For the crew arriving from Milliways:

[gone_byebye]

The door from Milliways opens onto what would ordinarily be a picture-perfect day in early October over Central Park West. The air ought to be crisp and clear this high up. Certainly the view of Central Park, its leaves beginning to turn all kinds of colors, would support that...

... only anyone who actually pokes a head or hand or limb out the door will feel that it's not. It's warm- unseasonably so- and the air is tight somehow, shivering against the skin. There's an unpleasant, greasy feel to it, a sense of something about to precipitate out of nowhere at all. And far, far overhead, the sky roils and writhes in livid bruise-purple colors, torn open in a ferocious act of metaphysical savagery.

Looking up for too long is probably not a good idea.

Comments

[wellthrownstone.livejournal.com]

Garion is a simple boy. Thus, he doesn't do anything all that odd with the internal organs of the man. His job was to stop the words, to stop the magic so that Ray could take care of things.

The easiest way to do that, however, is to knock someone out. So, hawling back good and hard, he knocks the man across the jaw with everything he has.

In the future, Garion would knock a Grolim out with enough force to nearly kill him. He's younger, less experienced, and slightly less pissed off than he will be then, thus it's not as effective.

But it's still a damn good hit.

[gone_byebye]

Shandor, unlike Namtar, is not a child of ancient Mesopotamia. He knows exactly what the raging young man is about to do.

Doesn't stop him from flying backwards with the sheer force of the blow and bouncing off some of the masonry, but he sees it coming.