Dimitri followed Twain and the others to the infirmary. After all, Herbert was one of the only people he had been with on that mountain that was still around. He watched quietly as XIII began directing heat towards the unconscious man but for the moment, the monk was in doubt that it would ever reach the elder man. Dimitri had been round plenty of death in his days, and it always felt the same, cold, empty were Herbet not so far gone Dimitri may have been able to pull him back from the edge but as it seemed right now, the man had already fallen over the edge and most times it was a furious journey for any party involved to bring someone back once they had tipped over that edge, but it could be done as long as the one who was in death still maintained a will to survive.

He watched as Twain went to work on Herbert also. The energy pulsating from Twain was not a welcoming sensation though, that feeling, it felt dangerous, but he allowed him to proceed. Perhaps this realm called earth's take on death was different than the realm of Temperance "Mr Twain, if his will to live has vanished, you might not be bringing back the same Herbert, are you sure this is wise? Perhaps we should just drink to his memory and leave him be?" Were the only words the monk spoke as he looked on.



She chuckled at Winston's sudden change in skin color as he turned beet red, mimicking his hues and pulsating them through her mass. "Whats wrong Winston? I never knew you could change color so brilliantly! Are you sure you are not an elemental sprite like me?"

A few broken sentences at first and some stammering but eventually Winston managed to compose himself to some extent.
"No I am not an Elemental sprite, it's just that...well um..." his words trailed off
She drew closer to him. almost up to his face and gazed thoughtfully into his eyes
"Well um what?" she prodded expecting more to his words

Poor Winston was at a loss for words. He never expected to be explaining male and female anatomy to a strange ball of energy when he had punched in for work today, but such was the life there at trident.

Should he treat her as a child? Or take a more direct approach. Dayna had demonstrated a high level intelligence thus far so perhaps the more direct approach would be the way to go in this instance.

His eyes darted towards Rozalind, silently pleading for some back up, but she seemed more than happy to leave him to the wolves on this matter. 'That's Just like her. Shes loving every moment of this. So cruel' he thought to himself as Dayna slowly started to circle him.

He adjusted his spectacles and stepped back a touch while clearing his throat.
"Well lets see" he began cautiously "Here on earth, males look different then females." a nervous eye twitch followed by a sigh. Maybe an adult magazine or two would be better suited to show the examples, that way he could just leave them with her and not have to explain anything. But he would never live that down. Porn jokes for years, people at work would stick embarrassing photographs up all over his locker and scatter them all around his desk.

"Females have certain parts that males do not have." he proceeded, swallowing a lump in his throat.
"There are many different female shapes out there and the same goes for males, but the overall form of a human is the same. when a female turns sideways, the lumps that protrude from her are far more noticeable then a male's.
Dayna absorbed his words like a sponge.
"Are the lumps on a female more noticeable to you because you are a male Winston? Do you like larger lumps or little lumps" she asked excitedly, hovering over to the young girl once more.

Winston was no more good after that.
He tapped the phone holster on his waist suddenly as if his phone was vibrating, then snatched it into his hand "Sorry Dayna, I have to go for now." He informed as he pressed the phone into his cheek and began speaking as though there was someone important on the other end. A few moments later he was practically running from the conference room.
"Wait Winston, I have more questions, don't leave yet!"
She went to follow him but suddenly stopped as she felt the presence of fire. it was a faint connection and much like the water, it felt unfamiliar but it was definitely the energy of fire. She quickly left the conference room and headed towards the infirmary.

Ariel sighed and nodded as she stood again. "Alright, let's go." she said, frowning. "While I'm at this meeting, you can try to see what information you can get for me on my clothes. Until then, I'll be a husky." she said, shifting forms shortly after. She followed Dzel to the meeting with a frown, keeping her senses open in case there was any danger. She had seen a man and a floating ball of light leave the room and run off, which made her curious.

Once she was in the meeting room, she looked at all the others, taking in their appearances and scents. She jumped up and sat in one of the chairs, looking at each person as they spoke.

They we're running, awkwardly, but running with the old man carried between them. Wolfe led the way, remembering his way back to the medical wing.

"Over here," Wolfe called out. They came to a door label H-Room-123. When Wolfe kicked the door open he was relieved to see it was a hostpital room.

They got the old man down on the bed, a few of the others followed in toe.

Hirsch got a confused look on his face.

"Dude, Wolfe, check it out," Hirsch said pointing to the old man. His face began to change to the color blue and frost began to appear around his nose and lips.

"Dawg this ain't no normal hypothermia."

One of the others moved in to take care of the old man. Hirsch tried to stick around and a watch, only to be pulled by the collar away from the group now around the old man.

(now)

The two marines stood near the doorway.
Wolfe genuinely concerned for the old man, and curious about how he can get hypothermia.

Hirsch however was trying to sneak away to go talk to the redhead women he had seen earlier, only to be halted a glare from Wolfe.

Herbert

The flowing shadows lapped gently at his ankles. He felt a sensation, one that was far too singular to describe, but the word that reached closest might have been “cold”. It was unnatural. His body was beyond shivering. He felt as though he were being strangled, his brain starved of oxygen, keeping his mind in a constant state of disarray. The river beckoned him. He felt it, deep inside his chest, as though the urge to advance was tugging at the strings of his heart, as if he were a stubborn dog on a leash.

He stepped forward. Images flashed inside his eyes, burning his brain. Memories of life. His father’s study, his nanny Eileen, carefree summer evenings, ingenious games with friends, the smiling faces of all in his town. The embers of his home. He wobbled, and almost fell sideways.

Fog, thicker than any London particular, and a curious shade of blue, fell over the water in a thick blanket. The water was treacle, flowing as if time was drawn out and stretched here, like hot toffee pulled upon a hook. It was all wrong, but Herbert’s thoughts were scattered and falling like firework sparks. So, unconsciously, he took another step.

His father’s coffin lowering into the yawning ground. The boarding school, a new best friend, University in London, the brilliant mind of professor Otto Lidenbrock, their happy stumble upon fortune. The first time he met Smith.

Herbert felt lesser, as though the insignificant thing called “self”, that beast over which everybody obsesses desperately, had been slowly drained away from him, the thread of life unravelled by the Plutonian current. What use was it to resist?

Elizabeth’s smile across the room, their first dance, the courting, the wedding, the sweet nothings and promises of a fairy tale future, an intangible goal they hoped and strove for day in and out. Her illness.

“Sweet Liza.” He swung his head about, looking, but then realised they were his own words that had escaped his lips. His purpose in life was the pursuit of his own happiness, but he needed his Liza for that, and without her he was lost. He knew what memories would torture and wrack his mind if he took another step, so he stood, rooted by fear, and by the shards of a broken heart, held together by the fragile stitches of futile hope.

But then, seemingly as he resolved to move no more, a ghostly vision at the edge of the mist, blurred, but human, with the voice that chimed in the pure melody that the heaven’s even envied. It was his Liza. He grabbed for her, running. Memories bit his mind painfully.

Liza, motionless in a coffin of glass, perfused with an arcane liquid lent by science, to preserve her until means of her resurrection could be conducted. A man with a crop of neatly combed ginger hair and a conceited smile. Their talk in the study. The ruffled red hair and torn suit that same night. The body on the slab.

Then the monsters.

Liza was gone. The water was at his mid-thigh. His mind was reorganising itself, and forgotten memories floated to the surface. He had to get her back. He’d already sold his humanity to that end. Abandoning his passion would be self-damnation. It had become his existence for the past… how long had it been? He looked down at his hands. They were shrivelled and liver-spotted, loose flesh hanging from his bones like sack-cloth.

He sunk to his knees, and the water flowed through him, up to his shoulders, and washed away his pain. Life is pain. Yet he wanted to live. His own meagre existence was all that he could offer for Liza, who was taken too soon by unseen forces. He tossed his head back and cried in anguish as he teetered between life and death unknowingly, on the edge of oblivion.

Stars through the fog. Their warm light pierced from the heavens, though Herbert had a strange feeling they were not meant to be there; an ingrained wrongness pervaded them. In the shadows of the stars he could make out the faint impression of colossal bodies, moving cosmoses, beings of whose great and incomprehensible power and presence he felt crushing his mind even from here. He closed his eyes and thought of Liza.

“I will get you back, my darling dearest, sweetest truest.” He stood, his body feeling younger than it had in many a year. The stars smiled down upon him. They were not of his own night sky, so could guide him neither east nor west, hither nor thither. He stood in the river shrouded in fog, with no idea where he had come from or where he should go. He was truly lost.

Mallaidh

She smiled at the talking ball of light, having come to accept anything and everything wondrous that happened before her eyes. It’s fascination with her was a bit of a surprise, but then she supposed it was not only man that worshipped the Tuatha Dé, and so not only man who should come to their world in some sort of arcane and spontaneous pilgrimage.

What a strange idea, talking light, Mallaidh mused. She was truly falling in love with her situation and the utter fantasticalness of it.

Giddy electricity thrummed through Mallaidh’s body. The whole prospect promised adventure and further magic, and a dragon; if she were to slay that and return she’d be a hero, and could sell the teeth for thrice their weight in gold. She’d have glory… but her mother would still succumb to the illness. The family bonds that shackled her bound her to put the cure over her seething pride, and it ached and swelled against her chest at the mere prospect of missing a sainthood to rival that of Patron George of the English. Even then, she had still been invited to join the ranks of the Tuatha Dé, and stranger Otherworlders, an honour she knew was rare indeed.

Then an elder man in their presence collapsed, and was quickly carried away with much interest following in his wake. Twain retreated from the room to pay the unconscious man further attention, apparently concerned. A fair portion of the room flittered after him. Even the ball of light left, after making Winston rather flustered, which was odd, considering he was only describing what was natural. Winston left also. Mallaidh locked eyes with Rozalind.

A dark man drinking coffee, who Mallaidh had noticed previously, spoke up, pledging his assistance also.

“It is true; we are bound by our honour. I must help,” it was destiny. It had to be; divine forces, moving her on a righteous path. She would overcome any adversity and prove herself worthy, and her mother would be saved.

A wolf sauntered into the room and sat on a chair, observing everyone in a regal silence. How awesome. It was then that she caught the eye of the man with the impatient face. He and his friend would no doubt be useful companions in this endeavour; they had already shown initiative and efficiency. She gestured him over with a flick of her head, and then turned back to Rozalind.

“You compare us to puzzle pieces. I want to know where I fit. What else can you tell?”

The Conference Room.

Dzel had accompanied the husky into the conference room. She quietly took the empty seat beside the canine.

Vata was the first to volunteer his assistance. Mallaidh swore her fealty next. Rozalind wasn’t sure if the husky could speak or not, but, assumed that because she sat in a chair she could comprehend what was happening.

The others… Dimitri, Wolfe, Hirsh, XIII, Danya, were already helping. Rozalind assumed their cooperation for now, and thought it best to continue with the meeting.

Rozalind stood. Her team, TIGER, called her Den-Mother. With Twain distracted it would seem she could take on this role for the new team. With her good arm she began to point toward the projections, which, began to change.

There was a birds-eye-view of the ruined castle. “This is where the incident took place.” She pointed. “This appears to be the apex of the event. There was an altar and a body. We are still working on identifying this body, and the other bodies we found.” Images of the dead appeared upon the screen. Most were burned, but all were broken in some way, none had died without pain. Not all of them were human.

“There was a white chalk circle drawn, arcane and occult symbols, typical of a ritual act, unfortunately the damage and the snow destroyed most of the symbols. The intent of the ritual is recorded as unknown. I think it is safe to assume that something went wrong. Usually these types intend to survive to enjoy the power they are trying to realize.”

“We are also currently examining artifacts found at the site. After we left, the place was combed over by our forensics team. It seems that artifacts as well as people have arrived here from other worlds.” The bodies vanished, and the screen became populated with items.

What appeared to be a Celtic sword was prominently displayed at the top. It was found near the altar and therefore considered an item of importance, possibly used in the ritual.

A few unique looking flasks were arranged on the left of the projection.

A bag was depicted with its contents sitting beside it. A pen and some books.

A sawed off shotgun and a red dented helmet.

There were, of course, other items to be seen. These, however, would stand out to the various members of the new team.

All the items had sustained visible wear or damage.

In the Infirmary room.

“Yeowch, Dimitri, and I thought Zes was the most apathetic guy I knew.” The leader of MERCY grinned. “He’s in death. Not dead or dying… Not yet.” He gripped Herbert’s shoulder tighter. “Whewh, I haven't made a splash in awhile. Wish me luck! Make sure no one touches us, kay?” Then Twain became as frigid as Herbert.

Wherever the hell Herbert is.
“How the hell did you get all the way over here! Come on old timer!”

Twain was there. Herbert wouldn’t have heard or sensed his approach. Strange, wouldn’t his feet not have made noise as they splashed through the river? Especially considering that Twain seemed to have been running.

Twain was also dressed differently. In place of the well fitted pants and vest he wore a cape or a cloak of some sort. The swath of fabric was squid-ink-black black and fell from his shoulder all the way down to his ankle, the cloth dipped into the river, but did not seem to be wet. In place of the many-pockets he had a bandoleer of some sort, attached to which were bones.

Twain grabbed Herbert by the arm with an incredible strength, and began to drag the old-man in a desperate sprint back upstream. “Look at the liiiiiights!” Twain yelled, referring to the strange stars in the fog.

Normally Herbert would not be able to keep up with such a fierce pace. Yet, rather than trip and fall face first into the water, he found that his body could not only match the speed, but his legs nor his breathing felt strained as they should have.

The only thing that could hold him back was the desire to follow the current downstream.

If Herbert were to look backward, he would realize that they were being followed, though he could not say what was following them not describe its shape. If he looked only forward the stars in the fog would grow brighter and the river more shallow, the current lessened and lessened…

… Until he would wake up in the bed that the military men had deposited him in. Flakes of frost falling off his hair like dandruff as he began to move.

“WHEW!” Twain, in the same defrosting state, let go of Herbert and let himself fall to the floor. “That was close… And reckless! What were you thinking?”

Ariel barked and jumped on the table, looking at the helmet and shotgun. Either that's mine, she thought to herself, or I'm not the only one who came through on a bike. She looked around a bit sheepishly before returning to her seat, laying her head on the table. God, I feel like an idiot. She looked at the woman who had been speaking, hoping she would continue.

She sighed helplessly. the fire was there she could feel it, but could not quite connect to its energies. It was very disappointing for the ball of energy as commanding the elements was one of her only means of functioning. "Perhaps it is this strange place Earth that prevents me from taking hold of these elements" she mumbled out loud while aimlessly wandering the underwater fortress.
"The elemental currents are definitely present on this plane but yet..." A frustrated sigh. "I bet Deuce, or Big brother would know what to do. But alas, I can no longer feel their connection to me and I definitely can't do anything while im confined to this giant metal box. I mean there aren't even any trees to look at in here, no rocks to explore...nothing, but a pack of strange looking creatures." She continued rambling as she hovered ever closer to the room she had felt the fire coming from, her usual blue hues almost black as they resonated with Dayna's Depressing mood.

She passed through the doors of Herbert's room. passed by Dimitri and the others, prodding and feeling everyone's strange, unusual energies, it was almost chaotic for Dayna. So many energy signatures she was unfamiliar with. perhaps the closest aura she could relate to was the one radiating from Twain. it seemed that same bitter and cold feeling was universally stretched across to this plane. It was a very foreboding energy signature.

"Mr Twain" she began "I've decided I do not like it in this metal box. There aren't even any trees around here. It would have been better if your people left me where they found me. Everything feels so cramped in here. You must release me at once or I shall try my hardest to punch through this Metal box we are all in and release myself."
she stated curtly.

"Punch through and go where little lady?" Dimitri asked bemusedly, We're thousands of feet under water. we'd all be drowned and crushed"
"I don't care, water means nothing to me. If you people wish to stay all cooped up in here then that is your decision! All of you feel so strange to me and there's nothing beautiful to look at in here."
Dimitri scratched his head "Aren't I beautiful enough to look at?" he asked with a silly smile plastered on his face, completely oblivious to how serious the elemental sprite was at that moment.

Dayna moved dangerously close to the monk. Energies crackled within her, wishing to to lash out at him, but to no avail, she was utterly useless at that moment and perhaps this was what bothered her most, all she could do now was glare furiously at him, A glare furious enough to almost cut.
"I'm leaving" she stated viciously, practically slamming into Dimitri as he nonchalantly side stepped to allow her passage.
"I will find a way to put hole in this metal prison Mr. Twain" she called back stubbornly as she returned to the hallway.

"My my, that was intense wasn't it, she could use a drink. Do you think she's serious?" Dimitri commented to the room as he returned his focus to Herbert. "Will he be all right Twain?" he asked, while snapping his fingers in Herberts face.



Winston had locked himself in his quarters.
"What a day"
He was pouring over all the data they had gathered on their new guests, and all the information Trident had chosen to divulge on the current situation.

"They're still vague as ever" he grumbled as he poured himself a glass of whiskey.
"But I must say, plenty of interesting specimens, plenty of new information to learn. Other worlds, different planes of existence, time line merging and who knows what else! It all kind of makes me want to return to the field again.

The room was getting crowded. Nudging Hirsch Wolfe nodded toward the the conference room. Hirsch took the lead out, Wolfe followed. They walked in silence down the short hall until they came to the conference room door.
Hirsch walked in first, it appeared there were still individuals in the conference room, plus a dog. Someone was continuing the briefing. It had appeared they entered as the speaker transitioned over to items found at the site.
When the image of an old sword took up the screen, Wolfes breathe caught in his throat.

'That sword...?' he thought. It couldn't be the one from the temple in Afghanistan. Even though it being just a picture, Wolfes heart begain to pound, his body temp began to spike causing him to sweat, profusely, his breathing became ragged. Wolfes consciousness became...obscure for a moment. The closest thing one could compare was a borderline overdose of a powerful psychedelic, such as DMT or LSD.
The pounding began to flood his ears, he stared at that sword, a grip on his self, then the picture changed, a dog barked. As if a thousand pounds of pressure were lifted, Wolfe exhaled sharply and recoiled from the experience.
"Hey, Wolfe, what's up man?" Hirsch asked concerned.
"N-nothing," Wolfe cleared his throat, "Must've just...a ... Dizzy spell, probably lost my depth perception I think. I'm good now."
Truth be told, he did feel good, in fact...now, he felt great.

Mallaidh

Rozalind seemed also to have the capability to create and change the floating blue images. Now it displayed a ruined castle, clawing from its snowy grave. Mallaidh stared into the luminescence, noting all the features as Rozalind described them. Then the projections changed to the blue ghosts of the dead, horribly mutilated and burnt things, somewhat akin to Rozalind’s injuries. Others were broken more horribly. Some did not even resemble the men or women they must once have been, and she felt a pang of pity that they must have passed in such agony. However, all of that washed away when it transpired that they had been conducting a ritual, the very ritual that the consensus held brought the gathered together in this plane. These were not honest druids, but malignant beings dealing with dark and uncontainable malice; their dismemberment and disfiguration proved testament enough to the nature of the forces they were reckoning with.

Then Mallaidh was quite taken aback. Most prominently amongst the phantoms of items and relics that replaced the corpses, was a large sword, one she recognised, and half reached-out for, before she composed herself. She knew it very well. She knew its edges from the evenings spent oiling it; the grip from the sweat she shed upon it; the weight from every step she had carried it with her. It was hers. There was no doubt about it in her mind; there was no other weapon like it.

Practically falling upon Rozalind, Mallaidh fought back the growing anticipation. She pointed at the sword, but it was several seconds before she spoke. Her other hand shook as a clenched fist by head side.

“That is the sword of my family,” She said, her eyes locked in an intense stare, her impassioned heart shining brightly behind those emerald orbs, “It was handed down from father to son from the time since your people roamed Éireann, and now it belongs to me as the sole heir, the first daughter to carry its grandeur.”

“Where is it?”

The Meeting Room

Rozalind looked curiously at the dog, then shifted her eyes toward Dzel. “Does it need to go out?”

The American military men returned, one had a quiet but visible reaction to the images on the screen.

Mallaidh explained that the sword was hers. And asked for it to be returned.

Rozalind could tell that the sword meant a great deal to the girl. She chose her words carefully. “It is close by, and safe. We are studying it at the moment. We thought it had belonged to the ritualists. It seems to be the murder weapon. If it is truly yours we have no reason to keep it from you longer than necessary. When was the last time you saw it?”

She looked to the others. “The rest of you, please be clear: Which items do you recognize? Do you all recognize the sword? Is there something else here that belongs to you? Did you recognize any of the bodies?”

She looked to the dog. “Do you understand me? Is it the sword? Back when I point to the thing you recognize.” Rozalind would trail her finger across the projection over the various items waiting to see if the husky responded.

In Herbert’s infirmary room

Twain sighed and looked at the little ball of light. “Bring a man back from the dead and still I don’t get a lunch break!” He clapped his hands together and sat up on the floor, adressing the light.

“Look, little sprite. I can’t let you do that. See, you have NO idea what I just did or how difficult it was. I’m sure there isn’t much I could do to stop you. This capsule we exist in is only made of metal and you are made of… Plasma or some shit… Whatever lightsabers are made of... Anyway, we are one-thousand-leagues-under-the-sea if you know what I mean. If you did that this whole thing would pop like a balloon and we would all die. Maybe not you, but the rest of us need… Air… You know… To live...”

“Now. If I die, I can’t properly brag about what I just accomplished! If you kill me I’m going to be damn pissed.” He balled his hands into fists and crossed his arms.

“And don’t think that just because I’m dead I’m going to let you alone about that.” He still smiled, but, in his eyes some dark truth was brooding.

But, the light was already going. Twain didn’t know how much of his words she had heard or cared about.

“Fuck.” Twain, exhausted, fell back onto his back onto the floor with a sigh. “I guess I’ll just have to haunt all your asses.”

In the room now was only himself, Herbert, and the drunken monk and xiii. "You heard the little thing." He said to the monk. "Drink up while you still can. Soon we will all have nothing to taste but salt water."

Ariel looked at the girl before hanging her head and shaking it a bit. As best as she could, she imitated putting on the helmet and riding a motorcycle then proceeded to hold up her paws as if holding some sort of rifle or shotgun. Looking at the woman, she tilted her head as if to say, That give you an answer? She then looked around, taking notice of Dzel. She tilted her head and raised her eyebrow as best she could. She put a paw on her shoulder before beginning to leave the room, looking for someplace private.

Herbert

Fingers snapped in front of his face. Herbert slowly opened his eyes. It had been the large monk.

Flakes of white fell from above and melted into transparent drops, and then spread into dark circles of wetness upon the sheets. Herbert stared out from behind the screens of his eyes. His mind was reeling. A cold was turning slowly to warmth. He remembered running through water and fog, under stars, and then… Then it was now. There were other things of course; most Herbert could recall only vaguely, except for the man lying on the floor, Twain. He was very vivid in that dream, almost real, but dressed far differently.

It was then that Herbert noticed a shadowy octopus-like creature dragging its way awkwardly towards Twain. Herbert’s eyes widened. Twain didn’t seem to even notice it, but in a nonchalant motion, transitioning from laying to sitting, he knocked it away.

Words whirled inside his brain. The conversation happening around him did not help; he tried to grab and focus on each word, but every time he did, a new one knocked it away. It was going too fast. For a little while, Twain seemed to be talking to an orb of light. Then it left. The words still rung like bells inside his skull.

A flicker of motion caused Herbert to look down. A bloody head with arms extending from its eye sockets was pulling its way up the covers towards Herbert, smearing a trail of red behind it. It was terrifying to behold, and seemed to be snarling.

Herbert looked at the other two, and in a panicked and confused voice, shouted, “Hrrrnngh?!”

Hall outside meeting room. (@Belwicket)

Outside the room and down the hall the husky would search for either privacy or solitude. She found none.

A man appeared. She might have smelled him just before he appeared. Appeared was the wrong word, he didn't come out of thin air or anything. Perhaps he had just come out of the room beside her, but, so quietly she might not have noticed? Yet, that explanation might only provide superficial comfort to the logical mind. It was more likely, especially considering the circumstances, this man had some ability beyond normal human variance, much like the Ariel did.

It was the same man who had accompanied Dzel when Ariel had first woken up. He wasn't very tall, but his shoulders were wide, he was bald, had black eyes, and every inch of his skin was covered in tattoo.

He held his arms out to her, within them he cradled her leather jacket. The one she had asked for. It was a bit worse for the wear, but, someone hand cleaned it and mended that which could be fixed. Under the jacket were other clothes, neatly folded. These were not her clothes (Her other clothes had been destroyed beyond repair), yet these were similar enough. There was a complete outfit, shoe to scrunchy.

He didn't speak, simply held out the neatly folded pile of clothes toward her, and smiled.

Herberts infirmary

Twain noticed Herbert waking up. "Easy there fella!" he jumped up to his feet and to the bedside.

Twain put his hands on Herbert arm, steadying him a bit. "Thake it easy... The... feeling will pass in a few minutes. "Let me take a look at you." Twain touched Herbert's wrist to check his pulse. As he counted, muttering.

To the others it would seem as if the doctor were focusing on his patient, and his eyes were arbitrarily gazing somewhere by Herbert's feet.

Herbert would know better. Twain was meeting the stare of the monstrosity that crawled up the bed. The thing slowed, then stopped, it seemed to change its mind about where to get its lunch. With a sickening slurp-and-grunt that only those who had been 'there and back again' could hear, it began to crawl away. It left its angry red-yet-invisible ink upon everything it had touched.

Upon first seeing the man, Ariel took a step back. Seeing he had her jacket and some clothes to replace what she'd lost, she relaxed a bit, though confused. She looked at Dzel, if she was following her, before looking back at the man. Since the man was being respectful, for all she could tell, she decided she could let him see her shift. Looking up and down the hall to make sure there was nobody else in view, she shifted quickly to her human form. "Thank you." she said calmly as she took the clothes, disappearing into the room he'd come out of. If the room was empty, she would begin changing. If not, she would look for another room to change in. Once changed, she would return to the meeting room, taking the same seat she sat in as a dog.

The strange dog made motions with its paws, 'Is it wearing a helmet and riding a ... bike?' Then the dog shook its head and walked out of the room. Wolfe stared in confusion, Hirsch was staring at the red head the whole time. Wolfe had to elbow him to get him to stop.
Thats when the red headed woman spoke. She said that the sword was her families sword, and about how shes the heir to that sword. Wolfe assumed she must be from some either time, or place, where they are still in a medieval period.
Rozalind asked if any of the objects stood out to the rest of them, Wolfe raiesd his hand.

"Uh, yea, that sword," Wolfe cleared his throat, "I am fairly sure I saw that very sword slice the stomach open on a crucified woman, and, uh, something, started to come out."

Wolfe shivered a bit when he thought about that night, that monster, or demon pushing its way out of the the wound. Wolfe ended that nightmare with a grenade.
He looked to Mallaidh, "Ma'am, if that is your families sword, something about it, aint right. I mean, I held that weapon in my hand, I...I cannnot explain it, but, it felt wrong..." Wolfe trailed off, not really knowing what to say, never having ever experienced anything like that before.
The door opened and a beautiful woman walked in clad in leather jacket, she sat down in the same seat occupied previously by the husky. Wolfe noticed her eyes, icy blue, the same as the dogs.
"Nice trick," he said to her.

All of a sudden he got a gut feeling, the hair on the back of his neck began to stand on end, his sences started to become acute, his heart rate began to elevate slightly, as if his body is prepping itself for physical activity. This is the same feeling he gets every time something bad happens. Every time he was in a fire fight, or an ambush, or had he been in any danger at all, moments prior he gets this feeling. Wolfe calls it, feeling like a live wire. Some said he has a sixth sense, Wolfe thinks he's just perceptive.
Hirsch almost sensing his team leaders anxiety stopped making eyes at the red head, and began to scan the room and watch the entryway, keeping on the alert.

"I got a bad feeling," Wolfe uttered.

XIII stayed silent throughout the entire ordeal with the old man, but he nearly jerked his hand away from Twain when he started going cold. It was cold to the point that he was having trouble keeping the warmth at the same level. The heat in the room started fluctuating. When Twain came back from wherever he went and let go, XIII pulled his arm away and started rubbing his wrist. If anyone was looking closely, they would see what looked like a minor hand shaped burn on his wrist before his other hand covered it.

When the ball of light came into the room and demanded to be let out or it'd find a way to break out, XIII watched the scene with amusement. It looked like the situation with the old man had been dealt with, so XIII left the room without saying a word and went on a search for the angry ball of light. After enough searching, he found it.

"You're going to need some serious firepower if you want to punch through this place," XIII said as he leaned against the nearest wall and folded his arms. "I understand the feeling of being cramped, I do, but at this moment, this is the best place for you to be." XIII rubbed the tattoo of his namesake on the back of his left hand before continuing. "If you leave this place, you're fair game to whatever group of people find you next, and you will be found eventually." He held his hand out palm up and a small flame appeared over his palm. "Some other group found me and..." He trailed off and watched the flame in his hand before extinguishing it. "Well, let's just say it wasn't pleasant. So how are you planning on breaking out?"

The Meeting Room

The tattooed man, followed Ariel back into the meeting room. She might feel his black eyes on her backside. When he entered the room he did not sit at the table. He stood against the back wall opposed to the projector. He crossed his arms and watched, saying nothing.

The screen zoomed in upon the ancient sword. "It is the weapon that was used to murder the girl on the alter. The blood matches. If this same sword was used in an earlier ritual, like Wolfe describes, this group may have had this sword for some time."

She narrowed her eyes at it, as if distrusting the object. "Something about this sword must be important to them. If the ritual went wrong the first time, shouldn't the group try to use different tools the second time? Instead they used the same sword. I agree with your intuition , Wolfe." Rozalind seemed to assume that his 'bad feeling' was about the sword.

Dayna had come to halt very close to one of the walls that was binding her here. She had tried her hardest to feels some connection to the abyss beyond the walls. Something, even a glint of a response, but the water was silent, unyielding to her wishes. Deuce and Big Brother would have never approved of her outburst earlier, even less if they had known there was someone injured within the confines of that tiny room. She was confused, and frustrated; lost in a strange place and everything felt so far away at the moment, but deep down the teachings of those who cared for her still resonated.

“It is nothing to do with them, those back their or you” she spoke as she felt him approach her. She had been gazing out one of the few port holes spread across the contraption they were in and slowly turned to face him, her voice was quiet and gentle.

XIII’s words made sense to her, perhaps this was the best place for her to be right now.

“I am sorry for the way I acted. You are of flesh and I do not wish to crush, drown, or harm any of you. But that guy in the robes...was very annoying. I would have liked to pelt him with several waves of stinging water to silence him, but even then, my actions would not have been justifiable. I now believe he was only trying to lighten the mood. His heart is gentle yet I was too angry to notice that!"

Her hues suddenly shifted from the soft blues to a warmer red as a tiny flame materialized from his hand. “So it was you that I felt earlier! That is why I originally came this way. The emotions of the people in this place seem very potent, perhaps that is why I behaved the way I did...I do not know.”
Her red hues darkened in resonance with the emotions that were embedded within the words as he spoke of the group that had first taken him. She approached him slowly, cautiously circling around to the face the front of him and gazed longingly at the tiny flame dancing in his hand right before he extinguished it. “You people are so emotional, it is almost infectious! The group that found you first, did they give you the ability to command fire?”

Dimitri had almost been holding his breath...Almost! Waiting for the ball of light to make good of her threat, but soon forgot it as several minutes had passed by without them drowning in an endless river of salt water. The room had felt strange for a few moments also, as if silent battles were ensuing but, for better for worse, Herbert was conscious again. Dimitri looked at Twain, then at Herbert and followed their eyes only to see nothing where they were both looking.

He sighed as the tension passed “Well I guess I don’t need my soap then. it’s been close to fifteen minutes, and there’s no water threatening to consume us yet. His eyes returned to Twain, it was a precise and calculated look this time “I Assume everything is OK now Mr. Twain? Perhaps we could get some tea or something delivered to Herbert if he’s feeling up to it?" He moved towards the elder man and rested a heavy hand on his shoulder
"You know Herbert, Twain over there was ready to drink to your memory, but we decided otherwise then he dove right in for you!" he squeezed Herbert's shoulder then stood up once more.
"Well, I think I’ve missed the majority of the meeting in the boardroom by now, but if someone can spare a few minutes later, may hap some good looking mistress of sorts that would be willing to uh recap, I would very much appreciate it!”

The monk was still hesitant to leave Herbert alone for now, but it seemed he was out of immediate danger. “By the way, has anyone found an intricate looking flask laying about? there’s a blue crystal embedded into the base of it and I would very much like to have it back!”
He missed the weight of his mace at his side also, but at least if he had the flask he would be closer to his normal state.

In Winston's Room. [/b]

Winston was finishing his whiskey and finally starting to feel comfortable when a voice paged him over the intercom in his room.

"Winston. Another one just woke up. Report."

Winston frowned. "Why can't one of the MERCY kids do it?"

"They are all in a meeting with the rest. No one is getting a break, Winston, not for awhile I think."

Winston replied with only a groan.

"Trisitan wants you on this one. He specifically said that you--"

"Duty calls." Winston sighed, filled up his whiskey, drank it quickly and got up to leave.

Vaughtar's room

The door opened, and Winston stepped inside, it closed and locked behind him.

Winston knew he was in trouble as soon as he realized where he was going. The others, whom had already made contact with the MERCY team had been put in the same submarine. Others who had not made contact, but, seemed human enough were put elsewhere. Winston had spent much time in that submarine already. They were instead, headed for the mother-sub. It was here that the stranger, larger, more questionable beings were homed.

He saw something bigger than an average human. Stony grey. Claw and spike. He had been given a much larger room. There was a bed, probably too small. There was not much medical equipment. The doctors weren't sure what would help this beast. It seemed that he only needed some time...

Winston swallowed hard. He had to assume the best, that the huge being on the other side of the room was intelligent... and reasonable... and not hungry...

"Hello." He finally managed. "My name is Winston. What is yours?"

In the Meeting Room

"Yes. We found a few flasks." The screen shifted to display the collection. One did seem to match the monk's description. The others might look familiar to him as well. "We had assumed they were ritual items. But, if they are yours they might instead be from your world."