Looks like a new transition
[Fenris is prowling through his house like a caged and very angry animal. The facts, as he views them, are these:
He doesn't know where he is.
His armor, his weapons, even his markings - all gone.
Wherever he is, the architecture is strange beyond anything he's seen, the furnishings completely unfamiliar, and the strange images strewn everywhere are utterly baffling...mostly because he's in them. Looking happy, standing beside people he's never met.
Magic is probably involved.
None of this is anything to be happy about. His only workable hypothesis right now is that he's in the Fade; things being unpredictable and even one's form changing at a moment's notice isn't uncommon there, from what he experienced while they were trying to help that child mage. But how did he get here, and what can he possibly do about it?
Virtually nothing. There's almost no way for a non-mage to fight magic in any way...one of the many things he hates about it.
As his frustration builds, he begins taking it out on the house itself. Flinging the insulting pictures off the shelves and tables, throwing a vase against a wall, punching another hard enough to dent the plaster. And, somewhere in this aimless destruction, the phone is swept off its table and onto the floor, treating anyone listening in to a flood of cursing in Arcanum.]
He doesn't know where he is.
His armor, his weapons, even his markings - all gone.
Wherever he is, the architecture is strange beyond anything he's seen, the furnishings completely unfamiliar, and the strange images strewn everywhere are utterly baffling...mostly because he's in them. Looking happy, standing beside people he's never met.
Magic is probably involved.
None of this is anything to be happy about. His only workable hypothesis right now is that he's in the Fade; things being unpredictable and even one's form changing at a moment's notice isn't uncommon there, from what he experienced while they were trying to help that child mage. But how did he get here, and what can he possibly do about it?
Virtually nothing. There's almost no way for a non-mage to fight magic in any way...one of the many things he hates about it.
As his frustration builds, he begins taking it out on the house itself. Flinging the insulting pictures off the shelves and tables, throwing a vase against a wall, punching another hard enough to dent the plaster. And, somewhere in this aimless destruction, the phone is swept off its table and onto the floor, treating anyone listening in to a flood of cursing in Arcanum.]