4th of Spring, 513AV "Land! Sweet, unrocking land!" From the moment Volinir had touched down in Thunder bay, he could not thank Mount Skyinarta enough for not attempting to empty his bowels. Indeed, if he could have simply glommed onto the rocky walls that reminded him so much of home and just drank the delicious, delicious heat from the volcano, he very likely would have done it. Instead, the Symenestra simply wandered. He rather enjoyed wandering. It reminded him he was free. Completely, shamelessly, flip-the-skies-the-bird (of which there were many) free. No one to tell him where to go or when, or punch him somewhere sensitive. Today was no different. Volinir wasn't entirely sure where he was going- Only that it was somewhere he had never been before, and that that was a good thing. Having only been in Wind Reach briefly, Volinir did not, as it so happened, know that meandering through tunnels randomly was only a good idea if one wanted to get hopelessly lost or run into something either incredibly violent or socially unacceptable. Fortunately, Volinir did not run into the violent. Unfortunately, what he did run into was the terrifying. All he did was make a left turn- Just one left turn!- and suddenly the poor dancer was bumped by one of the much less professional variety into some sort of horrible writhing mass of flailing, murderous Sym-seeking limbs and loud noise and HUMAN SMELLS. Volinir had perhaps a tick to register shock before he was buffeted by another party-goer, and sent careening helplessly towards the center of what seemed to him like some sort of demon-orgy. Or an ambush. He had stumbled upon the Inclement Weather. Or, as he would refer to it for years to come, "that place where everyone wants to break or bone you and your life flashes before your eyes." While many were hidden by darkness in the center of the dance floor, Volinir saw everything. And what was seen, he could never unsee. He saw... things... Unspeakable things... and a rather strong jawed Inartan lady seized his leg and said something that, to his poor Nari, sounded like a threat to his prostate before he was accidentally booty bumped out of her wicked clutches and back towards the outer ring. While he screamed in terror and clawed and scrambled, he was tragically indistinguishable from the thrashing crowd. Finally, after what felt to him like an eternity, but was really much closer to thirty ticks, Volinir was ejected out of the floor like a message out of a pneumatic tube, and was sent catapulting face first into a bowl of what felt like mold. The sound of shattering glass told him that his arms had likely knocked something over. While he would most certainly get up eventually, at the moment Volinir was much more inclined to just stay in that position, face planted in a bowl of something, arms limp upon some sort of stone surface, one knee buckled. At least it wasn't as visually noisy. In heavily accented Nari, he moaned into the stuff, "Help me..." |