#luckoverlogic

@luck-over-logic The sound of gunshots was like thunder, clapping in his ears in a way that made his head ring. Blood soaked the shoulder of his linen shirt and plastered down his leather coat. It was by no means a serious wound for him, but that didn’t help the fear running through him like a river recently freed of a dam. All that mattered to him was getting the hell away.      The world twisted around him. Wooden walls and muddy roads blurred into a kaleidoscope of colors. His stomach went up in his chest and a familiar sense of weightlessness bolstered through him.      Grasping frantically for safety, he had the impression of walls and floors without any solid grasp of them. Soft soil, rough gravel, smooth stone, wet sand, thick carpet, and more. One seemed more solid than the rest, more right in a way that was difficult to describe. He pushed himself forward.       Grays and reds and muted green lights swirled into focus and the ground solidified under his scrambling feet, firm and steady. He took three fumbling steps and the world crashed into focus as he slammed into a solid gray wall. The smell of metal and clean hit him hard, washing away the scent of horse and heat and sweat, and he staggered as he fought to keep up with gravity.       Voices reached his ears. Shouts and alarm, and who could blame them, when a man his size came barreling out of no where?      He twisted, trying to orient himself towards the sounds, and prayed he hadn’t just jumped into a larger problem.