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Rorick Skyve
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[[Maxim Kehlenbrink - B018: Start]]

Maxim had always known fate had it out for him somehow. Whenever something would go wrong in his life, whenever he'd knock over a glass of milk, when a shower of rain got into the way of one of his rare yet beloved lone walks, when his PC froze, whenever he'd misplace the book he was currently reading, all those times had he blamed fate. And seeing as this entire ordeal was only the slightest bit more worrisome than all of those - Well, there certainly was no doubt about who he would blame this time around.

It had almost surprised him, really. Surprised him that he had initially accepted his situation without throwing a fit, a tantrum, without breaking down or beginning to cry; in short, without starting to panic. He had woken up, feeling unusually uncomfortable; not surprising, considering he had woken up on the floor. Then he had remembered, reflected on his situation, began to feel despair creep up his spine and infect his mind and then he had just - accepted it, yes. It was like he had gone through all five stages of grief at once, intertwined and mixed until they were no longer recognizable.

Facts were, he was alive, he had a noting on his person but a bag full of clothes and supplies and a bow that...he couldn't even begin to describe. He had gazed upon it earlier, when rummaging through his duffel bag. He had never held one in his hands before, played a lot of archers in games, yes. Last one was that elven Bowman from Dragon Age, god how he had loved that one - and how he wished he could have sat in front of his computer playing as him in that very moment. If only...if only he had feigned being sick, found some excuse to be able to stay behind, stay home. It was too late now, far too goddamn late.

Chances were, he was going to die if he didn't pay attention, especially with him being practically helpless, with only that accursed bow in his bag, completely scribbled over with words, unpleasant words, words that reminded him of how dreadful the English language that he so loved could be. Simply disgusting. And yet, he was going to keep it. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth or something like that. He would make the best of that abomination, to make a campfire if he had to. If only he had known how to make one of those.

The corridor he was walking down was - unsettling to say the least, if only because he was that empty. Usually, he loved empty spaces like this, being all by himself, no one to disturb him. That had obviously changed now. He had to find some people, if he liked it or not. Staying all by himself made him vulnerable, any jock armed with a pencil could have overpowered him, probably. He had to find people. Maybe even run into Cristo. Or Brendan or Al, but...yeah, Cristo was the best option. He knew what he was doing. He always did.

Wait. There, there was something, something very faint, no doubt, there were sounds coming from somewhere. No, not somewhere. They came from behind a door, the one to his left, piercing the ever dominant silence. Yes, someone was talking, someone was there and they were talking. Jesus Christ. Never, never in his life before had he considered the possibility of him being eager - no, intrigued to meet a potential stranger. And maybe, just maybe this voice belonged to someone he knew, at least a bit. Maybe. He had to go and look, take a peek at least.

Maxim held his breath. Yes, there it was, anxiousness his old friend and foe alike. All he could hope for was for it to leave him be for the moment. He inched closer towards the door, carefully taking one step after the next. Being cautious was still the best way to go about this. Yes, he did want to see who was behind that door but at the same time, he knew that anyone and anything could have potentially been behind it. Easy and slow. Deep breaths.

His hand slightly shaking, he got hold of the doorknob and turned it. The door wasn't locked - he wasn't even sure if he was supposed to be happy about it or not. He entered the room with one leg, almost being overwhelmed by a cloud of darkness at first. But then he saw the person, saw her. It was a girl, yes, without a doubt. Facing away from him, looking at something. And between them, what he had believed to be a strange light effect at first, was a pane of glass, apparently. Those were the images he saw upon entering. Yet he didn't make a sound, didn't say a word, didn't yell out or anything. He still wasn't sure. Not sure if he really wanted to go and meet that perfect stranger.
Edited by Rorick Skyve, Aug 13 2016, 06:22 PM.
Peoples and Sheeples for V6
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