Malcolm Bright (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
prodigalmess) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
farsickness2020-08-02 08:00 pm
prodigalmess) wrote in farsickness2020-08-02 08:00 pm
01 ☀ they say he wandered very far, very far
WHO: Malcolm Bright and YOU
WHEN: Beginning of August
WHAT: Arrival log and trying to settle in
WHERE: Around the city and near the forest
WARNINGS: None yet
He had only closed his eyes for a second. When he opens them, he's shocked to find that he's in a different place entirely. The gun is gone. There's a misting of blood over him and his clothes, and his heart is pounding like a drum in his chest. Malcolm closes his eyes again, wondering if it will take him back or if he'll wake up from this dream. Upon opening them, he finds that he's still in the same place as he was: standing in front of a sign in the shape of an arrow with the word 'Gazin' on it. There's nothing else around by landscape and the sounds of birds. Malcolm doesn't know what else to do. He starts walking.
01 A PUB
Malcolm still feels like he could be dreaming, or perhaps this could be a psychotic break. Since when does he wish to be somewhere else and it actually happens? Especially after what he'd just gone through, he feels like this can't be real.
After following the signs into Gazin, Malcolm takes a look around. It reminds him of a Renaissance Festival he went to when he was a kid. He'd probably find this place a whole lot cooler if he wasn't still reeling and didn't think he was having a dissociative episode.
He finds a pub, that mainstay of civilization and a welcome comfort for him to rest and figure out what his next step is going to be. Malcolm sits down at the bar and looks up at the bartender.
"Do you have whiskey?" he asks.
02. A BLACKSMITH
After securing a place to stay, Malcolm goes back out to explore more of the city. Hearing the clang of metal, he's drawn into a blacksmith's shop.
The swords that line the walls of the shop leave him speechless. Malcolm has collected ancient weapons, particularly blades, for years. The craftsmanship of these is, naturally, stunning. He'd expect nothing less in a setting like this.
Malcolm carefully takes one down off of the wall and turns it over in his hands, admiring the blade. He turns to someone else in the shop, someone who may or may not work there. "How much is this?"
Not that he can afford to buy it, considering he doesn't have a coin to his name here.
03. MONSTERS
After settling in a bit, Malcolm decides to go exploring. He's a naturally curious sort, as well as one who doesn't always have the best regard for his own personal safety. This tends to lead to him getting into situations.
Malcolm has acquired a sword that he's still learning how to use properly. Despite his love of blades and being on the fencing time in high school and college, working with a broadsword is different than working with an épée. The FBI doesn't have swordsmanship as part of its standard training.
As he walks through the woods, he hears the crack of a twig off in the middle distance. Malcolm pauses, his hand on the hilt of his sword as he listens. The noise doesn't sound as if it's being made by someone the size of a human. He inches forward cautiously.
Ahead through the brush, Malcolm sees a small green creature, hunched over a pile of trinkets. A goblin.
"Shit," Malcolm says under his breath, trying not to draw its attention.
04. WILDCARD
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sparks_fly. ]
WHEN: Beginning of August
WHAT: Arrival log and trying to settle in
WHERE: Around the city and near the forest
WARNINGS: None yet
He had only closed his eyes for a second. When he opens them, he's shocked to find that he's in a different place entirely. The gun is gone. There's a misting of blood over him and his clothes, and his heart is pounding like a drum in his chest. Malcolm closes his eyes again, wondering if it will take him back or if he'll wake up from this dream. Upon opening them, he finds that he's still in the same place as he was: standing in front of a sign in the shape of an arrow with the word 'Gazin' on it. There's nothing else around by landscape and the sounds of birds. Malcolm doesn't know what else to do. He starts walking.
01 A PUB
Malcolm still feels like he could be dreaming, or perhaps this could be a psychotic break. Since when does he wish to be somewhere else and it actually happens? Especially after what he'd just gone through, he feels like this can't be real.
After following the signs into Gazin, Malcolm takes a look around. It reminds him of a Renaissance Festival he went to when he was a kid. He'd probably find this place a whole lot cooler if he wasn't still reeling and didn't think he was having a dissociative episode.
He finds a pub, that mainstay of civilization and a welcome comfort for him to rest and figure out what his next step is going to be. Malcolm sits down at the bar and looks up at the bartender.
"Do you have whiskey?" he asks.
02. A BLACKSMITH
After securing a place to stay, Malcolm goes back out to explore more of the city. Hearing the clang of metal, he's drawn into a blacksmith's shop.
The swords that line the walls of the shop leave him speechless. Malcolm has collected ancient weapons, particularly blades, for years. The craftsmanship of these is, naturally, stunning. He'd expect nothing less in a setting like this.
Malcolm carefully takes one down off of the wall and turns it over in his hands, admiring the blade. He turns to someone else in the shop, someone who may or may not work there. "How much is this?"
Not that he can afford to buy it, considering he doesn't have a coin to his name here.
03. MONSTERS
After settling in a bit, Malcolm decides to go exploring. He's a naturally curious sort, as well as one who doesn't always have the best regard for his own personal safety. This tends to lead to him getting into situations.
Malcolm has acquired a sword that he's still learning how to use properly. Despite his love of blades and being on the fencing time in high school and college, working with a broadsword is different than working with an épée. The FBI doesn't have swordsmanship as part of its standard training.
As he walks through the woods, he hears the crack of a twig off in the middle distance. Malcolm pauses, his hand on the hilt of his sword as he listens. The noise doesn't sound as if it's being made by someone the size of a human. He inches forward cautiously.
Ahead through the brush, Malcolm sees a small green creature, hunched over a pile of trinkets. A goblin.
"Shit," Malcolm says under his breath, trying not to draw its attention.
04. WILDCARD
[ I'm open to other ideas as well! Message me via PM or at
03. Monsters
And she’s got a LOT of time on her fucking hands, here. So she’d volunteered. And here she is, having tracked one of the little bastards out into the forest. It’s just hunkered down over a pile of treasure... although it looks like something drew its attention from the way it looks up sharply, the opposite way from where Aella is crouched. She follows the thing’s look and...
Ah fuck. Humans.
There’s no time like the present to get shit started, she supposes, and she steps out with a general cockiness that has gotten her in trouble MORE than a few times, her blades drawn. And just like that the fucking goblin’s attention is firmly on her. Good. “You know. Never would’ve thought I’d be hunting down a bunch of shit stolen from humans. But, the bartender’s kind of a friend.” Sort of. Even if she’s kind of soured on the whole human friend thing right now. (Morrigan doesn’t count. It’s MORRIGAN.)
Now, Aella isn’t a mage. Has never been a mage. But she has been around enough to recognize the telltale signs when one starts to cast. “Of COURSE you had to be a fucking emissary,” she mutters under her breath. It’s not a complete similarity, but annoying little asshole that casts spells and potentially makes her day real shitty is close enough in her books. The little bastards don’t play fair (but then, most people don’t; she certainly doesn’t), and she charges in to kick the goblin in the face.
(no subject)