It's sad that this is what it's come to: Quentin finds himself entering the clock and not finding Fillory, but instead this place, and his first reaction is that it could be worse. For one, he has magic here. He has no clue what he's drawing on, what energies--the sky isn't even the sam eas Earth or Fillory--but fucked if he complains. It makes his body a little warmer, it makes him feel just a little bit better about the whole thing.
What is weird is men in plate armour. He'd been smoking from his pack of cigarettes (he only really does it when he's stressed, and yeah, he's a little on edge), idly fucking around with magic and enchanting smoke rings. A mistake, apparently, because as the proverbial wagons circle in Quentin soon realizes that magic is probably not looked on favourably here.
"Uuuh..."
Yeah, that's witty. He's backed into a metaphorical corner as he's circled around, unsure what the fuck is happening other than 'very bad,' and he subconsciously touches his messenger bag. Still there, which means the keys and book are still there, so there's that still going for him.
Someone swings their sword and Quentin's hands fly up to perform a few tutting motions, trying to get a shield up when he sees a flash of lightning and the unmistakable smell of burning flesh.
"Thanks."
He doesn't have time to think, only do, and he puts all of the effort he has to actually send a wave of battle magic towards one of them, sending them careening into a nearby boulder. Quentin glances over at the slightly taller guy, and then his staff.
Re: In which Q is spat out of a rift into an unknown world
It's sad that this is what it's come to: Quentin finds himself entering the clock and not finding Fillory, but instead this place, and his first reaction is that it could be worse. For one, he has magic here. He has no clue what he's drawing on, what energies--the sky isn't even the sam eas Earth or Fillory--but fucked if he complains. It makes his body a little warmer, it makes him feel just a little bit better about the whole thing.
What is weird is men in plate armour. He'd been smoking from his pack of cigarettes (he only really does it when he's stressed, and yeah, he's a little on edge), idly fucking around with magic and enchanting smoke rings. A mistake, apparently, because as the proverbial wagons circle in Quentin soon realizes that magic is probably not looked on favourably here.
"Uuuh..."
Yeah, that's witty. He's backed into a metaphorical corner as he's circled around, unsure what the fuck is happening other than 'very bad,' and he subconsciously touches his messenger bag. Still there, which means the keys and book are still there, so there's that still going for him.
Someone swings their sword and Quentin's hands fly up to perform a few tutting motions, trying to get a shield up when he sees a flash of lightning and the unmistakable smell of burning flesh.
"Thanks."
He doesn't have time to think, only do, and he puts all of the effort he has to actually send a wave of battle magic towards one of them, sending them careening into a nearby boulder. Quentin glances over at the slightly taller guy, and then his staff.
"Is this normal?"