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a_seedy_placeLike hell he was going any further into this hell hole without any recon. Sapho had seen the Palace of the Dead and Heaven on High-- this place seemed to be determined to try to put it to shame. His better judgement kept him pacing in the lobby, addled by the sweet smell in the air but able to distract himself with the generous spread of food in the dining hall.
The carpet was plush, many of the trappings vaguely familiar but foreign in a way he couldn't parse out. This was not his world, that was sure-- but it wasn't the first time that had happened. If anything, the place reminded him of Amurot if it were scaled to be closer to his own size, and he wasn't sure how that made him feel either. Surely someone would be along soon to explain, or to beg him for his help. That was just how things went. He never went anywhere of his own free will at least not anymore.
Sapho worried about his friends, as he often did. About the Source. About the daily comings and goings that had become his desperately needed structure. They would be fine, and he would find his way back-- just as he always did, wouldn't he? Though he sat confidently in an easy chair, his feet up on an old coffee table while he ate a pastry, his heart was in turmoil that wouldn't show on his dark features. He hated being alone. He had not known terror such as this since the wake of the Calamity. Despite his antisocial nature, he found himself hailing the first person that passed through, eager and as pleasant as he could manage.
"Oy you there-- What is the nature of this place? And this tomestone--" At this he produced the cellphone that he'd found on his person upon waking. "What am I meant to do with such a thing?" And what, pray tell was a "wi-fi" and why was it "Sketch?"
The carpet was plush, many of the trappings vaguely familiar but foreign in a way he couldn't parse out. This was not his world, that was sure-- but it wasn't the first time that had happened. If anything, the place reminded him of Amurot if it were scaled to be closer to his own size, and he wasn't sure how that made him feel either. Surely someone would be along soon to explain, or to beg him for his help. That was just how things went. He never went anywhere of his own free will at least not anymore.
Sapho worried about his friends, as he often did. About the Source. About the daily comings and goings that had become his desperately needed structure. They would be fine, and he would find his way back-- just as he always did, wouldn't he? Though he sat confidently in an easy chair, his feet up on an old coffee table while he ate a pastry, his heart was in turmoil that wouldn't show on his dark features. He hated being alone. He had not known terror such as this since the wake of the Calamity. Despite his antisocial nature, he found himself hailing the first person that passed through, eager and as pleasant as he could manage.
"Oy you there-- What is the nature of this place? And this tomestone--" At this he produced the cellphone that he'd found on his person upon waking. "What am I meant to do with such a thing?" And what, pray tell was a "wi-fi" and why was it "Sketch?"
