead of a mysterious island. And how they'd gotten him out of the coffin without knowing it. He almost wondered whether it were an accident that he were here at all.
He briefly wished the inhabitants were more helpful. The fact that half of them had given up over only a few years disappointed him immensely. What were a few years to him? What were decades? A century?
His musings were interrupted by the ground underneath his feet abruptly ending. He didn't really have an opportunity to do more than throw out his arms blindly, before he was tumbling violently down the hillside. Dizziness, nausea, and then pain flashed through his senses, as he finally crashed onto a level ground.
His head spun, and he brought up a hand to steady his vision. An angry streak of dark red sliced across his arm. The cut stung. It wasn't unbearable...not even close. But it wasn't going away.
He glared irritably at the offending limb, and clapped a hand over the wound, squeezing his arm harder than necessary. It didn't matter to him that it aggravated the pain...what mattered to him was that it had the audacity to be in pain. That the dark stain oozing through his fingers was not the precious commodity it should have been.
He cursed under his breath, and winced.
It just wasn't right. It shouldn't have been like this. Not anymore.
OOC: It's not that bad of a cut. He's irritable and overreacting, though. If you'd like to meet him, go ahead, but I can't say he's at his most gentlemanly at the moment.