Entry 3, 7:28 P.M.?
This...location is far more perilous then I would have first imagined. Some mischievous force has warped me far, far away from the 12ers, and back into this area, and after having broken myself out of a cupboard, I immediately feel as if I have been beset by a mischievous force mavolent existence?*, with amnesia pertaining to the immediate events beforehand on top of that. I know not what such an action means, but I sense I am being watched. I must seek refuge from the eyes soon, or at least a corner from which to stand in anticipation of whatever force seems so beset on myself.
-Propman
*PS: It's hard to keep my writing sharp when having to flee for my life!
Propman tucked the hastily scrawled-into sketchbook back within his satchel and started running through the werewolf halls. He cursed at the fact his boots were one size too large and barely holding onto his feet as he made way past the slain creatures in a hurry; not against any physical threat (as far as he could see, anyway), but a gut feeling that the halls he resided within no longer welcomed his presence. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he made a short bounce into the cathedral room, ignoring the changes in scenery that had occurred since his absence. In order to retain momentum, he continued towards the forlorn cell of his direction, not daring to look back.
"Crimey..."
The false pirate pondered whether or not he had gone insane and was running away from one of his own foolish projections, but such thoughts were mostly drowned out by his own immediate instinct to continue moving. His boots clomped awkwardly on the solid stone floors as he kept pace still into the chess room. His right hand was holding down his three-cornered hat to prevent it from flying off as he went into a full sprint, his left pointing his spear directly in front of him so as to threaten impaling whatever got in his way.