Malum of a Plane

What was this place?This sound?This feeling?1

This place, it was what appeared to be a Renaissance Gothic cathedral, with a rather amalgam of pipes and wood, with a small table with odd ivory looking keys at the base, every other key or so one that looked of onyx...it was of course a rather large pipe organ, but he didn't know this. After all, he was just a poor peasant in the wrong place and the wrong time. Of course, he didn't know this.2

The sound...it was Johann Sebastian Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D minor, the pipes perfectly played without a single error, without a single fault, without a single hesitation...of course, he didn't know this. 3

And this feeling the young man had?To him, to him it felt like nausea mixed with the manic depressive breakdown of being ripped out of his proper place. A textbook reaction to what had happened. Of course, he did not know this.4

Alas, the boy hurled on a perfectly good pew. The bile-saturated mixture was filled with half digested pieces of deer, rat, bird, and everything else that a typical young man from his area of space-time ate to survive. Strapped to his side was a rather large scimitar-looking weapon. Strapped to the left side of his back, handle popping over the shoulder, was a rather large khukri, the metal blackened with use and the places it'd been and things it'd been into and out of whilst doing its job. On his left arm was a combination of a leather gauntlet and a medium-sized bracer, the bracer surrounded by 3 inch spikes. Some people had a similar device, but they called it a lantern shield...lord knows why one'd want a lantern in a fight, but it worked. Then, his feet...they were bare, the soles of them hard worn and callused, pieces of bone, glass, and metal clearly embedded into the flesh. Yet...the feet were surprisingly nimble, as if the callused soles were thickened and hardened enough that there was a barrier to these foreign intruders.... The young man was wearing beaten cloth pants, thick and rather large, with leather belts at the edges of limbs to resize them so as to not be a hindrance. His shirt, if you could call it that, was a sleeveless cloth material, ending right at a lip provided by the thick, hard leather cuirass he was wearing. It had been hard worn, with several deep gouges from what at glance appeared to be swords, daggers, claws, teeth, and a variety of other objects. Its color was a pale brown, faded more in other places than some. Hidden under and in this armor of his were several bulges. What might they be?Well, why the hell you asking me, I can't see 'em either!5

The boy looked around, hand clutched to his stomach...he had no idea where he was, what the language was, the currency, nothing...looking around, he sees a variety of odd old men in black robes coming towards him, some looking concerned, others looking to punish.6

The bewildered man drew the khukri, deftly tossing it from hand to hand, spinning it, sometimes spinning and throwing at once...not a single flaw. The robed minions slowed up, not believing this was happening...the bewildered men all looked to each other, the young man included. Then slowly...ever so slowly...he inches to the door...ever so slowly...to the large, wooden, stories-tall doors. Following him are the blackened minions, one or two grabbing things in their path...some grab candle sticks, some large books, one or two grab statues...finally at the door, the man runs into it, opening it...