Who: Wander and whoever's walking by
Where: The Plaza
Style: Prose to start, will match
In the plaza, it seems that there's yet another newcomer.
...One that looks like he might not have lasted in the process of arriving.
He's lying face down on the cobblestone, soaking wet, dark shadowy veins standing out against his deathly pale skin. His clothing is covered with unidentifiable stains, and he smells like dust kicked up by a rainstorm. It's the very definition of One Dead Human. Except for the small black horns sticking out from underneath his hair.
Finally he stirs, his voice tinged by a dull echo as he groans in the effort of trying to pull himself to his feet. He gets to his knees before he starts coughing, spitting out seawater that's followed by a thick black smoke that settles like dust on the ground.
...Yeah, he's definitely not looking so good. He may need a hand or two.