Fenna's talk with James had gone well, for the most part. He knew of a place where she could learn healing, which was good. He wasn't all that pleased with what happened down at the spa, and she understood that. She repeated the story when he asked her to do so, adding in the defence that she didn't try to touch it, her intention had been to just feel it from a somewhat safe distance, and she hadn't anticipated it would have arched like that. In the end there wasn't more to say about it, although she did promise James to be more careful with strange phenomena like that, and she showed him her spear that ever since the encounter had a faint glow to it. In daylight it was barely visible.
As they couldn't find out what it had been between the two of them, both went their ways: James to get supplies and Fenna to start her day.

First, Fenna went back to her soldiers to continue their training. For the lunch break she went to the Golden Tree Park with Sil and watched the druids work while the falcon could spread her wings. Sil stayed closer now, even since Fenna had gone down in the spa, and wouldn't let her go near that building again. When she went back to the soldiers she noticed those hooded figures were watching her. They kept their distance, but Fenna had spotted them a few times now. Let them look, she thought to herself. I'm not doing anything wrong. They were connected to that underground place, that was all she knew. And that she wasn't allowed down there, but they had let her leave and none of them had approached her since then. She couldn't shake the feeling they were following her around now. Observing her, maybe? To make sure she wouldn't go down there again?

The afternoon was spent with her soldiers again, they marched through the city, ran laps and did fighting exercises. Rest was equally important, so when the light faded she sent them all home. After dinner, she went to the place James knew to learn a bit more about healing.

He looked at the man in front of him.

There was a presence about him, like a solid wall you had no choice but to acknowledge as it felt more solid, more real than you did. He had noticed it since the first time he had met him and it was one of the reasons he accepted him readily when he expressed his desire to join, in retrospective he had been extremely lucky that such a person was open to being recruited into some unknown party with badly kept secrets.

And now that same man was sitting in front of him looking at him with concern in his posture.

His thoughts were scrambled, not as much by both sides of himself creating conflicting thoughts but rather by the revelation- and it was a revelation, ever since he had appeared in this weird world there had been coincidences stacking into coincidences that led him down certain paths, and as subtle as some of them had been when influencing him there was something 'bitch slapping' about the man in front of him appearing when he was in his knees begging for salvation. He... he had never been the most devout follower truth be told, he attended mass sometimes and did the things he was supposed to do with his family but in comparison to some of his relatives (especially the older ones), his faith was a spark to their raging inferno.

But for the second time in his life he had spectated a miracle.

He was going to tell him, wasn't he? Yeah, since the moment he was found in the alley there was little in the way of resistance or reluctance to share his problem.

Zell's situation... wasn't something he could handle alone anymore, if the second ritual failed then he would be truly out of options and his friend would be corrupted, lost in the same way he had been when his life had been cut short. A shadow of his former self, mighty but so warped that only traces of the original remained.

He didn't want that.

Briefly, the thought of sharing his own doubts crossed his mind, Zigmund was James and James was Zigmund, that was undeniable, but he wasn't either of them, not entirely. He kept a good sense of morality but the most effective solutions kept flashing throughout his mind, lacking the instinctive aversion James' once possessed, he had a new ruthlessness edge that was more calculating than malicious as used to be the case for Zigmund. He loved and hated. He wished for them to experience hardship and live long and joyful lives. He felt nostalgia and a yearning for home. He was figuring things out, moving with the flow like a leaf on the stream, but quick-witted to adjust his trajectory to achieve results.

He was he.

And that wasn't a burden he was willing to place on anyone's back.

“What’s on your mind Captain? You can talk to me.”

He cracked immediately and told everything.

---

He was wandering through some park he didn't recognize.

It had taken a long effort to assure Kass that he was fine going on his own but the Paladin's concern was clearly on the biggest threat that the Black Sword represented. He had some idea about what he was planning to do, it was funny how he was planning to reinforce the stereotype that melee classes solved everything by hitting it but maybe that was the solution he had been searching for.

Quietly he sat on one of the benches of the park, it was getting late and he could see himself eating dinner at the Drum if he headed in that direction.

He didn't.

Instead, he stared at the trees in stillness, if his memory wasn't wrong Fenna should be in the hospital getting tips from the doctors and nurses who managed the place. Despite not being a church of Samed the people attending it were diligent and experienced, which made sense considering the number of adventurers that passed through Valheim.

He wondered what the rest of his party doing.

She was tired. It had been a long day at the Military Centre. But she was not so tired that she couldn't detect the nefarious energy in the Brass Monkey. Lecherous eyes, weird smells to the smoke, aggressive voices in the ambience - Have I come to the right place? Is this really it?

It was the place. In a recpetion area adjacent to the tavern taproom, MacKensie found a wiry old man who looked her up and down with dispassion as he placed his hands on the desk. MacKensie noticed the Source Crystal on the back of his left hand.

"What?"

"Umm..." Clearly not the polite type. "I'm here to use the training grounds."

"Class and Tier?"

"Ranger. Silv- no, Gold."

A single eye of the old man narrowed with suspicion, but his expression told her that he quickly decided he didn't care if she was lying. He waved his hand to follow and made for another door at the back of the reception room. MacKensie tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear and tentatively followed. They eventually ended up in a long hall that was much like a garden room extension of a house. Through the long line of large windows, MacKensie could see the training grounds, the targets, the combat dummies, the obstacle courses and much more. Within the hall, there were many machines and computers sporting that distinct Mytherian look: Stone blocks with magical screens overlaying them, gold plating and piping covering what must have been the wiring. Even after being in Valhiem for this long, the french heiress was still in awe of it all.

"We'd ordinarily charge," the old man said. "But the bosses are gone, the city's a hair's breadth from destruction and business has been shit this last week. And most pertinently..." he looked at her grimly. "...I'm bored." MacKensie smiled nervously. "So you're in luck." She nodded eagerly. He explained that he was about to set all electrical, mechanical and magical settings to Gold Class but warned her, "It won't be easy, if you're lying about being Gold Tier. This place can and will try to hurt you. Kill you, if it can. Are you sure you want Gold?"

"Yes please," MacKensie answered. Memories of Second Chance's last mission flashed through her mind - the Greater Wraith and the Listener. Zigmund the metal ninja. Second Chance may be Silver Tier officially, but they were clearly more powerful than their rank suggested. "I think I'm up to the challenge."

"Suit yourself. Should make a good show, at least."

He turned to a stone computer and began inputting commands with his fingers on the strange screen that hovered a few millimetres above the surface. When he was done, before he had a chance to speak, MacKensie went first. "I am MacKensie. MacKensie Trydant." She offered her hand. He looked at it for a second, then decided on giving her a weak handshake.

"Septimus the Soundless."

MacKensie gave a small smile of appreciation. She was glad to know who she was dealing with, good etiquette ingrained in her upbringing. With a gesture, he showed her the door she was to go through and she obliged, stepping out into the crisp evening air of the yard. There were a few branching paths from here, but the one that drew her attention was the most difficult-looking. Her sharp eyes looked down what was an obstacle course of sorts, with balance beams along the course, hampered by swinging weights that would knock her off if she wasn't careful. She also noted the pillars with bolt-firing mechanisms and the targets - both moving and stationary - dotted along the way.

This was exactly what she needed. Those regular archery ranges at the Military Centre were nothing compared to this.

"When you're ready, MacKensie Trydant." Septimus' words came from speakers in surround sound. She looked back at him, seeing him at the computer, watching her through the window. She nodded, then looked back at her chosen path with determination.

Calm. Focus. Don't forget to breathe.

Three weeks ago...

Deep within the wilderness, a loud, almost wet thud rang through the trees. A lone stone coffin lay upright and ajar, its occupant stumbling out to her knees, hacking and coughing.

"Where... where am I?" Alison thought as she slowly picked herself off the ground. The world spun slightly, and she felt aches throughout her body. She needed to sit down. Thinking for a moment, she struggled to recall the past 24 hours.

"I was... leaving the Pentagon after watching the op... that's right!" She stood up suddenly as the memories came back slowly. "That's right, the op! So wait, why am I in a forest? Okay, if the op was a success, I would have celebrated with the team and probably blacked out." She paused momentarily, patting herself down and looking about her surroundings. "But this isn't the Mall, and I woke up sober. I feel like I got into a fight... Which means the op was a failure, and I probably went down to Harry's. That bitch from Homeland Security must have set me off. But again... I woke up sober. Something is not right. Something is..." Memories of her drive, the impact, the pain, the pavement, suddenly began to form in her mind.

"... wrong."

---

Three weeks later...

The guild's air was thick with alcohol and tension. The siege has put everyone on edge, even the criminal underground. After the recent jubilations and defiant celebrations, the crews of the guild and its patrons started to come back to reality. Alison nursed her ale slowly, sick of its flavor. Since arriving in this strange land, she had begun to miss many of the modern trappings of her previous life. All the alcohol here was watered down to hell, showers were a joke, and cigarettes a mere fantasy. Not even in the far-flung mountains of Afghanistan or the humid hells of Columbia did she feel such nostalgia for the modern amenities. Maybe it's because of why she was here. At least in those remote lands, there was still the chance of coming home.

"Heyo boss, what gotcha lookin' all down like?" Pete said, taking a seat across from her. "Haven't seen ya this down since the Library job. What, the siege gettin' to ya that bad?"

"Nah, just... thinking about home. Nothing fun worth sharing." Alison responded before taking a long pull. She grimaced at the mug for the eighth time that day as Pete chuckled. "Nothing I can change. At least not yet... You have something to report?"

"Yeah, there might be something comin up for us soon. Real easy like, nothin like that previous shiat. No soul sukin tomes to steal all that. Word is there's gonna be some big movements before that barrier goin down. But look, that's stuff for the Guildmaster to go over there. Not my place and all that." He said with a gap-tooth grin. Since Alison met him, Pete always liked to play these sorts of games. He even lost a few of those teeth from her because of that, but he's since learned how far to tease her with information. He always liked to lord information over her before he was inevitably forced to cough it up.

Alison leaned back and yawned but noticed Pete still grinning at her. "What, you got something else to tell me? Spill it, stop showing me that poor dental work."

"Well, I got even better news that might perk ya right up. Remember when we first met? Before you started dressing like a proper cut-throat and was wearing thems weird clothes and whatnot?" At this, Alison did perk up, staring more intently at Pete.

"I do. Why?" she said, the casual tone gone from her voice.

"Well, as it turns out, that party ovf adventures, "Second Chance"? Well, I thinks they might be a lot likes you. Here tell they fell from the sky in stone coffins out in the village of Hommas. Bouts around a few days before you stumbled in town. They all talks like they not from around here and certainly act the part they do. They got some strange abilities, nothin nobody's eva seen. Kinda like the cloak of yours ya never lose. So that got my dumb ehd think right? Who do I know that's a lots like em?" He pointed at Alison. "Seems like I found you a piece to that big ole puzzle of yours."

Alison rested her head in one hand, thinking. This was big news. Pete put on an act, as Alison had come to learn. The dumb commoner, an unassuming goon to ruffle people up in an alley for pocket change. But she'd see a deliberate, sharp wit under that mask when they started working together. One that didn't miss a single detail and kept an ironclad memory...

And someone loyal.

"So those guys that were made Captains? Like the one that came in here and celebrated not too long ago? They're the ones?" Alison said, head still resting in her hand.

"The very same! Small world we all livin in, eh? But listen, that's just what I'm figuring. I'm pretty damn sure of it, but you'll get a chance to ask em yourself. One em, an archer lady, will be using the grounds this evenin back behind the building. Ask er yourself boss and see if it's true." He said, taking a sip from his ale. Alison leaned back and kicked her feet up on the table, staring at the ceiling.

Finally, meeting someone who might answer her about what was happening would be a relief. Alison was someone who needed a purpose, a core goal, an objective to carry her through the day-to-day. It's what kept her grounded and sane in her previous job. Protect your country, protect your team, and take down the threats. Ever since the day she first woke up in this world, she had felt almost like she had been on autopilot. She could apply her tools, knowledge, and trade and keep herself above water, but it felt like it served no great purpose, nothing bigger than herself.

The only thing that kept her going was, oddly, spite. She wanted, no, demanded to know why she had been brought here. Why had her death forced her into this magical, medieval land where reality itself can be ripped to shreds at a moment's notice? If what Pete was saying was right, and if there was not only one but a whole group of people in the same boat as her, then they may know more about what's going on, or at least could put their heads together. With a long sigh, she returned to her drink. At the very least, getting into the good graces of such a rising group of stars would probably pay big dividends.

---

Later that evening...

Alison and Pete stared at the entrance to the guild. This time, she nursed a cup of mud-like coffee. A little reward for a job well done in the week prior. She watched as a young woman entered with flowing blond hair, blue eyes, and a crossbow on her hip.

"That's the one boss. Awfully pretty, ain't she? Better sight than your depressing self." Pete whispered with a wry grin. Alison gave a small nod, not even rising to the jab, as her gaze was fixed on the individual. The woman approached that grumpy old fart Septimus. He acted his usual self and led her back to the training field.

Once they left for the back, she got up from her seat and followed them out to the back. She quietly took a spot against the wall and as she did so, she caught the archer's name. "MacKensie Trydant... That's an odd name. That accent is French, but that name certainly isn't." Alison thought to herself as she watched the training proceed.

After it was concluded, Alison gave a small clap, drawing attention to herself finally. "Well, that was certainly a show there! The rumors weren't kidding about the Second Chance folk. But honestly..." she shrugged. "I'm not here to see the fancy shooting skills. MacKensie, right? You're not from around here, are you? Or I guess I should say, from this world." Alison said, cutting straight to the point.

It was finally time she got some answers.

---

@Zool

Michael Fern looked upon the operations of Golden Tree Park with satisfaction. The Druids and lumberjacks were working in sync and harmony to help the city. He couldn't help thinking of a certain Druid, Adam Phillips. The oddly dressed man was a great caster and helped break down the invisible barrier between some of the more “holier-than-thou” magic users and those without a crystal through his honest work ethic. He even suggested a few improvements to the process, though Michael didn't know who this “Henry Ford” was that Adam said deserved the real credit. The administrator hoped that-

“Oh, speak of the devil,” he thought as the man himself appeared. Sure, he looked worn out, but he wasn't severely injured like before, at least. And given how serious he was, that only meant one thing.

“It succeeded?” Michael asked.

Adam gave a smile and thumbs up, then asked “where can I go cast with the rest of my magic?”

-----

A few hours later…

After using what remained of his energy to cast, Adam wanted nothing more than to eat an early dinner at the Drum and sleep. The lumbermen were good people, they understood the context. The Druid almost made his way out of the park when he saw his team leader looking at the trees, seeming almost contemplative. What a nice surprise!

Sitting next to him, Adam greeted him with “hi James, how are you?”

After listening to his response, the two talked for a while, the conversation turning at some point to the red-eyed man's activities for the past few days. On this subject, he was enthusiastic and happy despite his tiredness, proud of his accomplishments. 

“...so after mastering that plant, I went here. Oh, I forgot to mention! My friend, the one I sent the letter to, recommended the book where I learned about it. Glee is great, I'm glad I was able to mail him. I even-”

Suddenly, the look on Adam's face did a 180, turning from a pleasant demeanor to abject horror.

”Oh, no.”

"So, in my father's day it was just, 'The Drum.' Back then, the place was more akin to The Brass Monkey a real rowdy lot." Zell sat thoroughly entertained as he ate his dinner at the bar in Second Chance's home away from home. "Then, one day - back when the Cherryball fan rivalry was at it's height - a brawl broke out, I mean crazy-like. As the Quinity as my witness, I swear I ain't never saw nothing like it. Musta been half a hundred men beating the ever-loving snot out of eachother. Fists, feet, furniture, even weapons and magic got used. Mass arrests, casualties - a bloke even died. The death was an accident of course. Nobody's ever trying to commit murder over the sport of Cherryball, but passion got the better of everyone that day."

"Oh, you don't have to tell me, bruv," Zell said with a full mouth. He swallowed his mouth-full of food with one noticeably painful gulp, then continued. "Back where I'm from, it's the same with Football. It's practically a religion and I ain't ashamed to admit it. I bleed Chelsea FC."

Frederick tilted his head in understanding. "Then we understand eachother. I bleed Eastenders Cherryball Warriors." They both grinned. "But that day, 'The Drum' was rightly named 'The Broken Dum,' for all the damage the building came out with. Had that name for about a year or two. Took a while to get eveything all fixed up while, at the same time, keeping the business afloat. Cost my father his hair in stress. I took over and started banning all the Cherryball goons. Banned the wearing of colours... everything. Eventually, the mobs took their business elsewhere and the clientele began to change into what you see today. Now it's 'The Mended Drum.'"

"Ha! That's a fucking great story, boss." Zell looked around. "You've done a right good job with the place. I'm into this kinda vibe, meself. I mean; fuck, I'll roll around in the mud when situation calls for it, sure. But in my old line of work, happy drunks buy a lot more drugs than angry drunks. And I'm more of a lover than a fighter, personally."

Frederick raised his eyebrows and bounced back, "That Source Crystal says otherwise!"

"Ha! Got me there, I suppose." Zell conceded. He went back to his food as Frederick shifted over to serve another customer. Zell smiled to himself as he ate, putting forth the case in his mind that he really wasn't the fighting type, back home. He was a fairly disciplined athlete. He didn't eat crap, he didn't do drugs. He was no coward, but he did have 'Muscle' he could call upon when shit hit the fan. His only weakness was girls and beer, but he never let those things misalign his focus when it came to football or his miniture drug empire. And when he recently got his act together and started studying properly, he didn't even let football or his operation get in the way of that. Zell Brooks was a goofball, no doubt about it, but when he set his mind to something, there was no stopping him.

A much simpler time, Zell remembered with melancholy. Fuck, I miss London.

It seemed like forever ago, he'd been through so much since. And right now, things were anything but simple. He wanted to apologise to James, for wasting his time with that ritual - to tell his best friend that if they could just wait until after the big battle, he would be ready-like-Eddy to give up The Black Sword. He wanted so badly to confront MacKensie about what happened on their non-date - how it all ended, the morning after - but he knew she would hear no part of it.

And you want to leave with The Ambassador. Leave your friends. Seek greener pastures. Because you know that is the best course of action.

Zell shook those thoughts away, not even sure if those thoughts were his own or Baphomet's. It made sense. He had a way out of this desperate situation. And he had made a friend in Ambassador Malcom Crane who might give him a leg-up onto the political ladder. The temptation was grating in the back of his mind.

One thing about Baphomet - love him or hate him - was that: He was right more often than not.

Fuck.

Almost there.

Sprint.

She was confident in her speed and it took her past the next set of bolt-firing traps cleanly. Drawing her main one-handed crossbow from the clip at the small of her back, one shot fired. Bullseye. A dive, a commando roll and back into sprint. Two shots fired. Bullseye.

Don't think... feel.

Up the slope of the balance beam she went. The traps did not allow her to slow down. The beam took her high up. She would not allow herself to waver. The third and fourth target forced her left hand to draw the crossbow on her right hip, the weaker weapon joining her primary weapon in dual wield action. Double bullseye.

Input from the senses are your commands. Let your instincts move your body.

Triple pirouette - an old ballet motion. As simple in practice as it was on the precarious balance beam. How far her balance and agility had come. She danced through the first half of the swinging weights like a blue breeze, her azure cape whirling with her. The second half, the traps fired off again. She fell forward off the beam. Not by accident. Her magical grapplehook fired, the Ranger defying gravity, swinging under and around, up and back onto the beam, clearing the second half of the swinging weights.

Reloading dual crossbows was undoubtedly the hard part. Especially whilst running along the beam. She cheated.

Blue flames danced on her hands and up her arms as she activated her Deadly Flurry. Using her practiced Long Jump technique, she lept forward off the end of the beam, into the air, tossed a handful of bolts in front of her as she sailed, and in a blur of godspeed handmovements; one, two, three, four, five, six bolts hit the bullseyes of six moving targets. The traps firing back stood no chance.

She landed and launched back into a sprint to the finish line, concluding the course. Her breathing was heavy as she wiped the sweat from her brow. Septimus deactivated the training ground, allowing her to walk back to the beginning and start another training course. She headed inside, about to ask if, in Septimus' opinion, she might be able to handle a Platinum difficulty, but the applause of another figure her sharp eyes hadn't even noticed was what drew her attention.

"Well, that was certainly a show there! The rumors weren't kidding about the Second Chance folk." Whilst taken aback by the sudden appearance of the woman, MacKensie still managed to put on an air of humility and smile at the praise. "But honestly..." the older woman shrugged. "I'm not here to see the fancy shooting skills. MacKensie, right?"

"Yes. How do you do?"

"You're not from around here, are you? Or I guess I should say, from this world."

And that's when it hit her. That accent. Not nearly as thick as Clive Michel. Not quite as noticeable as even Adam Philips. But most assuredly, undeniably American. It left her speechless for a moment.

There is another. But...?

How? Who knows. Who cared. A new, more heartfelt smile spread across her face and she opened her mouth to speak, not quite sure what to say. "I..." she blinked thrice as she struggled for words. "Yes... I mean... no - No, I am not." A soft snort of a one-note laugh left her as she took in the full visage of the woman, her casual demeanour and cool expression. "Nor are you!" It came out louder than she intended, her excitement clear as she took a step closer to the woman. "How...? When...?" So many questions, all falling out at once. "Are there more of you?"

Septimus the Soundless, nothing if not consistent, was unimpressed, uncaring and abrupt as he shut down the computer and walked off. "I'll leave you two to your little reunion," he said dryly.

MacKensie spared him a brief glance before turning excitedly back to the mysterious woman who seemed to know a lot more about MacKensie than MacKensie did her. Subconciously, she noted the roguish clothing that fit right into the backdrop of The Brass Monkey, but she knew not to judge a book by it's cover. Barracker Kassel was proof enough of that. "How have you been, umm?" She waited for a name before saying, "You simply must meet the rest of us."

Any inquiry as to Second Chance getting to the bottom of the great mystery; Why they were here - MacKensie would admit that they were not doing too well on that front, but they did have some strong leads, aswell as a Source Comm message that the woman would be better off reading herself. However, she would, if pressed further, endevour to explain all that she could.