Shaking his hand Charles decided that he liked Twain; friendly, chipper and on the ball (mostly) with what looked like a very large mandible in hand. What such a large thing the mandible had been connected to Charles was slightly afraid to ask, at least at the current time.

With the conversation shifting its direction towards him Charles thought it to be a very good point to introduce himself to all the others.

“Pleasure to meet you all.” He spoke after reclaiming his hand from Twain’s shake, and then proceeded to shake the other hands offered. “Name’s Charles. Charles Balderdash. As Twain, Sir? Commanding officer? Team leader? Shouty man?” He tested each name with a tilt of the head and a cheeky grin.

“Well, as he said I’m a new person on this whole situation. Just flying by when a dragon decided that we’d make a rather good snack but pretty much everyone got out alright. All limbs intact and what-not so no harm done.”

In reply to this statement one member of TIGER near to the back of the group gave a bitter laugh. The rest simply rolled their eyes or got on with checking the equipment they’d managed to bring.

“Well anyway, nothing much we can do about it now.” He said with a shrug. “Oh wait hold the phone, what about that other guy. eeerm whatshisname?” Charles proceeded to snap his fingers trying to recall the person's name. “Oh John! John, the guy who went off to fight the Dragon. Do you think he’s alright?” He asked Zesiro, but then a moment later moved on from the topic with another shrug.

“Oh, he’s probably fine. Anyway and you lovely people would be…?”

Charles directed the question at the others who he didn’t recognise as being in the team files he’d been given. He’d have to take photos and write down names of them pretty soon as well as try to get a good idea of how they got here in the first place. Perhaps they were related to the situation at hand?

@Konan375@Viridity@Arty Fox

Twain smiled wider and wider with each name Charles gave him. Twain liked his ego stroked. Twain decided he liked the new guy. He was straightforward, covered all the bases, locked down all the information quickly, efficiently, without a fuss, and without any drudgery what so ever!

"I'm Gemma." Gemma waved from her corner. "I used to be the new guy. I'm an Physicist." She smiled wistfully, then threw up. "Sorry... I'm very sensitive to the energy up here... I find it overwhelming... That is the other reason I am here. My talent. I can sense radiation and... Stuff..." She threw up again.

"Zesiro..." He frowned, Gemma had thrown up on his boots. "...Communications."

"I am Alexavier Xelanar, Reiva Xela, Royal Holy High Prince of Xela Reiva." One finely dressed gentleman, whom had been very quiet, asserted himself now. His chin held high.

"He's... Not one of us." Twain explained quickly. "We found him here. Like Vata over there... and Like you guys too, I guess." He considered Vata, Alexavier, and XIII. "And none of you remember how the hell you got here? Shit."

"Who's Johnathan?" Gemma asked. She was queasy, but still attentive.

"Johnathan? I dunno who that is." He admited.

"It's one of the guys we found." Zesiro explained.

"Huh. He Went after the dragon? How did that go?"

"I didn't stick around to watch." Zesiro said dryly.

@The Bearded One

It wasn't going well.

The dragon was struck again by the pain. She would have her revenge. She burned past the ice with her breath and tore into the mountain. She ripped apart the stone itself. Sending snow and rock tumbling down the cliff side.

Gravity would do the rest of the work.

Whatever the avalanche didn't bury she would burn with her breath. She would sit on the mountain and wait. Watching with her keen eyes for the little men who dared crawl out of the snow. She would be waiting. She would be waiting for the little man with the little weapon.

@JDH97

As the others followed Dmitri, who seemed to have taken charge after Will became oddly quiet, Herbert stood, still slightly awestruck by the beast. It was not until Bizbee began to nudge and screech in his ear that he stirred, and the others were almost out of sight.

“Let’s get after them then,” Herbert said, as much to Bizbee as himself. However, even after he began in the others’ trail, Bizbee still prodded his neck and cheek with its bony maw. The chirps were frantic, and the creature was restless, as much so as when they were in the altar room.

“What is it?” Herbert murmured, looking at the creature with one part irritation and two parts concern.

Bizbee ceased to chatter, sitting quietly on Herbert's shoulder for a few moments. The wind shifted, they could no longer hear the sounds of the rest of the group descending down the mysterious tunnel, when the breeze settled Bizbee moved.

Bizbee shot into the air and into the flurrying snow behind Herbert. It went as fast as its little bony wings would carry it. For a moment it seemed Bizbee was simply flying into the open air... until a spot in the snowy landscape seemed to shift

Icarus. The quietest member of MERCY. The quickest.

He snapped out his hand. His perfect reflexes knocked the little creature straight out of the air as it shot toward him. The movement saved him from being struck by the little bony creature, however, it compromised his camouflage.

Bizbee was knocked aside and into the icy cliff face. Where it struck it broke apart. Crumbling bones fell into the snow.

Icarus, knowing that he had been seen, allowed his skin to change… He was like a chameleon. A strange ripple in the landscape shifted and faded into the shape of a man. Bald. Covered from head to toe in intricate tattoos. His eyes were black and predatory, and set upon Herbert, his prey.

Herbert’s eyes darted between what used to be Bizbee, his hope of unraveling the mysteries of life and death, and the man, with shifting, inked skin. There was something about him that sent alarm bells off in Herbert’s mind, even in his shocked state, beyond how he seemed to appear out of nothingness. It was in the way he held himself, in his corded muscles, in his dark eyes. Something primal and raw. A shiver ran like bolt lighting down Herbert’s spine, cutting through the growing despair of Bizbee’s demise.

He worked his suddenly very dry mouth until he felt to form words.

“That was my skeleton.” Herbert said numbly. “I needed him.”

Icarus looked perplexed for a moment. He didn’t understand what Herbert was referring to at first. Perhaps he mistook Bizbee for a strange chunk of ice or hail that had fallen off the mountain. He didn’t let the confusion preoccupy him for long, he had a purpose. He advanced through the snow toward Herbert. Icarus didn’t ask questions. He did not converse to determine if Herbert was friend or foe. That was Twain’s job: To chatter. Icarus’s job was to catch things. He was a hunter.

The silence was not a good sign, and the way the man walked, like some animal stalking its prey, was even worse. Herbert reflexively raised his hands, even though he doubted he could fight the man off.

“Look, I don’t want any trouble.” The others were out of sight and he doubted they would hear him shout with all the snow muffling.

Icarus frowned, the jaguar painted on his shoulder licked it’s lips. Easy prey. When he was close to wrapped his well muscled arms around Herbert. It was a short quick movement that swept the man off his feet and into the snow. Icarus held one of Herbert's wrists, twisting it behind. The other hand forced two fingers into the back of the old man’s neck.

A snake inscribed around his arm loosened began to writhe. It coiled around his arm, as it slithered it emerged from the skin, sliding and spiraling down and the well muscled arm and onto Herbert’s neck. Its maw dripped, impossibly and somewhat cartoonishly long fangs stretched apart and threatened to sink into the soft flesh of Herbert’s neck...

“Dios Mio Icarus!”

The snake hesitated. The illustrated man hesitated. Herbert felt tiny droplets of liquid touch the skin of his neck.

There was a woman in the snow, her hair red and wild about her caramel colored face. She was covered in soot, her hair was singed away on one side as well as her cloths on that side of her body. The exposed was puckered, and charred, gooey and wet, bubbling and swelling, a mess of red and black and purple and orange from it’s time exposed to dragon fire. She was carrying an unconscious teammate over her back.

“Don’t look at me like that. I know I’m not your boss anymore, but I do know my place… and I know yours. It is shameful for you to take such pleasure from hunting one so much the weaker. Not that you care for honor… Though… Perhaps you would care to that there is a dragon in the air? You may need your strength for a far more worthy prize...”

Icarus let go of Herbert, and stood upright. The snake sunk back into his skin and ceased to move.

“Did you find anymore?” Rozalind asked in a quick commanding tone.

Icarus nodded.

“They are all secured?”

Icarus nodded.

“Is this one any threat?”

Icarus hesitated, then shook his head.

“Alright. Let’s get him and us to Twain. Then, perhaps he will let you loose upon that dragon.”

Icarus smiled. And helped Herbert to his feet.

It was most definitely not going well.

Outgunned, out maneuvered and out of options, John found himself suddenly running a race against an avalanche, with the castle serving as both center point and finish line.

The fastest non modified human on record could run a blistering 39 kilometers per hour, just around 24 miles per hour. Clocking in at around 29 kilometers per hour at his top speed, John isn't the fastest human on record, though he is somewhere in the top fifty percent. An average avalanche, on the other hand, can reach speeds well exceeding 100 kilometers per hour, with the upper limits somewhere around 300 kilometers per hour- roughly eight times as fast as the fastest human ever recorded.

Needless to say, it was not going to be a close race.

If John had not taken his meds then just about now he would be a terrified wreck at the prospect of being buried alive under hundreds of tonnes of snow and rock. For now the medication lifted him above the fear- made it seem less like a screaming lunatic raving directly in his ear and more like hearing the echoes of said lunatic from across town- that is to say, he knew it was there, but it was somebody else's problem. With time against him, John continued to run, all the while looking for a sturdy bit of building to hide inside of, a heavy rock to cling to, or, failing that, a crevice to crouch in.

The avalanche was coming, and he would rather not be swept off the mountain.

The speed with which the inked man moved knocked the air out of Herbert. When he hit the floor the breath he was struggling to get back was knocked out once more. He began spluttering and shivering simultaneously, and panic wracked his muscles, turning them against one another. He choked as the ice and snow pushed into his face.

A voice.

Two droplets of something that wasn’t snow snaked down the side of his neck, with a sensation somewhere between the spilling ethanol and crude oil on your skin. Herbert’s stomach turned and he ground his teeth to avoid retching. It felt wrong.

Words were exchanged. Well, rather, the voice, which belonged to a woman, gave words; the man remained silent.

The world shifted as Herbert was hauled to his feet. He was going to demand an explanation, as the woman sounded like she knew how things would transpire. A leader. Someone, perhaps the only person, who he could at least hope to have answers.

However, that all changed when he saw her. She was all blood, pustules, raw flesh and eschar. Perhaps once she was pretty, but that of her hair not singed was either stuck to her oozing skin or slicked back with blood. Another form was slung over her shoulders. Whilst somewhat heroic looking, Herbert didn’t even need his medical training to know putting extra stress on with injuries as impressive as those was not a good idea.

“Excuse me ma’am,” Herbert said, walking slowly towards her, and further from Icarus, “But you don’t seem in any state to be carrying that person; those could be third,” his eyes lingered on the charred blackness, “or even fourth degree burns.” That she was not only standing, but carrying another, was quite impressive.

Herbert did not make the link between the dragon and the burns, nor did he acknowledge the brief conversation that the two had had about it. The mind was awfully good at being selective when it wanted to be.

@jdh97

"I think they are." She grimaced. "I will get medical attention when it is available. That should be soon. Twain is a doctor." She frowned a bit, even now she hated to admit that that man was useful in some way. Of course, the girl she carried and the rest of her team would be cared for first. She hoped most the team was there already. Her communication device was fried so she had no way of knowing how many had made it.

She might have questioned Herbert, who was he? Where was he from? How was he involved in this? Yet, that wasn't her job anymore. She wasn't a member of MERCY, the questions were theirs to ask. She was a TIGER, leader of a support team. So far they weren't doing a good job of that... They hadn't known about the dragon. She furrowed her brow wondering why Twain would neglect such vital information. She'd argue with him over it later, after they survived. Herbert was no threat, so she let him be as she turned toward the castle.

"Until then I'll be fi--" A knee buckled. She bit her tongue to contain a cry as injury and gravity forced her to kneel in the snow.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He said after nodding at each person in turn who introduced themselves.

But hearing that apparently no-one had any idea of how they got here did cause Charles some disappointment. His smile momentarily twisted into a look of mild annoyance. He had to agree with the word Twain had used to sum up that aspect of the situation. Charles had never been a fan of not knowing things, or even being unable to find out about things, and after a few years in such a field as his this dislike had formed into a mild hatred.

“Well never mind that.” He slapped a smile back on and his case onto a nearby slab of rock. “Certain we’ll figure out that little detail together eventually. Probably a few clues hidden away here or there.” He bobbed his head ‘here’ and ‘there’ for a moment trying to get a better look at the decrepit walls around them.

“If I might ask is there anything else in particular around here that might be of interest to our investigations? I couldn’t help but notice that as we walked in you were in the middle of gathering various...” Charles too a deep breath as he tried to think of the best word to use: he had never been the best one around body parts that weren’t attached to where they belonged. “Bits and bobs.”

Another quite twirl all around and Charles then spotted something over in the far corner of the hall.

“Ah. That um. Hm, yes that, that might be something of interest.” Was all Charles had to say concerning the corpse laying upon what he assumed to be some sort of altar, although it had obviously seen better days.

With nothing more to say on the matter Charles dashed back to his case resting politely where he had left it. Standing in front of it Charles flicked his wrist for a small set of keys to appear in his fist. The latches undid with satisfying snaps allowing Charles to rummage through the contents of the case.

“If someone could place these labels about the body that would be fantastic.” He said holding out a set of cards with letters on them. He then paused and with a frown cocked his head to the side slightly. “hold the phone….Can anyone else hear that rumbling sound?”

"A pleasure to meet you as well...Charles, right? I've never been much good with names, honestly."

Vata put down the heavy bag of evidence that he had been holding onto for a while now. Needless to say, he was not the sort of person meant for heavy lifting. Fortunately, it didn't seem like Twain was going to be putting anything else into it for the time being, so it most likely wouldn't get any heavier. While he was stretching his now-sore arms, he could hear a faint rumbling noise that was gradually growing louder with each passing moment. Then, something occurred to him.

"I can hear that rumbling sound as well, and it seems to be getting louder. I heard something about a dragon and a "plane" earlier. Do you think there's a chance this noise has anything to do with either of those things?"

XIII listened to the introductions. They were definitely a part of some kind of group. Either they were military or something else. He introduced himself. "XIII," he said curtly. He was starting to get cold again. He watched as Charles looked around the room before looking back at Twain. "Where are we, anywa-" He stopped abruptly as Charles hurried back to his case and flicked his wrist and made a set of keys appear in his hand. XIII was immediately on guard. He edged closer to one of the fires closest to the group. He stopped when Charles mentioned something rumbling. He could feel the ground slightly shaking, and it was getting stronger. Small rocks and dust started to fall from what was left of the ceiling.

XIII's face paled. If it was what he thought it was, it was not good at all. "It sounds like an avalanche." XIII left the group in a run and made his way towards the entrance he came from. Sure enough, an ocean of snow was coming down the mountain. Running ahead of it an losing distance was a man. Most likely the one that spotted him when he woke up. XIII looked around, spotting a small fire the burned despite the fact that there was nothing to burn. He had a plan, and hopefully, it would work. He soaked in the warmth and then stretched his hand towards the fire, willing it towards him.

The fire jumped to his hand and quickly engulfed him. He wasn't sure how long this would last, but hopefully he would be able to help. He left the castle and took a few steps outside. The fire was warming him, so it was going good. He held his hands out and focused. A small wall of flame shot up behind and to the left and right of the man. XIII's fingertips started to feel warmer. The wall followed the man turning the snow touching the flame into steam. The warmness now covered XIII's hands. Then his hands started burning, and the warmness moved up his arms. All at once, the flames went out and XIII dropped to his knees. His hands were red and blistered. That had exhausted him. He drew ragged breaths that hurt from the cold and he started to violently shiver. Hopefully he had bought that man enough time to escape the avalanche, or at least find some cover.

XIII tried to move, but he couldn't. He chuckled. By helping that man, he put himself in the way of the avalanche without any means to get out of the way. That was completely stupid. What's done is done. All he could do now was wait.

@The Bearded One@Viridity@Arty Fox

Twain smiled. "Yes. Me 'bits and bots'." Twain answered Charles. "I'm collecting evidence. If we can get these back to base we might be able to identify who or what we are dealing with." He extended an extremity that looked arachnid. It dripped green goo rather than red blood, and looked crusty and brittle rather than soft and flsehy.

Gemma stepped forward next, responding to her new team mate. "I'll help you with these." She smiled and took the cards. The presence of a this new ally seemed to put her at ease.

Twain walked away from Vata and the bag of body bits and began to pace around the alter in a wide clockwise circle with a slow swagger. "As for anything else? I'm glad you asked!" Twain puffed his chest, he liked it when his brilliance was acknowledged.

"First. We had a mysterious radiation blast, as detected by Mizzzzzz Gemma. There doesn't seem to be any nuclear reactors up here, so, what could have caused such a disturbance in the force? It was not mechanical, the ritual circle suggests that it is magical or supernatural in origin."

"We've got bodies. Some are human, some are not. The non human stuff... Well... That is really rare in this day and age. Most of what's out there is pretty well documented by TRIDENT, or at least we thought so. It's weird that there is so much... weirdness all in one place."

"Then we've got this alter and these symbols." He brushed his foot on the white chalk paint. "Most of it is messed up and really tough to read. White chalk is popular with necromancers, but, not all of these symbols are necromantic. It's hard to say." He squinted at the ground. "It's also really unusual to mix necromancy with other types of magic. They just don't jibe well."

"What's really striking me is that, despite the presence of necromantic symbols and despite the vast number of freshly dead bodies, I'm really quite surprised that... that..."

"There are no ghosts."

He frowned, genuinely frowned, a rare expression for the jolly leader of MERCY. This fact disturbed him more than any other fact discovered.

He had other things in mind, other clues that he could discuss with his team later... Not in front of the strangers. The strangers with amnesia. The strangers from strange places. The strangers... or the liars. He made eye contact with Charles. The eye contact was hopefully long enough to deliver this message, but not long enough for the others to notice that anything was amiss.

"And as for the rumbling...." Twain finally addressed the noise he now heard. "I... Have no idea..." He glanced between Charles and Vata. They both said the word dragon, but Twain had not taken the word seriously until this very moment.

XII dashed outside as the noise became louder. The sound of falling snow. Rolling snow. The castle rock began to shake. Avalanche.

"Ah crap. Where are you going?!" He yelled at XII "Everyone get over here!"

Alexavier stepped forward. "I shall fetch him!" Princely, heroically, answering the call of duty.

Alexavier was not foolish. He left his main body and identity with Twain and the others. He sent his two clones, Xavier and Alex, into danger. They separated. Two other copies seemed to step right out of him.

Three of a kind.

Xavier and Alex dashed out.

Xavier reached XIII. "Impressive." Xavier muttered as he reached the prone magician. "But you have made the fatal mistake of leaving yourself powerless." Xavier stood for a moment considering the man. In his country such a mistake would not be forgiven and the man would be permitted only to languish in consequences of his own mistakes. Xavier in particular was the colder and more callous side of Alexavier. Yet Xavier recognized that he was not at home and the rules were different. In other countries lessons were presumably learned through mercy and trial.

He did not know the ways of this country, nor the man before him. The man before him might be a powerful ally or enemy. Perhaps he was the man behind all this madness. The man had power, indeed, and might have something more important...

Answers.

He didn't save XIII out of compassion. He saved XIII to preserve whatever information the man had in his mind, that might help Xavier find his way home.

He picked up XIII, for Xavier had the strength of many men, and began to carry him back toward the castle.

Alex, reached John shortly thereafter. Alex was much faster than Xavier, and was not nearly so grumpy as Xavier. He had a more difficult time interacting with John. The shield of fire would indeed effectively block out the avalanche, but also Alex.

"Greetings!" Alex called, hoping that the man might hear him past the barrier of flame. "I should like to inform you that, should you survive this, everyone else is in the castle. We might be trapped there for some time, considering the circumstances. If you can get there you most certainly should!"

Then the snow hit him. It hit him with the force of a wrecking ball. He hurt. He would have died if he were a real person. But he was not. He was only a copy. He was buried by snow then vanished.

“I sincerely doubt that,” Herbert said, hurrying forward, kicking up swirls of powdery snow and ice. The oath he swore, and had long since broken, drove him forward in autonomous motion. Icarus was forgotten.

Stood next to the woman, he offered a hand, looking down at her sullied face.

“This Twain of yours might be able to help with the right supplies, but first you need to get to him. Will you accept my help, given freely, without obligation, let, or lien?”

Icy winds nipped at him, clothes already soaking through. Ice had refrozen around his trouser legs, making them stiff and brittle. His muscles ached, and fire burnt in his lungs. He was not sure how much help he could be, but the woman was mad with the trauma; no breath clouded from the body she carried.

He tilted his head to the side, “Perhaps that way we’ll get to him before your kidneys give out.”

Vata stood where he was, stretching his sore arms while Twain was speaking. He didn't bother asking about some of the unfamiliar terms that he was using, since, like most of the other strange things that he had heard about here, it probably wouldn't make much more sense even if it was explained to him. However, one thing Twain said was something he understood. He said that despite all of the gruesome deaths that occurred here, there were no ghosts. When Twain said that, he felt vaguely uneasy. Ghosts were mostly just things out of stories meant to scare children in the world that Vata was from. However, from what the Spirit of Inspiration "told" him, very occasionally the spirits would choose not to return a person's soul to the spirit plane, and the unfortunate individual would be doomed to wander the world forever as a disembodied wraith. As disturbing as this was, it seemed terribly unlikely that there would ever be a large number of them in an area.

Before Vata could say anything about this, the strange rumbling noise gradually grew louder until it became a deafening roar. The noise that they had been hearing was an avalanche, and it was entirely possible it was heading directly towards them. The castle began to shake from the sheer intensity of the noise, and while it seemed like a few people out of the group were shouting commands at each other, he could not hear them. He saw Alexavier split in two again, and both ran out of the castle. The half he remembered as Xavier returned a moment later carrying XIII with little effort, but the other half of him did not return.

The dread Vata felt when he first woke up in this frozen wasteland started to creep back into him. Things had been looking hopeful, but now something other than the cold posed a threat to not just his life, but to the lives of everyone he had just met in this unfamiliar world.

@jdh97
Rozalind looked up at Herbert. The way he spoke, the context, the cold clinical tone. He must have been some sort of doctor also. He seemed to mean well but her instincts were screaming in her ear that that something was wrong with this man. Perhaps it was simply the huge amount of adrenaline and cortisol coursing through her body to keep her upright and awake.

There was something wrong with his accent, it was British, but not quite like what she had ever heard before, the way he spoke, his posture, in her head each observation scanned back the same conclusion: Wrong, wrong, wrong wrong...

She had, however, no choice. Stress hormones would only keep her afloat for so long. She could think later...

All this coursed through her mind in an instant.

"Icarus." She commanded. "Carry her." The tattooed man easily lifted the body from Rozaldin's shoulders. She gave her hand to the man. "Very well. Let's move. We need to get to Twain before the falling snow gets to us."

Under her feat she could hear the mountain rumble, in the air she heard the dragon roar, and of course the tumbling snow.

As John raced towards the ruined castle his lungs and throat burned in the frigid air, his legs burned with acidic buildup, and, oddly enough, a man standing at the entrance to said castle burned with actual flames.

Now, while the Legion's modular training can generally prepare a soldier for when the midden strikes the rapidly rotating device, there are some situations so sudden and unexpected that you cannot possibly examine your modules fast enough.

It can be argued that running across a frozen mountain range in summer gear, with an avalanche bearing down, a dragon overhead, a man undergoing spontaneous combustion ahead, a sudden and inexplicable fire sprouting up behind, and a man throwing himself into said fire before telling you to continue on into the castle you had been headed towards anyway is not conducive to rational thought. It could probably be argued that such a thing would cause a man to choose to face the avalanche instead of whatever thing inside the castle had incited such madness as to make men burn themselves alive without a trace of fear.

After a brief pause to consider rescuing the madman who had leapt into the flame, John shrugged his confusion to the world, and continued to dash towards the castle. He stopped only once more, to stick his tongue out at the dragon and shoot it once more, this time in the wing, and was gratified to see the appendage twitch uncontrollably for a fraction of a second. He then began to quietly follow the burned man and the one who carried him into the structure.

XIII chuckled as the man, Alexavier, from his voice, told him he had made a fatal mistake. "If it helps someone, is wouldn't really be a mistake, would it?" he managed to ask between his chattering teeth. His shivering was getting to the point where he was shaking. He was so cold. When they re-entered the room, XIII could see Alexavier. He frowned and looked at the man carrying him. He looked exactly like the man standing in the room. He let the thought slide as need of getting warm took its place.

"D-d-drop me o-o-off by one of the f-f-fires. I need t-t-to warm u-u-up." He paused for a second before continuing. "N-n-not in it if you if saw me before. I-I-I can't d-d-do that if I'm c-c-cold." As he was put down by the fire, he saw the man who was running down the mountain enter the room. "I'm glad to see you made it." Now that he was by a fire, he could feel the warmth coming back, and with it, pain. XIII looked down at his hands and winced. He was glad that he stopped when he did. Otherwise it might have been a burn much worse than it was.

He looked around the room and frowned. There were two more people in the room than there was when he left, but he had heard another pair of footsteps outside the castle. "Didn't two people follow me out? How are there more people here then when I left?"

Twain stepped out glaring at the snow with a crooked grin.

The place only had half a ceiling, and the structure was quite fragile. It was amazing that the thing was still standing.

Sure it was all well and good that most if not all in the party got to the chamber-of-the-sacrifice, but, would the castle walls hold up against the thick wall of snow? Doubtful.

The leader of MERCY could not hope for the walls to hold up. He was doctor and necromancer...

... And there were an awful lot of dead bodies around.

He stepped away from the group and raised his arms, closing his eyes.

The avalanche was already shaking the foundations of the castle, but now, the ground around them was suddenly shaking and vibrating even more...

... Or at least, the bones were.

The bones flew up from the ground. Most the bones still had flesh dangling off them, some were somewhat whole skeletons, others were just parts, they flew up into the air. They flew from the fires, from under the stones, from the evidence bags, every dead bone obeyed the will of twain.

He moved all, save for the one that had been on the alter.

The rest rose above their heads. Bones cracked and flesh tore and the things made a dome shape. A shield of meat and bones. It stunk. It sent stale blood and dirt and rock dripping on the heads of those protected under its dome.

A drop of blood hit Twain on his furrowed brow, dripping down the side of his face. The necromancer did not notice, remaining in deep concentration.

The snow hit the castle, which shuddered and broke under its momentum.

The bone-dome cracked and creaked... for a sickening moment it bent inward as if it were about to break. Yet, it held.

The snow continued past the castle, knocking down its remaining towers, and fell down over the cliff.

The wave of energy gone the mountain side became quiet. The dragon roared in triumph. She saw the castle buried. She thought that they were all finally dead. She took on last look at the kill zone, before flying away.

They were not dead, under the bone-and-snow bubble were the survivors. The dragon-fire still lit the chamber. Twain lowered his hands.

"Take that mother nature!"

John followed the two to the chamber of the altar, and viewed a strange assortment of individuals arrayed about the room. A feathered damsel, an armored dame, a pair of twins, a soldier from a type 4 civ (probably another local), a fifty something whose features imply kindred to Zesiro, an older gentleman whose rougher clothes signify a type 3 civilization of origin, a soldier from what looks like a very early type 4, a cloaked man with the telltale signs of a heavy drinker, a man out of a fantasy novel, the man who had set himself on fire... and John's earlier acquaintances Zesiro, Gemma and Tyrael.

John began to open his mouth to remark on the ragtag group, when his sweeping gaze began to take in the building itself. As dilapidated as it had seemed on the outside, the damn thing was revealed to be a whole lot worse on the inside. John looked around at the castle, calculating its mass. John had never really paid attention in magical theory courses, had slept through most of it in fact, and now he was wishing that he had.

A mage could burn up their own body in order to extend their limits. That was the theory, but of course, it wasn't recommended or actually taught, and the calculations where only shown to show people how bad of an idea it is. According to John's quick calculations, he might be able to fix the castle... if he didn't mind burning up so clean he was turned to vapor in the process. That is, if his calculations where correct, which they might be if the stone was as dense as he thought, and the walls as thick as he thought and the castle as many stories as he thought and the calculations were done in the way that he thought. For all he knew, he could burn up and just collapse the roof on everyone.

So when Zesiro's brother took action instead, John was quite relieved. He was rather less relieved to know that the only thing standing between the avalanche and everyone else was a dome of corpses made by a single man, which, in his experience, should be completely impossible.

When the shaking stopped, John spoke "...Alright then. Who's in charge here? There's an irritable lizard outside that I've got some tasty information on; you can thank her for our sudden superfluity of snow by the way. Share some winter gear and I'll share what I know?" he finished off with a roguish grin, holstering his weapon swiftly.

“Good girl,” he said, his smile not reaching his eyes.

That Icarus would be accompanying them; Herbert was not best pleased about. There was something more than disconcerting about the silent, inked man. The way the woman spoke to him about the dragon; he was a dog on a leash, a simple being of singular pleasure and linear thought. Herbert just hoped they had him on a particularly tight chain, having witnessed the man’s proficiency first-hand.

Snow and rock rumbled, and far above head the magnificent red beast reminded the mountain of its presence.

It struck Herbert then that he did not know where Twain was, but also how dire a condition the lady was in; he could feel the fleeting strength in her movements now. He had lost sight of the others, but presumed they would have made it back to the tunnel relatively safely. He wasn’t so sure if they would be out looking for him yet, or even if they would notice his absence. Regardless, the woman had to be gotten to the castle, where it was warm, and there she could be treated. He remembered putting the acetaminophen in his pocket, and he’d do what he could for the wounds themselves.

He drew the bottle from his pocket and emptied three pills onto his palm. “Take these,” he said, handing them to the woman, “it should help with the pain. “

Afterwards, as they made their way back to the sheer cliff-face, black and laced with veins of ice, the rumbling grew louder. Icarus followed as a silent sentry. Rainbow crystals were kicked up in their wake.

Finding the entrance to the tunnels was easy enough. The climb was long, and punctuated only by rumbling and the laborious breathing of the woman. At one point the ground shook so greatly and her feet gave way, but Herbert helped her back up.

When they reached the antechamber below the altar room, Herbert heard voices, and wondered why the others would go back into that foul place. The fire was now down to dying embers, so Herbert propped the lady up against a wall nearby, and added an extra log to ward off the strength-sapping cold.

Herbert offered a coat to the woman. “It’s important to stay warm, but try not to abrade the wound.”

After she had shrugged it over a shoulder, he spent a few moments looking at the wound. His brow furrowed and he shook his head.

“Where is this Twain of yours then?”

Vata closed his eyes and covered his ears to try to block out the sight and noise of what was probably going to be the group's doom. The deafening roar of the avalanche seemed to only grow louder, until he could feel even the ground beneath him shaking. However, even though he felt some small rocks and other things hit him, it most certainly did not feel like an avalanche just hit him. Eventually the noise of the avalanche receded, and he opened his eyes.

What he opened his eyes to was one of the most horrific things he had seen in his life, but judging from the snow that covered the outside of it, it had just saved their lives. Completely stunned by the sudden turn of events, Vata gaped openly at the shield of flesh and bone that surrounded them. A long moment later, the shock started to wear off, and he regained his senses enough to exclaim,

"Spirits preserve, we're alive. H-how did this happen?"

@jdh97

It was Icarus who answered the question. Not with his voice, but with a hand. He pointed toward a stone arch that seemed to have some stairs behind it. Then, without looking back to see or care how Rozalind or Herbert felt, he began a quick march out of the room, through the archway, and up the dark steps.

Rozalind, meanwhile, wanted to argue with the man carrying her along. She liked to argue... No... She didn't like to... It was her nature... Yet, now, she didn't have the strength for it. She clenched her jaw instead. That was all.

@Viridity@The Bearded One@Konan375

"That would be meeeee." Twain twirled around and stuck his hands in his pockets. "The one in charge, that is." He was addressing John now. "I think that is a fair trade. We are in this together, after-all. Stuck under the snow... Caused by a dragon? An Ice dragon?" Twain hadn't seen the beast, but he didn't discount its existence, his eyes glittered with curiosity.

Vata, whom Twain had spent at least a little more time with, was looking flustered. Twain walked to him, leaning a comforting hand upon the younger mans shoulder... Vata would notice that hand was incredibly cold.

"That was just some good 'ol fashioned necromancy. Nothing to be concerned about... Other than the fact that I've disturbed most all the evidence... At the time our lives seemed a little bit more important. Don't you think?" He smiled and put his hand back in his pocket. "Necromancy is the magical art of... of... the dead. I didn't have much time and all I had was bones, so, I made a bone shield." He shrugged, as if it were nothing, and began to pace the now-mostly-cleared out floor.

"I think we can do better than just exchange information." He addressed John and the other non-TRIDENT members assembled. "I think we can really help one another survive." He clicked his fingers. "If I've got it all right, none of you have any memory of your coming here, nor any idea where you are... And most importantly... How to get the hell out. If we work together, as friends, we can find a way out of here. Then my people, the organization I work for, can help you... We have a lot of connections and resources..."

"Plus, seeing as I just recycled all the evidence." He pointed to the bone-dome-ceiling "You..." He gazed about meeting the eyes of each stranger in turn. "... You, remembering or not, are pretty much the only hope any of us have of figuring out what has happened here... And what it all means..."