What a very unfourtunate and strange occurence indeed. Your name is Peregrine Mendicant, and up until now, your life was a cocktail of chasing Jack Noir, attempting to kill Jack Noir and.. Well, many other things, surely, most of which, if not all, involving your attempts at killing Jack Noir for his heinous crimes.
But as you exit a.. Rather strange incident, your task at-hand now was to simply find out where you are, and get the Hell out, and get the Hell over to wherever Jack Noir WAS and you were NOT, evidently.
You forcibly pay no mind to anyone who happened to stare at you, what reason would they have to NOT, in any case, and wander out into Epsilon, "new home", bah, you scoffed at that, you are no prisoner in wherever you are right now...
You reach for your sword as you walk, noticing the discomfort that occaisionally came with having, well, a SWORD in your chest. Wait. Wait what? You retract your grasping hand from the handle at the feel of wood. You look in disgust at what your weapon has been switcheroo'd with.A wooden sword, good for nothing, regardless of the handler.
Well you were planning on flying out, duh, why would you not? Wings, use 'em or lose 'em, but you should stick around and get a new weapon, it wouldn't hurt. You’ll not even try to see if you can fly out first. there’s no real rush, sometimes you swear Jack Noir would actually wait for you when you’d lag behind in your chase. What disgusting courteousy.
You politely try to approach a resident for directions to the nearest arms dealer, or something, anything of those sorts. You’re not picky.
(You hope whatever place you're in right now accepts Prospitan currency.)
