Welcome to Gaia! ::

"Gelmax... that sounds familiar. Meh, whatever. I'm Malazar, nice to meet you."

He takes another gulp from the bottle.

"So, this is not your first time here? You seem pretty calm."

Malazar laughs and sets down his bottle, leaning back for the show.

"Then you haven't figured it out yet. I suggest you try teleporting out of here, right quick now. Or anything really, you'll find the experience... enlightening."

"Oh, I don't know about that Gelmax."

Malazar reaches into his jacket and removes a thick leather bound book. The cover is worn and faded, much like everything else besides his actual face. It has no title, and Malazar doesn't even look at it as he flips through the pages. He stops and scans a passage.

"It says here that you're rather inept. Of course the GPD hasn't updated your status recently but... this isn't the GPD. I wonder, are you just as useless as Tacitus and his son Torment without your magic?"

"I wasn't asking this Edymion character, I was asking you. I wonder how much they'd pay if I were to kill you here while you still have no idea how things work? As for this... not a diary but still very nice. I'm surprised you haven't seen one like it before. You have quite the file in it... You even lived through an attack by the Mad Bomber. Not many can say that apparently."

He flips through the book, cross-referencing other survivors.

"But even so, all of this was done majorly with the assistance of your magic. Looks like you're utterly useless in other regards."

"Ah, but this book is written in places where Magic still works. Here it does not."

He claps the book shut and leans back in his chair, closing his eyes.

"I am sure you will enjoy being in the Brink Gelmax, but it really isn't worth it to attack a helpless opponent."

Malazar seems to be asleep.

Tac fades in midroll, weapons both drawn, though crossed in front of him and aimed towards his feet. He pulls up into a strafing run, weapons aimed off to one side as he runs, straight into a chair I might add. Now that he's come to a complete stop in a crumpled heap, with a bit of help, his trenchcoat seems to be caked with dust and his boots are covered in what seems to be s**t, horse s**t likely, though it is dried and no longer has much of a smell. In the heap he blinks a few times before righting himself, kicking his shoes off in one direction or another, away from the center of the room, "An interesting time to fade in I'd say..."