The words in the ancient langauge reached him as easily as a knife sliding through butter. The Dreamer saw fit to speak with him as though they were on terms of equals. 

He replayed the words in his head, refusing to think of it in terms of that Dreamer langauge, but the langauge that was common among those in this 'verse. 

[b]You have the word of the Dreaming Queen you are safe in these halls. The Dreamers extend greetings and wellbeing to you. One day brother you will again see the light of Seidhr.[/b]

He depised the Seidhr, he had forsaken it for the Galdhr. That was why he was shunned as a Forgotten. Had this Dreamer been sent to these very halls as a watcher, of course, that was their foremost job - to watch, to record, to observe. 

Observe then, dear Dreamer, the return of the Forgotten - the return of the Grim Reaper. 

The Forgotten slowly phased out of the room, appearing as silently as the mythical reaper of the Human World, outside of the Lobby, atop one of the many hulls - this one, the Hospice. 

---

Trent's eyebrow raised speculatively, as the oddly dressed man near demanded answers. As Leader of the Rebellion, and Man of Earth, his demeanor changed naught, though he could sense the change in Jet. 

Jet, as smooth as the wind with his voice and his actions, looked across the table at Skallagrim, as Worren had named him, [color=6ecff6][b]"He is simply a part of the team, as all my brethern in the Rebellion are. Make no mistake, your similarly dressed kin is not a member of the Rebellion, but he is a member of our team."[/b][/color]

Trent leaned forward on his elbows, the slight distance between them filled with the clinking of the miniature rods around his neck, [color=a36209][b]"We'll pass along the message."[/b][/color] His voice was deeep, strong, befitting of a man his stature. [color=a36209][b]"What is one of your kind doing here? We understand that your kinsmen, as you named him, is not of our world, meaning neither are you. You seem to have some power, judging by the effect you're having on some of the people here,"[/b][/color] he motioned around the cafeteria, specifically at the people either staring with evil intentions, or giving the robed man a wide berth.

At the sound of a bang, Worren was among those who stood, fire blazing around his hands. 

---

Bang. 

So loud, so beautiful, still it did not move the face of the man behind the mask. He was used to sounds as loud as thus, being that he often incurred the wrath of sound at his own manipulations. Being a Combustion Maven had that particular effect. 

As it were, Nihl had yet to arrive, meaning the Maven would be going it alone in all things Lobby. Not to far from him, a peculair looking... thing, had fired a rather loud shot at the window, and it didn't return to bite him, or anyone else, comically in the ass. The Maven looked arounda t the variety of weapons and magic, noting that some even seemed to be rather unique in application. After all, you don't often see electrified ram horns on the head of small children. 

The Combustion Maven, Terra, turned his head slightly to the left and looked at the unique blade to his side. He had not yet revealed the name to those who had asked, but did reveal its properties. The blade was more like a wedge, as all blades were, but with the application of his abilities, could be extended out to reveal several preset paper bombs with quite powerful applications. 

He turned his attention back to the inquistive man, and smiled. He would be one to watch. The Maven spied Worren and sighed inwardly. 

Always the hot head.