<Ashe> The young mage had been given a lot to think about in the last couple of days. More so last night. There was so much that he didn’t understand. When he first awakened it had seemed like his eyes had finally opened and he’d had a glimpse of profound understanding, but then he’d realized everything he didn’t know. How vast the universe truly was and how small his own existence in this cosmological soup was. He supposed that he

shouldn’t have been surprised to find people that were so much more than anything he dreamed of. Almost unquestionably powerful in his mind. They must look at him as a weak child, someone incapable of comparing to them in terms of power and ability. Bloody hell, that woman had grown spikes from her hand as if it was nothing. They’d spoken of monsters attacking them, even death, as something that was inconsequential and made it seem

like a regular day. The young man ran a hand through his hair and sighed as he leaned back against a tree in the park. This was far from a regular day. Ashe wasn’t sure he could view this as a regular day, ever. He’d wanted to find more, but he hadn’t expected to be flung into the fire quite so thoroughly. Ashe pinched the bridge of his nose and groan, it didn’t help that he’d gotten himself plastered and was now suffering the

mother of all hangovers for his trouble.

<Ashe> Finally pushed off the tree he was leaning against to make his way rather lazily towards the sidewalk the rimmed the park. There were a couple street vendors that were there and the food was hot and probably greasy. Greasy was what he needed right now. Something to settle his stomach and take the edge off. He had a few friends from college that would just have told him to drink more today to chase away the hangover, but Ashe

wasn’t sure he wanted to be drinking -again- so soon. Maybe he should swear the stuff off until the next century or at least the next decade.

<Ashe> Gave his hotdog a rather dubious look. He supposed that steamed street meat was appealing to some, but this… it just struct a wrong cord with him. How could processed food that was unidentifiable make it onto a bun in his hand. How could it cost as much as a respectable home prepared meal? Ah well, it was good so he took another bite and headed back to his favourite tree. He leaned against the rough bark, the feeling of it

grounding him as he slid to a seated position and continued to make short work of his processed meat stick in a bun and think about life and what he’d fallen into.