"Charles, darling." Twain grinned at his companion. "You ask all the right questions!"

~~~

Halfway across the world. A man stopped dead in his tracks.

~~~

"The symbol is a Mage-Mark or Wizards rune or whatever. It is the personal symbol of a magic-user."

~~~

"You will have to excuse me." The man made swift and appropriate excuses and returned to his office.

~~~

"Mikkel, as you have correctly discerned, was certainly attached...."

~~~

The man was back in his study. He shut down all the electronics, ripped cables from their outlets, and shoved all the furniture to the perimeter of the room. In his haste he spilled the cold up of coffee that had been sitting on the desk, it stained the rug. No matter, the man simply tore away the rug, exposing the wooden floor completely...

There were no lights on, but with a word, agni, the candles set upon the high shelves in the room caught flame. The candlelight revealed a white circle sketched onto the floor... Or did the strange chalk that drew the symbols glow with their own light?

The man was not alone. In the center of the circle was an eerie figure, white like the chalk on the ground, but transparent. He hugged himself, the white shade was naked, you could see burn makes on his ethereal flesh, and in the center of his chest there was a nail embedded, around the nail the nail was a glowing red chord that floated and wound around him and floated in the air...

~~~

"Attached to... someone..."

~~~

... The other end of the line wound around the wrist of the man.

~~~

"This ritual binds the soul to the Mage or Wizard..." Twain touched the frayed red string... "So, they have this set up, so that when this guy dies, instead of wandering around and haunting this place until he gets bored and wanders into the white light... Snap. His spirit goes to the guy who cast the spell." He touched the symbol. "This guy, or gal, whomever cast it up."

~~~

"Mikkel--" The mages voice caught in his throat. Shock and Sorrow possessed him and he was unable to say anymore.

"I'm so cold..." The ghost shivered. "... So... Cold..."

"Tell me..." The man choked, but his voice resolved, he commanded the spirit clearly now. "Tell me everything you saw."

~~~

"The problem for us is that, now he knows whatever Mikkel knew before he died... Fuck. I hate when they know we are onto them before we know who they are!"

He looked around and began helping to pack up. The other members of MERCY joined in.

"Yeah, good idea, keep the body for science."

"They might send in a clean up crew now, or, maybe they have something built in here in case things went wrong... Cover their tracks..." Twain could not trust even the earth they stood upon.

~~~

"P-Please it's so cold. Just let me go to hell, where it's warm. I'm so so cold..."

The man paused.

"I'm sorry. It isn't like that at all." Then with a knife, he cut the glowing red string from his wrist.

Mikkel simply vanished. The candles blew out. And the man was alone.

Natasha eyed Wolfe curiously as he made his way over to her then asked of her dossier, relived that he was military so he would understand and appreciate the protocols of classified information.

"My organization doesn't really hang on to information about its members marine. We fall quite near to TRIDENT’s Umbrella of course but We are the equivalent of the U.S. Marine Black ops, or what used to be the Soviets SPETSNAZ GRU or even the British SRR. The major difference is that we do not belong to one single nation and we are privately funded. Members are hand picked by field operatives and once we are taken into the organization, we basically cease to exist by the world's standards." she paused and smiled wickedly then continued "and lets just say that I was trained at a cabin by a lake! Are you and your pal OK? You both seemed a little worked up before you came over." she finished, patting the marine on his shoulder then slowly brushing passed him as he shook his head in response to Hirschs statement to Twain

The MOON operative moved casually around the bustle as people began breaking camp to return to base. A name she had heard during Twain’s conversation with the now dead, reanimated body was tugging on her thoughts as she found Twain and pulled him to the side speaking quietly “There’s only a handful of people in MOON’s Database that exhibit this kind of power aside from you Twain and I don’t like the idea of the ones I can think of off the top of my head. I recommended taking a shit load of pictures as fast as we can than blowing what’s left of his this castle and this ritual site to bits while we still can.”

Dimitri was more than relieved when the corpse finally lay still once more and he very much agreed with the urgency that was being stressed for them to return to base. Crude Stakes nailed into people’s chests, runes, fire and reanimated corpses were never good combinations and the very area surrounding the ritual site permeated with a most unsettling aura. He would thankfully busy himself with the task of breaking camp and pitching in wherever he could. An idle mind in this area might prove devastating given the unpleasant energies surrounding the place.

Dayna wandered about the ritual site visiting with people scattered around the place while they were busy with their tasks. She would have offered to help everyone if she could change into a more solid form but as is was right now, she could offer little more than pleasant conversation to all, the flesh lings
She stopped near Shannon and circled her to inspect the suturing job Twain had done on her wounds.
“It seems like Twain has very steady hands doesn’t it? Hmm? Lots of experience sewing things up!” she commented as she returned to the front of Shannon “Do they hurt much?” she inquired then continued a moment later barely giving the large creature time to respond "I don't like how this place feels Shannon, I can't wait to leave here. How does it make you feel?"

Mikkel vanished ? The ugly, dead body was gone ? Perfect! Of course Vaughtar didn't spend the tiniest moment on considering speaking this out openly, but he really had not been eager to pick up this frozen, obviously magically infused body. Twain's magic was disturbing enough. Munimis was a wicked world, but he had not seen anything like this while he had been there - and he was pretty sure that he wouldn't see such things any time after he would have made his return. That was... if this ever came true in the first place.

Taking his time to look back at Charles to check if the man was still halfway angry at him before doing anything else, Vaughtar then started to pick up the heaviest and bulkiest parts of the team's equipment he could find. Alongside Shanon who seemed to struggle with the freezing weather he probably was the one most suited for the job. With two large crates filled to the brim under his giant arms he started moving away from the castle, down the mountain slope alongside the others.

And then it happened... It almost seemed as if someone had managed to insert explosives into the already ruined building's walls without experiencing the need to drill holes into them before. The 'explosives' themselves however had to be very, very strange as well: One could see cracks reaching the surface, apparently originating from several points deep inside the solid stone itself that had lasted so long under these harsh conditions. They divided the major structures into large chunks of debris just like an inside-out explosion would do, but the chunks themselves continued to be subdivided into smaller pieces even after their initial separation from the big whole. The process ran at a much to slow speed for any type of detonation as well, easily observable with the naked eye. It continued to cascade until the entire castle had been split into a myriad of dust particles. They had no real chance to settle down and form a nice big heap following the flow of gravity, but instead immediately started to be blown away by the icy wind. What would happen if it turned and would thereby engulf the team in silicate ?

The group crowded the now re animated corpse. Hirsch was trying to move in for a better look. Wolfe, however, was almost floored. His senses went haywire, as if someone dropped a large rock into a still pond, he seethed. Every muscle and, bone, and nerve felt to be on fire. Something big was going to happen. Wolfe hadn’t felt anything this intense before, not since him whole squad was killed a few years prior.
Finally, he regained composure, he glanced around everyone had begun breaking down the site of its equipment. He had only enough time to shout:

“MOVE!” Then the castle erupted in a cloud of smoke and fiery debris, Wolfe hit the deck, along with Hirsch. One thing they both knew was to take cover when something exploded. The rest didn’t need much convincing.
Rock and soot and ash began falling on them. Wolfe stood up and shouted to the group, amongst the noise.

“WE GOTTA GET TO THE BASE OF THE MOUNTAIN. GRAB WHATS ESSENTIAL AND BUG THE FUCK OUT! MOVE MOVE MOVE!” He yelled as he made his way to each group member directing them to either cargo that needed to be carried or just having them collect other injured and make their way down the mountain. It didn’t take long before they felt a rumbling beneath their feet. They didn’t have much more time before this mountain collapsed inward.
Turning to Vaughtar he said.
“Vaughtar start moving some of the heavier equipment downhill, and assist with any slow movers! You too Shannon, now GO!”

“Hurt yes.” She managed to rumble a short reply.

“This place cold. I not like cold. This place feel…tickle neck.” Shanon whined and scratched the back of her neck with one of her arms. “Same tickle neck Agents by home. I not like this place.”

Again, Shanon felt her attention being drawn to Wolfe as the man appeared to be boiling within his own skull. She watched with a frown as he shook and seethed before he bellowed to them all. On instinct, she hit the ground; Agents had often said those words before they used their weapons. The remaining walls of the room cascaded outwards and shattered silently into dust, and the other parts of the ruins now left unsupported quickly followed.

“Russia place bad.” Shannon dared to peak from between her claws.

“Shanon grab that box: the biggest one!” Charles ordered, scrambling towards the laptop.

With camera still in hand he slammed the laptop shut and stuffed it under an arm. Already Charles was making a list in his head of what they had to move out first, at the very top of that list all the data they had collected shortly followed by personnel.

“Someone grab the body if they can.” He stuffed written notes into his pockets. “If not just leave it.”

The panic and hustle took over the team. The main piece of physical evidence, the place of the event itself, crumbled around them in a strange and unnatural fashion.

"Fucking magicians!" Zesiro stumbled around to grab equipment and evidence bags.

Rozalind screamed orders but was quick and swift, she hefted her rifle and her sharp eyes scanned the area for enemies... There were none... Only the disintegrating castle.

~~~~

TRIDENT HQ
They had escaped with their lives, and had even found additions to the team. Most of the equipment and evidence bags made it out in one piece, though some of it was dented and some was soggy with snow. Even most the evidence collected had made it down the mountain. The original site was destroyed, but, the team had taken more with them than they knew...

LABORATORY ROOM 1F

Shannon was popular with the scientists and alchemists of TRIDENT. They attached monitors to her, swung pendulums around her, took pictures, etc, etc, etc.

Surprisingly, the angsty and apathetic Zesiro stayed with her throughout her 'check ups', and sometimes told off the men and women in the long white coats when they were becoming too invasive or seemed to be upsetting Shannon. Something about he angsty lanky teen put them on edge.

"Don't let them make you feel like a freak." He commented when the two were alone.

On an exam table nearby was the pile of bones that had once been animated into a bird-like creature. None one could find anything particular about them, so, the pile of bones lay still and forgotten for now.

CONFERENCE ROOM B

Twain stood across from Charles. On the table in between the two men was a book. It was very old, leather covered, the pages were parchment, yellowed with age, tarnished around the edges.

"This is the... well.. My... 'Book of the Dead'.

THE GYM

Rozalind let off her steam here. She found such solace with her former team, TIGER, training with them... That team was gone now... She was back with MERCY.

So she turned to the members of mercy who had assembled with her, and gave them a ruthless glare.

"You know how to fight, but, this is not only a physical war. This is not a physical battle. You saw what happened on the mountain, our enemies simply disintegrated the world around us. How? It was a manifestation of their willpower... Magic..." She always said the word as if she would rather spit.

"It isn't enough to be strong. You have to be clever, and prepared."

Tristan's office.

Tristian sat at his desk, looking uncharacteristically melancholic, he had taken a photograph off the wall of his office and set it upon his desk. In this photo was a younger version of himself... And the other founders of TRIDENT. The picture had been taken long before TRIDENT had been imagined. They were just young, ambitious, curious, and adventurous. That had been enough back then...

... What now? Trisitan was the only one left. Did he feel as fulfilled as he had in those days? The question haunted him...

He and his friends had gone out looking for adventure... They had found power and knowledge... Had he done anything worthwhile with it?

Had he made the world a better place? Or had he made things worse?

@RokkuHoshi

"Um... I think it's... I think It's a cartoon." Said Sadria.

"What?" The other tech, Hanz, squinted at the other-worlder. It was a colorful equine alien.

"My... Well... This kid that I know... In America... He watches this cartoon. 'My Little Pony'. It looks like it is from that."

Hanz and Sadria looked at each other in silence for a moment. The silence stretched out a little longer than it should have. In TRIDENT no one talked about their lives or the 'people they knew' before joining the organization. The long glance would be the only acknowledgment of the young woman's near slip-up. They both turned back to the subject and continued their conversation.

"A kids cartoon?" Hanz was perplexed. "That isn't congruent with any of the others... Is it?"

Before the question was answered, Winston entered. The older portly man adjusted his glasses, flipped through the papers on his clipboard and looked at the 'subject'.

"You two can go. I'll be here when he wakes up to conduct the interview."

Hanz and Sadria left.

Wintson sat down in a chair. The equine-other-worlder was hooked up to a few monitors but was otherwise comfortable and lying in an over-sized cushion for a bed. It seemed the best way to situate the quadrupedal creature.

When it awoke, Winston would be there waiting. Studying the notes on his clipboard.

Rockin' awoke with a yawn. It took a few seconds for him to realize he wasn't at his home. Looking around, he became frantic. He began speaking ivery quickly. "Where am I? What are you? What did you do to me?" While trying to make sure he wasn't missing any limbs and had no new scars, he noticed his left foreleg was a bit sore. I need to get out of here. These strange aliens are frightening. I need to find a way home. He was barely paying attention to the man in the room when he noticed his guitar and his wings were no longer on his back. He immediately began searching the room for them. "Where are they?" He asked himself, looking frantically.

@RokkuHoshiWinston adjusted his glasses and turned to face the other-wordler. He put his clipboard on his lap.

The first few of these interviews were extremely nerve wracking. Now he was prepared for the confusion, seeing it countless times now. Unlike the first few times he also knew that the equine being would understand him.

No matter where the they seemed to have originated. All those who came through the RIFT spoke fluent English. In most cases they didn't even realize that they were not speaking their language of origin. English was the new default.

"Greetings." Winston put his hands on his knees, he wanted to be the calming presence in his voice and body language. "Please, do not panic, we are here to help you. I am here to help you."

"I must look very strange to you." Some of the other-worlders had never seen humans before. "I am sorry that this is such a shock... I will do my best to answer your questions."

"You are very-very far from home. My name is Winston, I am a human, I'll explain that more later."

"You are here because you were injured, you have been in a coma now for several weeks."

"I do not know where They are. However there were others found, I do not know if any of them were your companions. We will arrange for you to meet them once you have calmed down and everything has been explained to you fully."

To say that Vaughtar was super happy would have been a bit of an overstatement. The gargoyle had sought refuge in the gym as it was one of the very few places aboard this strange, incredible steel monster they all were living in that allowed him to not feel entirely squeezed and cramped.

However, if he had known that Rozalind would choose this location for letting go of her steam he'd probably have preferred another spot. Unconsciously the gargoyle pushed the claws running along his feet into the hall floor which was soft compared to the steel gratings that littered the entire vehicle.

Then Vaughtar couldn't stand it anymore. One part of him to turn around and leave immediately no matter how cowardly that might look like, another part wanted him to address Rozalind directly and with as muc cleverness as he could muster no matter the risk of losing this game. Ultimately it was this part that slipped through first.

"Ahem..." The gargoyle raised his unmistakable rumble of a voice. "For what should we be prepared ?"

Rockin' eyed the man with a frown. He vaguely remembered leaving Ash and Blitz behind to check out... something. He couldn't remember what. "Was there no items around me where you found me? I had a guitar and a pair of mechanical wings." He checked around his neck to see if his locket was in place. He was glad to see it. He continued to look around at the room, trying to get his bearings. "I'm not the only one you found, am I?" He was suspicious of the, what did he call himself? Human? That sounded right. He looked at the door and focused on the knob, both it and his horn glowing a pale blue-green color. He pulled and pushed, not knowing the knob had to be turned.

Landscapes of red, the color of blood. The smell of brimstone, the heat of liquid magma, suffocating.
No air.

Claws slashed at his naked body, causing him to recoil in pain.

Teeth snapped and gnashed at him, nipping and tearing into soft flesh, toying with him.

He grunted, screamed, more in anger, and defiance rather than pain.
When he opened his eyes he saw a black form in front of him, large, imposing; in a fluid motion an appendage, resembling a savage spear jutted into his chest, where his heart was housed.

With a sharp inhale Wolfe sat up in his rack. He was sweating profusely and panting heavily, he clutched at his chest. The pain still very real in his mind. He sat there gritting his teeth in pain, and slowly, very slowly opened his eyes. The more they focused the more the pain went away. Within a minute Wolfe was aware of where he was. In his rack, in his quarters, at the secret base of M.E.R.C.Y\Trident.

He glanced at the clock: 0607. Taking a few deep breathes, he tried to slow his shaking. He swung his legs over and sat up, rubbing his face with his hands.

“Fuck it, not going back to sleep now…”

Getting up he put on a pair of sweats, and slipped on his flip flops, grabbed a towel, and his bag full of hygiene supplies and headed for the bathroom. Wolfe was glad the showers had good pressure and heat, all too often he gets stuck taking cold showers….or none at all for months on a time. After the shower he made sure to shave and then made his way back to his room. The room was sparse, a rack, a nightstand, a small desk and a chair, and his wall locker.

Wolfe put on pair of black BDU trousers, and a black T-shirt. He wanted to work out some, but the base doctor ordered him on light duty due to his hand injury he sustained last time in the field. His had was properly bandaged and was healing nice. Trident has some kind of gelatin that speeds up the healing process. A wound that would take weeks to recover from would simply take a matter of days…. Of course it has its limits. Hirsch was in the same boat.

After getting something to eat he decided to head over to the base Armory. He hadn’t had the proper time to clean his weapon from the last field op. Wolfe also wanted to get a good idea at what kind of hardware this place has. Always good to keep his options open.

He made his way down a level and through a large steel door. A man sat at a desk in a small room to his left. The window covered in chicken wire, standard armory procedure.
After getting cleared Wolfe walked in.

“Hey man!” It was Hirsch, looks like he had the same idea, he had his SAW already stripped and was cleaning the guide rod on the weapon.

“What’s up, you’re up early.”

“Yea, hand was hurting couldn’t sleep, doc gave me some of that special spooge and it feels better now.” He said with a shrug. Wolfe chuckled.

They made small talk, joked around, the normal things two marines do when conducting tedious work, though Wolfe didn’t mind cleaning his weapon, it was therapeutic to him. After a few hours their weapons were cleaned and put back. They then decided to inspect the other weapons in the armory.

“Look at this shit…” Hirsch said running his finger around the chamber of an assault rifle, black carbon stained his finger.

“Shits dirtier than the Army’s weapons…” he remarked.
For the next six hours the two marines cleaned all the weapons in the armory.

XIII needed a lot of time to think. He had been quiet ever since he had the memory resurface. Lost in thought trying to figure out everything that had happened so far, but much to his frustration, he had come up with nothing. Finally, he had had enough with just thinking. He made his way to the gym and went a few rounds with the punching bag. Once he had worked himself tired, he sat down on a nearby chair and watched as people started gathering.

He overheard Roziland briefing the group on magic and how one should be clever and prepared. When he heard Vaughtar ask what they needed to be prepared for, XIII smiled. He felt like he could have some input on the matter. He stood up and started making his way towards the group. Once he was close enough, he snapped his fingers, and a series of small sparks appeared before Vaughtar before it turned into small ball of flame that just hovered in front of the gargoyle.

XIII frowned for a fraction of a second. His abilities seemed to be slightly different in this world. He needed to practice. Pushing that thought aside, he spoke up.

"Technically, you should be prepared for anything." He made a beckoning motion with his fingers and the ball of fire floated towards him before he made a swiping motion and the flame cut out. "While I'm not the leading expert on magic, being prepared for anything, even if it isn't possible, is a good viewpoint to have." XIII grinned at Roziland. "Sorry for butting in, couldn't help it."

“I no freak” Shannon stated matter-of-factly. “I monster.”

She was resting on her front arms and shifted slightly trying to find a more comfortable position on the large, cold metal examination table. The room itself was far too white for Shannon; she hated the bitter smell of sterile equipment, she hated the florescent light above her, she hated the used tools on the counter top, and she hated the machine the machine she was connected to. Shannon kept a single eye trained upon it. With another eye, she glared unblinking at the door the not-Agents had left chattering excitedly to each other.

“Thank you Zesiro friend, scaring Not-Agents.” She looked almost kindly at him through the eyes of her tongue. “Not-Agents talk like Agents. Not-Agents ask I though for things. Still not Like.”

Absently she toyed with the ridges of the table where there had been places for restraints before she had torn them off.

“Zesiro friend. What place Trident? I smell many Humans and Monsters. It busy place. Are other friends here too?”


“Book of the Dead? As in Egyptian Book of Dead or possibly something else?”

Already Charles was stringing together little ideas and questions to ask, hungry eyes willing the book to give up its secrets. While he itched to get his hands on it and pore over it Charles knew it would be impolite to do so, at least without asking first.

“Looks like it’s been through the wars a bit, if you don’t mind me saying so. May I?”

He waited until Twain either gave or refused him permission to draw the book closer for tentative examination of its first few pages before he continued. Despite Twain not telling him the specific reason for calling a little meeting given the circumstances Charles could make at least several very good guesses.

“Sir, in the message you sent you had spoken about teaching a few of us some new skills. Given that Rozalind has apparently booked out the gym for the entire morning, I’m guessing that you’re taking on the more magical arts to teach.”

Charles ‘hmm’-ed when a thought struck him and the gears spinning inside his skull were almost audible.

“Thinking about it, it’s actually pretty obvious that magic would be more of a ‘taught’ subject rather than a simply ‘innate ability’ sort of thing. But that does raise the question if some are more gifted with one branch of magic than another, or perhaps even able to learn multiple branches, assuming magical subjected are structured in such a way…”

“Sorry sir. You were saying?”
@Eyeris

@RokkuHoshi

Winston began to write. "There were a few items recovered, they are in storage... Your looking for a guitar and wings....?"

"And yes... We did find others..." He was distracted as the door began to make a strange noise. He turned and watched the knob and door rattle a bit. Then looked back to the equine being.

"Um... Is that you doing that? I know that this is quite unusual, but please, I think before you leave or go meet the others you should understand where you are and what has happened..."

"You have been in coma for some time now. We found you... Along with several others... In the aftermath of a undefined metaphysical event. There was some sort of rift in time or space or magic... We are still trying to work it out..."

"What I'm trying to say is that you are very very far form home. You are on a planet called earth. You and many of the others we found appear to be from other worlds entirely."

"My name is Winston. I'm a part of an organization called TRIDENT that... Well... We specialize in dealing with unusual events here on Earth. I'm here to help you acclimate, answer any questions you have, hear your story as well. As soon as you feel ready I'd like to introduce you to some of the others that we have found, to see if you recognize anyone."

He paused, straightening the papers on his clipboard.

"Do you... Follow so far?"

@cpldingo

Wolfe would recognize some of the guns in the armory.

Most, however, were not standard issue arms.

Most seemed normal enough to the untrained eye, perhaps so that agents in the field would not draw attention, however because Wolfe was taking things apart, cleaning, looking closely at each part, he would certainly notice that most of the weapons were different.

Some were perfectly normal.

Others were... Different. Variations. Some had strange symbols etched in strange places. Some made of materials he didn't recognize. One gun had a small blade where the trigger should be... As if the weapon needed blood to fire instead of bullets.

Then there were the archaic weapons... Bows... Spears... Swords... How long had these been rotting in this armory?

The two men seemed to be alone. They would perhaps, at some point, get the feeling that they were being watched.

Icarus appeared, as if from nowhere. Simply sitting next to them, saying nothing, watching them clean the guns. He was stout and bald. He wore a tank top that exposed his muscular arms, and plain black pants, black combat boots. The strong silent type might have fit in with the military men... Were it not for the feral look in his quiet eyes or the strange artworks that covered his skin.

If the men looked at Icarus straight on they could admire his many and intricate tattoos... If they looked away, they would see the images on the man's skin ripple and shift as if the pictures were moving... A sparrow on his forearm turned to look at Wolfe... Yet if they looked back at the man directly the images would be still... Had the sparrow been that way the whole time?

After awhile Icaus would move down the isle of cleaned weapons, as if inspecting their work. He had the shadow of a smirk upon his lips as he looked over the weapons.

@Fetzen@Konan375

Rozalind nodded toward XIII, approving of his response.

"I hate magic." She flexed her arm, the one that had been injured on the mountain and 'healed' by Twain. "It is afoul art. I'd prefer a fair fight and an honest death, but, that isn't how magic works." She scowled into the distance. "The way they warp nature, abuse their power, it's disgusting. They killed some poor kid for their ritual... For what? It didn't even work..." Her cheeks burned, turning red as her anger boiled within her.

She cracked her knuckles. "Someone has to fight back against them, and not everyone can, so here we are." She looked between the man and the gargoyle. "You both likely have some experience with magic, you on your gargoyle world and you um... Being you."

She bean to pace. "We have no idea what kind of magic we are up against, that would be helpful! They were used more than one type of magic in their ritual

"XIII. What you have we call Inherent Magic. Baby you were born that way. Most cases appear to be genetic (So they almost called it inherited magic), but not always (So they didn't). Sometimes this helps people perform the other kinds of magic, sometimes not. People with inherent magic manifest a wide range of abilities... Pretty random..." She looked far off into the distance, biting her lower lip. "They are tricky to fight because you don't know what they can or cannot do... Until they show you." She looked back to XIII again before moving on.

"The outer circle was a kind of magic we call Archaic or Occultic Magic. 80% of magicians are in this category. Circles, chanting, symbols, they use a system to direct will into power and energy." She looked to the gargoyle now. "These are usually easier because they are typically systemic in their method. For example, if they are working in a big magic circle... All you have to do is break the edge to ruin the work. If you can find the pattern you can break it. You can't always rely on that method, sometimes the patterns are very complicated."

"There is a type of magic called Mentalism. You better hope we are not against one of these. If you ever got into a fight with one, you might survive but you wouldn't remember." She tapped her head. "You can't trust anything or anyone if you are fighting a Mental-Mage. Not even yourself... Especially not yourself."

She shook her head to move the conversation along. "Then there are necromancers." She frowned. Clearly thinking about one necromancer in-particular.

"They. Are. The. Worst."

@Arty Fox

"Yeah, Egypt had a few for sure!" Twain grinned from ear to ear. "I'm pretty sure this one was in Egypt... It's been passed down a long line. In fact, every Necromancer has one of these. Passed down from the Necromancer who taught them."

He paused, touching the cover of the book. "You ask a lot of good questions kid. Even if I answered your questions, I have a feeling that you are one of those people who would only be satisfied seeing things for themselves. Ya think?"

He turned the book to face Charles and pushed it forward. "I warn you it is dangerous for mortal eyes to look upon..." He spoke in a mock-ominous tone.

As Charles opened the pages he would find the parchment... Blank...

"The thing is... It is forbidden to show off the Book-Of-The-Dead or answer all your brilliant questions... Except to a student of Necromancy."

Across from Charles, he put his hands together and leaned forward.

"So... Do you want to learn?"

@Arty Fox
Zesiro crossed his legs and leaned back. "That's the spirit. A monster not a freak." He frowned at the ceiling. "Agents... Not-Agents... I don't like 'em either." He sighed.

"We are on a submarine, if you know what that is. Basically in a big underwater tank. There are humans here and... Ah... Yeah, Monsters too. This kind of thing is weird in our world. Monsters, magic, world-traveling. TRIDENT tries to deal with all that crap for some reason. I dunno, I guess they think most people can't handle it."

"The other guys aren't far." He leaned forward, slouching in his chair now. We are still all on the same sub. This is the base, it's more than one sub actually. Trisitan likes to play 'Captian' he keeps it all together with his wacky water magic or some shit." Zesiro rolled his eyes.

He stood up and crossed over to Shannon. He tore of whatever monitors they still had left on her. "Anyway, you feelin' okay?"

@Eyeris

"I understand completely." Rockin' nodded, the glow dissipating from his horn and the doorknob. "Is something wrong with the door? Being stuck in such a small room is making me uncomfortable. I just wanted to open it to see that there's actually something out there." He looked back at Winston with a slight frown. "The only types of beings I would be able to identify are ponies, such as myself, griffons, donkeys, and a few of the more dangerous creatures that wander the wilds." Looking up, he frowned thoughtfully. "What kind of rift was it?" He got a flash of an image in his mind. "Blitz might have chased me through it. Did you find a black pony with blue stripes? He's a Pegasus too so he has wings."