Town
Propman noted the rather quaint dwellings of his room as he entered, removing his bag and setting it next to the door. The floorboards appeared to be somewhat rough hewn, but were overlapped to ensure that no actual gaps could be seen, while the hide of...some sort of purple-haired creature was laid across in order to partially cover the area. The size of the room was rather small, about four times that of his closet, though by no means uncomfortable. There were no windows, and the only object that adorned the walls was a painting depicting a vague man shooting some sort of laser weapon at what appeared to be a group of giant spiders, in a black sky with some sort of grid present in the background. Whether it was an imaginative fantasy or the depiction of an actual occurrence within the dungeon was something the weary adventurer pondered as he unbuckled his web belt and set it, as well as the weapons and canteen it contained to the side of the bed, which itself was a rather utilitarian hammock lined with furs and topped in a patchwork quilt.
He took the moment to reflect on the day. Now that the adrenaline that had been pushing through most of the tighter spots had worn off, his legs felt like they were ready to collapse at any moment, while the faintly painful tingle on his forearms reminded him of the sprains he suffered earlier. Propman wasn't sure if he'd still be here the moment he fell asleep, if this all wasn't some sort of elaborate dream, but the adventurer decided that it was best to assume he would be present in this place for at least a while, whether it was a hallucination or something more. Laying down, the mariner took a moment to remove his hat, holding it between his arms (a bit off-center in order to prevent dirtying it with the mud stain) before setting it on a large, cured log that served as a nightstand.
Propman got up for a moment and shifted through his pack, pulling out the pocket watch and extending a metal stand built into it, placing it on the stand and taking the time to rewind it. Likewise, he took the letter opener from his belt and placed it close by, as a precautionary measure, even if the door was locked shut. He had little idea what tomorrow would ultimately hold, but at very least he got through a whole day of dangerous dungeon exploring with little training more or less in one piece, which was more then he could say about a good number of his allies. His mind drifted back to them, wondering how they were managing during this time of the day. Could they be resting as well? Or were they trapped inside of a deeper part of the catacombs, facing horrors beyond his comprehension, doomed to suffer a futile and painful demise?
Such thoughts troubled the young man. On one hand, aside from Hugo, Propman didn't know anything about most of his other dungeon-mates (and saying he knew much about Hugo was a stretch indeed) beyond the fact they were all from Bay 12. They were dumped in as strangers, and Propman had ventured with them because it seemed like his best chance of survival. On the other, he didn't want to leave them out to die, as they were the main people working towards a goal of leaving this place and returning home, and were in the same situation as he.
The pirate ultimately decided that once he was done drilling through whatever lessons he would be given, he would spend his time trying to find them and formally join them on their quest. Hopefully, they would turn up on their own, perhaps venture back to the town proper. If not, he would have to venture back into the depths himself, and find someone to accompany him so as to ward off the wind-aberration. He thought a moment about his current position, and wondered how much of it he could accomplish in a day, as he was notoriously poor at scheduling, least so in an area as chaotic as this.
His thoughts began to slow down as the clutches of sleep drew in. Propman yawned, bringing a balled up fist near his mouth, and dozed off.
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Topic: If Forumites Were Stuck in an RPG (2nd thread. REBOOT COMMENCED) (Read 295299 times)