"Ah, Dormont, the capital of Astorea, and not A as some assume it to be." Bradwynne smiled at his own joke, although some people might consider it as lame, as he entered the environs of the city of Dormont. As he had heard from other players, this city was said to be the ultimate paradise for players who have entered the game. But as he saw the city, all the expectations that it was a more glorious city than Stokbon in Falderen had crashed to the ground. If Stokbon had the glory of Prague back in the real world, this city Dormont had the glory of Warsaw... shortly after World War II. It had the air of a city that was devastated by some war against it, and had never been completely fixed. Bradwynne sighed as he drew nearer to the city, maybe he would need to turn his character in here before the time he should log himself out for dinner and some chores, and then travel to some nearby village to establish himself there. But as he was getting near, he noticed numerous amount of soldiers going up and down the half-ruined walls. He wondered why as he entered the gates of the city, and then he saw people moving really quickly, hauling food and other trinkets, as if they were preparing for war. What kind of war, he did not know, until the gates of the city started to close. The atmosphere around the city was as if the city was going to be besieged any moment soon. He did not know if it was a major event or something that was always happening, but for Bradwynne, one thing is for sure: this city Dormont of Astorea was the ultimate paradise for players, in another sense. "Looks like there will be something great that will happen here." Bradwynne, who could be considered as a man of action smiled as he murmured those words.
Lucian immediately regretted his decision to journey to Dormont. While wandering Brisshal, he had inquired in a few small farming towns about a healing mentor. Were he to realize his goal of helping people, even in a virtual world, he would need guidance from someone more experienced. His intention had been to locate another player to aid him, but he was finding it incredibly difficult to differentiate NPCs from PCs. Furthermore, the one man he had mentioned a "game" to had quite nearly taken his head off with a thrown doctor's bag. "Do you think this is a game?" the doctor had demanded. How was Lucian to have known that the man was an AI doctor who had lost a patient earlier that morning? Even though his more logical side knew he was guiltless, the boy had logged off, his heart no longer in the game. Another individual, who he was pretty sure was a player, had recommended he venture to Dormont. "There's a war coming," the man had stated, his voice low and conspiratorial. "If you want to learn to heal, and practice on some people who need it, go there." And so he had. But now, surrounded by the chaos, he wished he had not. "Looks like there will be something great that will happen here." Had the blonde not been standing directly behind the man, he may not have heard him. But the comment was strange, a sort of prophecy in how it was worded. Even the timid healer-to-be could not resist asking. "Pardon me, sir," he began hesitantly, "but what was it that you were saying?" @Bradwynne
As Bradwynne was staring at the people preparing for war, he heard a voice from his back, which startled him, although the voice seemed friendly. It was as if someone placed an ice cube on his back. He then quickly turned around to face the person, but he did not notice that his right foot was stepping on a small rock, and so, when he placed his weight on the right foot to turn himself around, the small rock slipped from the sole of his boot, and he fell down backwards on his arse, the rock flying upwards and then went down on his forehead. Ouch and double ouch. Bradwynne then got up, massaging his forehead with his right hand, while dusting off his kimono and trousers with his left hand, and then said in quite an embarrassed manner, "Very bad for a first impression, damn it. Maybe I should go to a doctor for the broken arse." He then straightened himself up with his left arm, the bones on his back crackling, and then said, "Well that was just my observation. Or maybe, with the soldiers tightening up on security and the people locking themselves in the keep over there maybe they are preparing for a festival." He then scratched his temple with the forefinger of his right hand.
The young man watched, panicked, as the stranger fell on his face. To his credit, however, it was a fairly graceful collapse, and he landed pretty neatly on his backside, and then forehead. Lucian winced despite himself, then frowned, not sure what he should do. His first instinct was to help, but grabbing the man's arm was entirely out of his comfort zone. Instead, he merely stated, "It was a hard hit, though I'm not certain it was hard enough to break anything." Then, he flushed lightly. He did not mean to suggest the stranger was lying. "But it is possible you bruised your tailbone?" As it often did, the joke went sailing over Lucian's head. That, of course, made sense, considering he only stood four feet tall. When the other blonde explained his festival theory, Lucian found himself recalling his own reason for coming here. A festival? That had not been what the other player had told him. Perhaps one, or both, of the men were wrong? But as he studied the faces of the men and women around him, he struggled to see anything as cheerful as a festival. Festivals inspired excitement, conjuring images of fancy dresses, fireworks, and great food. What he saw, instead, was black bags under eyes, grim expression, and tightly-drawn lips. Pain, not pleasure. "I heard there would be a war," Lucian whispered, so not to catch the ear of those nearby.
As he was hearing out the response of the faerin in front of him, Bradwynne was still scratching his temple. But deep within his mind he was tearing up his hair. His mind then became filled with the memes of a very famous martial arts actor from the turn of the millennium. For once in his life he had never seen someone this dense. He had given two jokes, and both of them were not appreciated by this fellow right here. It was like that meme from a decade ago when the arrow that the joke represented just jumped from the head of the person without passing through. Now he could, and should, never tell a joke to this person, since it would never be appreciated anyway. This is the time to be serious in everything he would say. No more joking on this person right here. Everything should be straight to the point. "Of course a war is imminent," he finally responded to the person. "Well I find excitement in battles so I said those things. Although this time it might be a full-scale war so sometimes I thought that I should never be happy about it." He remembered how he butchered a huge number of wolves back in the forest where he had spawned. He would hope that the people here should be an exception, which he doubted since he had experienced a gruesome wound here. "They say that a maddened king from a neighboring kingdom was so threatened about the players and this kingdom and so he let his army march in here. Others say that the king here was astute enough to turn on the other king because of issues on race or something, and the people from the neighboring kingdom was scared of that race."
