So I scraped my sorry carcass off the floor and assured the girl that I wasn't about to start blazing away at everything with two legs and a pulse, then I took stock of my surroundings. It was an old house but seemed to be in good shape, there was a map of some sort on the wall, and I could see the light of a fire in the next room. I already decided that the people here weren't sent by Author to get rid of me, so I figured that I might as well get something to eat and warm myself up.
By this time the girl had scurried off somewhere so I just walked over to the sitting room door, just in time to see a fellow scream and land smack on his face! I didn't like the looks of some of the things in the room (one had a horn, and there was a woman armed to the teeth), but if they were going to rip me to bits they would have already. I marched over to the man on the floor and helped him up.
"Are you alright?" I asked him as he sat back in his chair.
"Thank you. So, who are you then?" He asked, eying my carbine without a trace of worry.
"Call me Misha if you like, I work for Author. I trust you all know him too?" Blank looks greeted me from all sides.
"You mean your author" someone behind me said in a patronizing tone. I've been here less than five minutes and they think I'm a yokel.
"So there's more than one Author now is there? As if putting up with that little trigger-happy pychopath wasn't bad enough!" I sank back into an unoccupied chair, "Maybe someone could help me out, I think I'm lost."