001
PRIVATE
[ Seven bloody hells.
When the wolf bitch had left him for dead, Sandor Clegane had expected to die. Instead, he'd woken up in a bed that wasn't his in clothes that weren't his with his festering leg wound gone. If this was some level of hell, then the gods were cruel, vicious beings who didn't make someone like him suffer here.
His burn scars were still there. Well, what had he expected? Gregor had marked him throughout life; why should it change in death? -- if this even was death. No one would be so kind as to give him these furnishings and to heal his wound if they didn't want something from him. The room was large and spacious. If someone had thought to play a jape on him, they had gone to incredible lengths to do so.
Turning around, he found the exit of the room. He wrenched the door open and angrily strode out, still wondering where the bleeding hell he was. Essos, perhaps. He'd never been there before, and the legends to come from it were definitely strange, though he'd never trusted the words of sailors. As he looked for the exit of the house, he saw a number of strange contraptions. He paid them little mind. He needed wine, and badly.
He found a collection of knives in a room that appeared to be the kitchen. He shoved the largest into his belt loop. Better some steel on him than none at all. Another quick search revealed food and, even better, half a bottle of something that at least smelled like wine. He downed the wine in one gulp. When it was gone, he swore at the room, but he devoured the bread anyway. It wasn't every day that one found a household that still had food in these times.
After he had eaten, he kicked the front door to the house open. The outside smelled strange, and looked stranger. Though he had sated his hunger and thirst, his confusion had not diminished. Warily, he walked through the streets of the unfamiliar village. ]
//PRIVATE
[ A large man is stalking down your street. He doesn't look very friendly. In fact, he looks downright scary. The left side of his face is entirely covered in horrendous burns, and he's missing an ear on that side. In addition, he clearly looks like he lives by the sword. When he sees you, he scowls, twisting his burns even further. ]
You.
[ When he speaks, it is half a rasp. Despite his hostile demeanor, there is no overt animosity in his voice. ]
What the fuck is this place?
[ Seven bloody hells.
When the wolf bitch had left him for dead, Sandor Clegane had expected to die. Instead, he'd woken up in a bed that wasn't his in clothes that weren't his with his festering leg wound gone. If this was some level of hell, then the gods were cruel, vicious beings who didn't make someone like him suffer here.
His burn scars were still there. Well, what had he expected? Gregor had marked him throughout life; why should it change in death? -- if this even was death. No one would be so kind as to give him these furnishings and to heal his wound if they didn't want something from him. The room was large and spacious. If someone had thought to play a jape on him, they had gone to incredible lengths to do so.
Turning around, he found the exit of the room. He wrenched the door open and angrily strode out, still wondering where the bleeding hell he was. Essos, perhaps. He'd never been there before, and the legends to come from it were definitely strange, though he'd never trusted the words of sailors. As he looked for the exit of the house, he saw a number of strange contraptions. He paid them little mind. He needed wine, and badly.
He found a collection of knives in a room that appeared to be the kitchen. He shoved the largest into his belt loop. Better some steel on him than none at all. Another quick search revealed food and, even better, half a bottle of something that at least smelled like wine. He downed the wine in one gulp. When it was gone, he swore at the room, but he devoured the bread anyway. It wasn't every day that one found a household that still had food in these times.
After he had eaten, he kicked the front door to the house open. The outside smelled strange, and looked stranger. Though he had sated his hunger and thirst, his confusion had not diminished. Warily, he walked through the streets of the unfamiliar village. ]
//PRIVATE
[ A large man is stalking down your street. He doesn't look very friendly. In fact, he looks downright scary. The left side of his face is entirely covered in horrendous burns, and he's missing an ear on that side. In addition, he clearly looks like he lives by the sword. When he sees you, he scowls, twisting his burns even further. ]
You.
[ When he speaks, it is half a rasp. Despite his hostile demeanor, there is no overt animosity in his voice. ]
What the fuck is this place?