Ohhh..... This aint good for the ole' Grey Matter......
Keats stood up, grasped the sword as calculated.
However, what WASN calculated was the continuation of his stance,
straight forwards through a air vent and tumbling down.
'CURSE YOU CONSERVATION OF MOMENTUM!'
He fell, bumped, banged and bruised his way down many decks.
'64!!! i did it, thats an extra 25 for me then.... ahhh dang...'
Keats yawned, after a while, constant pain due to falling down an air
vent for about 500 meters got boring, he hit another corner,
resulting in a wound that would bruise up a treat when he finally hit
the bottom. He started to wonder if stealing Jacks new sword really
was such a good idea.... He looked at it in his hand, he had worked
out how to deactivate it after a few near decapitations. Luck really
was on his side today!
Keats hit either the bottom of the shaft or a little ledge, either
way he had been stopped from falling further, he was well brused and
looked more like a badly packed plum to a badly presented human. He
whined, it seemed the right thing to do.
<3 minutes of slipping in and out of drunken conciousness later>
John had managed to get himself on his knees. There was an odd smell
about this place... smelled like a melange of Almonds, Vinegar and
Jacks training armour, or, in other words, overwhelming. He held his
breath and crawled through a near by side shaft, bloody hands and
bruised knees hauling him along. The smellwas getting stronger, but
after a while, it started to feel.. well, homely and comforting.
Keats found a grate after a while, the smell was bloody strong here,
but was keeping him awake., as well as making his entire body feel
tingly... He wiped his hands across his brow, and looked at them.
'Mein Gut!' He shouted, it echoed.
His hands that were bloodied from the fall were healing themselves.
He could actually SEE them healing themselves.
In the shock he fell forwards and landed in a room that stank of the
stuff. At one end was a large lump of machinery, a broken glass tube
about 8 ft high and 4 across. The floor was sticky, on closer
enspection (proding it with the sord and smelling the stuff that was
stuck on the blade) it was the source of the healing smell.
'Keats, is that you?'
He turned and replied, with gusto.
'Jack... that you?!?!'
<tag, me, i know what this is, dont freat>