Post by Arthur Wyndham on Jul 23, 2009 14:09:28 GMT -5
Suddenly, and with no previous warning a wizard Apparated into the outskirts of Drakborough with a sharp crack. He was simply dressed in a grey polo and light jeans, over which he had thrown a leather jacket. Not having expected such a swift landing he misjudged his timing and fell to the ground in an ungraceful heap. Quickly, hoping that nobody had noticed he stood up and flipped back his dark hair accompanied by what he thought was a dashing smile, just in case anyone was watching. Nobody was.
Even he could tell something was wrong in the town he had just Apparated into. There were only a few people on the streets and they just went about their business in a hurried manner. They all walked with their heads down or checking behind them as if preoccupied by something. Looking around Wyndham couldn't see the obvious cause of their distress. As he started walking towards what he supposed was the center of the town, he noticed more and more things.
As the heavy wind whipped around him he could smell the remnants of charred smoke coming towards him from the town center. Soon he saw buildings which had obviously recently been on fire. It looked as if the fire had ripped through an entire block, uncontrollable. Maybe this was what those people were fearing? Arsonists?
But Wyndham had more important things on his mind. Namely, where exactly he was. When he was Apparating, he simply wished to go to the nearest magical town and he supposed that this was it. He hadn't seen any outward signs of magic, but there was a definate crackle of magical electricity in the air. There was only one way that Wyndham knew to solve this: to go to a place which every town had, the bar. And quite honestly, he could do with a stiff drink. Running away was exhausting, and moreover the wind had wreaked havoc on his hair.
Self-conciously patting it down he looked around for any sign of a bar. What he got was a large wodden plaque announcing that he had entered into a town called Drakborough. Drakborough? Now why did that sound so familiar? He shrugged it off when he spotted Joker's Bar out of the corner of his eye. He threw open the door harshly and walked in.
That same feeling of quiet foreboding out on the streets was present inside the bar as well, although it was muted. He caught snatches of conversations which he didn't understand, nor wanted to at that point. He made his way to the counter.
"Mulled mead," he announced without any pretense.
He saw quite a few empty tables, but chose instead to sit at the counter. Sitting alone at a table was a sure fire way of announcing your prefrence for being alone, something which he had never had. He ran his fingers through his hair a few times while surreptitiously checking his reflection in an empty glass to see if he had fixed the wind's damage. When he was satisfied with his progress, he turned and threw the other patrons in the bar a smile and waited for them to come to him. DERP!
Even he could tell something was wrong in the town he had just Apparated into. There were only a few people on the streets and they just went about their business in a hurried manner. They all walked with their heads down or checking behind them as if preoccupied by something. Looking around Wyndham couldn't see the obvious cause of their distress. As he started walking towards what he supposed was the center of the town, he noticed more and more things.
As the heavy wind whipped around him he could smell the remnants of charred smoke coming towards him from the town center. Soon he saw buildings which had obviously recently been on fire. It looked as if the fire had ripped through an entire block, uncontrollable. Maybe this was what those people were fearing? Arsonists?
But Wyndham had more important things on his mind. Namely, where exactly he was. When he was Apparating, he simply wished to go to the nearest magical town and he supposed that this was it. He hadn't seen any outward signs of magic, but there was a definate crackle of magical electricity in the air. There was only one way that Wyndham knew to solve this: to go to a place which every town had, the bar. And quite honestly, he could do with a stiff drink. Running away was exhausting, and moreover the wind had wreaked havoc on his hair.
Self-conciously patting it down he looked around for any sign of a bar. What he got was a large wodden plaque announcing that he had entered into a town called Drakborough. Drakborough? Now why did that sound so familiar? He shrugged it off when he spotted Joker's Bar out of the corner of his eye. He threw open the door harshly and walked in.
That same feeling of quiet foreboding out on the streets was present inside the bar as well, although it was muted. He caught snatches of conversations which he didn't understand, nor wanted to at that point. He made his way to the counter.
"Mulled mead," he announced without any pretense.
He saw quite a few empty tables, but chose instead to sit at the counter. Sitting alone at a table was a sure fire way of announcing your prefrence for being alone, something which he had never had. He ran his fingers through his hair a few times while surreptitiously checking his reflection in an empty glass to see if he had fixed the wind's damage. When he was satisfied with his progress, he turned and threw the other patrons in the bar a smile and waited for them to come to him. DERP!