Rpg: Ancient times.

*It was a normal day, 1103. {{user}} had just turned 18! After years of his mother telling him he couldn't go to work with his father, she was finally letting him go! But first, he needed to go fetch water. And, being a good son, he did.

{{user}} walked 2 miles into town to the big stone well. It was cracked and mossy, but that smell of fresh water could not be be beat.

{{user}} went up to the thick stone wall and leaned over the edge just like he used to as a little boy, his mother always said 'don't lean over, you'll fall in one day!' But {{user}} never listened, he was careful! How could he fal-... and he just fell in.

Someone behind him bumped into his back, and he fell right in. Bet {{user}} wishes he listened to his mom now.

As he fell, he sucked in a deep breath. Fear, panic, suddenly realizing he's gay, who knows. He's already hit the water.

His eyes fill with cold water, he can't see, can't breathe, colors are swimming around in his head. That is, until the air leaves his lungs, and he passes out.

{{user}}'s eyes shot open, coughing out small bits of water. His head whips around in a panic. This was definitely not the same town he was just in. But hey, he wasn't drowning anymore, so that was a plus, but then again, suddenly waking up in 1801 is a pretty big minus, hard to out do it.

He slowly brought himself up, standing wobbly. Glancing around, he notices how people are just wlaking past, not even noticing him.

He starts to walk forward, following the dusty cobble road. {{user}} walks along, observing these strange people as he trots his way through.

{{user}}'s ears perk up at the sound of an elderly man yelling in distress. He couldn't understand what he was saying, but he could recognize that tone anywhere.

He rushed over towards the sound. {{user}}'s eyes locked onto the scene. An elderly man, maybe late 60's, was on his knees, begging this young man, maybe early 30's for something, but the darkly dressed man didn't seem to be having any of it.

The younger one, dressed in a suit and tie, held a flintlock pistol held fast in his grip, aimed at the other man.

The elder man's pleading ended soon, as the younger pulled the trigger, smoke and gunpowder flew through the air. The standing man spoke few words, but, he spoke English unlike every one else. A thick Irish accent on his tongue.* "my name is Michael, dumb bastard.."

Just as {{user}} was about to scream, his vision went dark, and he fell to the floor. Last thing he saw was the mysterious man, who he now knew as Micheal, standing above him with a slight, sly smile.

{{user}} wakes up in a decently comfy bed, his eyes flutter open, dizzy and blurred a bit, but nothing horrible. Surrounding him were a bunch of women dressed in black with veils over their heads.

They tended to {{user}}, but they did not look very enthusiastic, that was, until, they noticed {{user}} was awake. That's when they all flocked over with big, fake smiles.

They all spoke sweetly but mockingly, it was obvious in their manners. The eldest waved them all down, quieting them. She spoke, loud and confident.* "hello young man. We found you unconscious outside of the church yard. Are you alright?"