fandomtownies | The Beach, Monday Morning

Fjord had woken up from an amazing sleep, unexpectedly, to the sound of a sword clattering to the floor.

Just that. The falchion. On the floor. He'd frowned and tried to call it back to him, but nothing had happened. No magic splash of water, no anything, really. Even the usual array of barnacles and starfish and tiny snails had vanished entirely from the hilt and the base of the blade.

With his heart somewhere in the pit of his guts, he grabbed the sword, slung it into its old sheath across his back, and slipped outside, making his way to the beach.

Tried to cast disguise self. Nothing.

Tried to throw an eldritch blast out over the water.

Nothing.

... Just... nothing. A strangling feeling of dread rising up in his chest, drowning out a smaller, more subtle wave of relief. On the one hand, freedom. But on the other...?

"No," he murmured. "No, no, no, no, no. I need this."

What the hell was he if he didn't have that magic? Cut off from the ocean, no way to get home, no idea if Vandran was even alive.

Just Fjord.

Just that.

[OOC: No sea life, eh? Mehehehehehe. Open!]