[center][color=c0c0c0][b][u]Slayer[/u][/b][/color]
Level 6 || Day 3 || Ragnarok
[@Dawnrider] [@Zarkun] [@Tenma Tendo] [@Holy Soldier] [@DracoLunaris]
[b]WC:[/b] 244 [b]Experience:[/b] 47/60[/center]

While some of the exposition offered to him seemed about as standard fair as one could expect from the bizarre circumstances Slayer now found himself facing, Naija stopped making sense as soon as she mentioned a bag and it only went downhill from there. [color=c0c0c0]”Pixels?”[/color] Bemused, the gentleman removed his monocle and glanced for a moment at his own reflection in its surface. Austere, dignified, suave, stylish—just the same as ever. How preposterous. He managed a chuckle, and joked, [color=c0c0c0]”What a twist!”[/color] More or less satisfied in terms of briefing, Slayer settled in for the ride.

His iron constitution could take a lot of punishment, but the unfamiliar sensation of moving at high speed while in place left him queasy in a way Slayer couldn't describe. As ever, though, he powered through, and focused on the task at hand. Rather, since there wasn't anything he could do in terms of space flight and operating the Ragnarok's weapons best suited those actually trained for it, he focused on remaining alert for any change in the situation. [color=c0c0c0]”My, my,”[/color] he mused, amused. [color=c0c0c0]”Here I was, thinking I'd seen all the world had to offer, and a day like this comes along. Boggles the imagination, just about.”[/color] Despite his genial, casual tone, the vampire spoke from the heart; never in a million years would he have anticipated being stuffed into a metal box and fired, a living bullet, from a weapon the side of a fishing skiff.