Jonathan took another deep breath.  "I'll be heading back to the tavern, too.  I'm not usually a big drinker, but I could use one right about now."

"Well, I suppose I'm not averse to spending some time in the tavern." Petra sighs. She had wanted to stay in the forest for as long as possible, but the thought of companionship was more interesting.

"Adverse? Not at all!" Shara grins widely, moving over to link her arm through the knight's. "And Petra, don't worry. I intend to come back out here again, see what kind of ghosties and ghouls live out in the wilds. Frankly, I can't imagine they'd be anything more than dead birds and beasts. Ghosts in cities are a good deal more terrifying." She chuckles, but clearly is one who has never been haunted or visited by anything supernatural before.

"Well, if we're heading back to the tavern we might as well head off now." Petra sighs, glancing in the direction they had come.

Lead on, then, as i do not know the way Gawain says, as he accepts the arm linking through his own.

Shara grins, and heads off in the direction she believes to be the way to the tavern

Jonathan simply followed along with the group headed back to the tavern, not really speaking up.  He was honestly starting to feel better, but he did want to take his mind off of various unpleasant thoughts revolving around his situation.

--> The Porch, I guess?

->>>to the tavern, or somewhere thereabouts, i suppose...->>>

Petra followed along hesitantly, checking every now and then to make sure they were headed in the right direction. She glanced back at Selesia once or twice, but if the dragon followed it would probably only be able to make it as far as the porch.

<<--To the Porch-->>

Jesse gasped as he work up from where he had leaned himself against a tree. Blood streamed out his nose and he had fallen unconscious? That was not good he decided as he wiped the blood off his lip and focused, where gad everyone gone? What just happened? Jesse blinked in confusion. He was alone and it sounded like everyone was headed back to the tavern. He slowly got to his feet and walked after the group silently.

--To the Porch-->

She indeed did fallow, she was becoming slightly frightened out here though trying to be protective over Petra as well. that would be first over her own feelings.

>>To the Porch>>>

While she would have liked to think of it as running, or even a graceful dive, the truth of the matter was it was more like a stumble or trip, and the woman found her self sprawled on the ground.  She'd felt herself falling, gun fire surrounded her.

Now she was breathing heavy, flat on her back, her gun drawn, in silence.  She rose swiftly looking around first in confusion, then in recognition.  She knew where she was, or at least she recognized it.

There had been so little in the recent past she had been sure of... She took a few caustious steps as she slowly caught her breath, but her heart rate was not slowing.  For a second she had a flash of hope.  She quickly dampened it. Hope always meant pain.

It had not been a dream, others had assured her of that...but she still wasn't completely sure.   And it was silly to hope for something not real. Still...there she was...

She took a tentative step toward the edge of the forest, the tavern in view. Her heart still pounding, she paused looking down at herself.  She looked awful. She looked like she'd just walked out of the loosing end of a fight.  Which pretty much was the case.

Glancing around she sighed.  It wasn't like she could do much about that... and even if there was no one here she knew... She would be able to get cleaned up. Get a drink, some food. Think about this new turn of events...

With a shakey sigh, she headed toward the tavern.

[To The Tavern]

Meri felt the bullet tear into his chest & time slowed down to the point it nearly stopped altogether. He was vaguely aware of the many sensations & the many memories all at once. The pain swiftly spread hot then was no more. A blessing Meri thought. The Englishman was barely aware of of the Welby falling from nerveless fingers... of his person slipping from the saddle. The Gunman's eye lids were getting heavy & were closing now even as he saw the blue of the sky overhead. Bonny Red Bess rode ever onward ignorant of her rider's difficulty.

As Meri fell back wards & to his left, faces raced fleetingly by. There was his father, the Major, his stern eyes exhibiting disapproval as always, as if he knew it would all end this way. There was Abigail, just as she appeared outside Oxford, on the day she declined his engagement. Bedford Forest was yelling... Come on Smythe! Its Shiloh or death for us! Then there was Chance whispering Godspeed & Silas saying Dammit n' Tar-nation Meri yer done for! There was Travis smiling, with a twinkle in his eye as he lashed the stage horses into a gallop. There was Art saying some such of a walk about & wanting Meriwether to come along...

Lastly he heard someone shouting in Cheyenne... it was a woman's voice & there was Whitemoon... her beautiful smile inviting but there was sadness in her eyes as well The Raven has come to carry you away... to the great spirit Merryweter!

A slight smile tugged at the corner of the Englishman's mouth as the prairie grass raced up to meet him. Meriwether's pale blue eyes closed for the last time. The Englishman was dead before he hit the ground...

******   ****   ******

Meri eyes flitted open to see the dense branches over head. The grass was wet with dew... not the dry grass of the prairie. This all seemed somewhat strange and familiar all at the same time. He remembered these woods though he had not seem them in some time.

A elegantly gloved hand move as if by reflex to his chest... nothing.

"Bloody hells!" was the only thing to escape his lips.

He is fast, faster than a man of his size has any right to be, and he was running all out when he hits the tree.  The trunk is shivered and despite the carbon fiber lacing, so does his collar bone.  He twists in the air even as he starts to fall, landing on his back, the pistol still in hand.

The movement is one that he has done hundreds of times before, the speed blinding.  The clip ejects from the gun and his left hand draws out a fresh one, slamming it into place, but for the first time, the clip falls to the ground.  It takes .45 seconds for him to realize why, the ring and pinkie fingers from his left hand are gone along with part of his palm.  The pain dampeners have kicked in and he ignores the tingling feeling.  He doesn't reach for the fallen clip, instead drawing out a fresh one, fumbling with it just a bit as he tries to compensate for the missing fingers.  The clip, covered in blood slides into place, the action of the pistol sliding closed, chambering another round.

A brush of his hand knocks the broken glasses from his face and his eyes scan darkness for any threats, the pistol held steady as he looks.  He scans with thermal, low light and ultrasound and finally lowers the gun, reholstering it before it starts to tremble.  He feels the pain as a slight tingling but his hand starts to shake from the blood loss.  His body is compensating for the shock but he knows that he doesn't have much time.

He grabs trauma patch, reaching inside his shirt to place it over his heart, the best place for the drugs to get swiftly into his blood stream.  He waits the 3.8 seconds for the coagulants to start to stem the blood flow before attempting to stand.  The first attempt is a failure, the damage to his right knee, more severe than he had previously thought.

He had no choice but to stay there until he was able to fix at least some of the damage.  He puts his back to the trunk of the shattered tree, his trembling hand reaching into his sling bag to pull out the doc box.  It takes three tries for him to plug the box into his data jack and he turns his head to the side as the needles automatically insert themselves into his arteries.  He forces his heart to slow down as the oxygenated flurocarbons start to replace the missing red blood cells.  The doc box goes through  quick diagnostic of his cyberware, checking each system for damage.  There aren't enough of the nanites to properly affect the repairs needed so he directs them to his knee, trying to get himself up and moving.  The data flow from the doc box tells him it will be 724 seconds  until the minimal repairs will be complete but it will not be able to start them until the knee is properly aligned.  The pain compensators are pushed beyond their limits when he grabs his knee and wrenches it back into place.  He stifles the scream, but just.

It had been nearly two years since Jonathan had encountered that mysterious place, and the memory had all but disappeared from his mind.  So much had transpired since then, both in the world as a whole, and among his own affairs.

But that was neither here nor there.  For now, he ran.  Whether it truly was a member of the mysterious "Ultio Brotherhood" that had been hounding them these last weeks... months... Jonathan wasn't sure anymore.  He didn't care; all that mattered was that this was an enemy.  The scum had tried to eliminate him and had failed miserably (though Jon smarted from the small wound in his side; fortunately the fool hadn't thought to poison his blades).  It could have been Ultio, or perhaps some aspiring new Modas Il Toralar scum, or maybe just an unlucky member of the Horde biting off more than he could chew.

Jon didn't care.  All he knew was that the scum was about to die.  Except Jonathan pursued his prey through Elwynn, toward the forests of Duskwood, the target vanished behind a tree, and when the worgen followed... something was very wrong.

He no longer recognized his surroundings.  This was not Elwynn or Duskwood anymore.  And yet... something about it was vaguely familiar.  He took in the scents of the place, searching for something he could recognize, but found nothing he could place.  Stumbling across a small clearing, his gaze was drawn to the trees.  He approached them slowly.  These trees bore claw marks he recognized well.

"Well... I'll be damned."

As the repairs are under way, he first picks up the dropped clip, checking it for damage and dirt before putting it back in the proper pouch.  He checks through his weapons and equipment, making sure everything is in place and undamaged.  With the bleeding stopped and the flurocarbons supplying the oxygen to his system, shock is staved off.  It takes just over 12 minutes for his leg to stabilize, the nanites repairing the bones, flesh, and cybernetic enhancements before running out of power and dying.  With a steady hand, he unplugs the doc box and puts it back into his bag.

Using the shattered trunk for leverage, Mason lifts himself to his feet.  His knee can support his weight, but he wouldn't be able to run until he makes it back to doc Havers.  Upon standing, he recognizes this bend of the woods.  He had made it back to the woods around the Tavern and it wasn't far off.  As he starts to limp onward, he practices drawing out a clip and moving it as if to reload, trying to compensate for his missing fingers and partial hand.

Jonathan looked around the clearing at the trees he'd savaged in his fury... how long ago?

"I thought this place had just been a weird dream..." He muttered to himself.  He began to move in the direction he remembered the Tavern being from where he was now.

First however, he took the time to add one more punch to one of the trees he'd already attacked so savagely in the past.  "...the son of a bitch got away!"

The young man appeared to simple walk out of no where.  He pasued for a minute, glanced around and a slow crooked grin crossed his features with clear recognition.

It had been a while since he'd been here.   He'd learned some.  Mostly he learned that he didn't know enough, but like with all youth, he figured he would learned it and that it would all work out regardless.

He doubted any of his old friends were there too, but then you never knew.

After another look around, he headed off to the tavern.  He could drink here. Legally and that tickled him no end.  Not the drinking, but the ordering of the drink.  That was the cool part.

[To the Tavern]

[ From porch]

It was only here that Vanessa stopped, not going far enough to get to the portal without Mason.  She took a deep breath,  finally turning to him,  Alright, tell me again what you think we're walking into, exactly. She looked at him sternly concentrating.

He walks out into the woods, his hand never straying far from the butt of his gun.  "I am not positive on the numbers, but there were at least two dozen, armed and armored.  They had assault rifles and one had a quad missile launcher."  His own pistol, he had loaded with armor piercing rounds.

"If much time has passed, my allies will have come back with greater force and should have retaken the area.  We have the support of the locals as well, they will help or shelter us if they can.  I made great inroads with them."  The cost of that had really been minimal.  He had started bringing in some clean food, seeds for some crops and had set up a water purification facility.  He was constantly amazed at the small farms that could spring up in the barrens, the people's will to not only survive but thrive.

Alright... well, let's hope a fair amount of time has passed. She said grimly, and withdrew the weapon Mason has given her, checking it again needlessly.

She frowned. How are we going to do this? She glanced up at him.  They needed to be touching when they went through the portal, but given what they might find on the other side they also needed to be ready coming out of it.

"The simplest way is to grasp hands."  He gives a small smile and shrug, holding up his mangled left hand.  "Don't worry, I won't let you go." 

He takes a step back and again looks around, scanning the surrounding darkness.  "Last time I came through to the Tavern, almost a week had passed in my own world.  It is likely at least some time has passed."

She nodded, but didn't look comfortable and didn't make a move to proceed.

Clearly thinking, I don't want to hurt you're hand... but more than that... if we are potential walking into ambush, I'm not so thrilled with the idea of giving you my right hand...  He should understand, and she stepped away from him, thinking, and looking around the the woods.  Though she was clearly not 'seeing' the woods, but imagining the what and how they might be entering.  She scowled, if it weren't for the rules of the portal...but it was.  A loose connection or tentative grip going through was unacceptible also.  They might end up in different places.

She gave an aggravated, short, snort of exhale.

Alright, it's not perfect, but it's better. She returned to his side, Let's do this...  She turned to face in the opposite direction from him, looping her left arm through his. They were as close to back to back and still connected as she could come up with.  Both of their right hands held their weapons and between them they would have a pretty wide circumferance of view.

Your lead any way... backwards and in heels and all that...it'll be fine. She answered him, though he had yet to speak. Ready when you are.
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:59, Tue 18 Sept 2012.

It was an uncomfortable way to go, but it would do.  Despite the missing digits, his grip is strong and he held her hand tightly.  "Ready."  He only speaks when he must when it is time for things to happen, he has his game face on, devoid of any emotion.  The drawing of the gun is fast and fluid.  He switches his enhanced reflexes to it's maximum setting.  He crouches as he prepares to step through.

"On three...  One, two, three."  He steps forward, pulling her forward as he goes.

Sprinting into the trees, Dante allowed himself just the slightest glimmer of hope. The forest did not bring safety, but it at least meant that from here, he had a fighting chance. A grunted curse eked through his lips at whatever was preventing him from being able to use his abilities properly. The only thing that he could pray at this stage was that the effects weren't permanent.

His black hair, tousled and unkempt, swept behind him as he ran. A white sheet was partially wrapped around his body, attached only by his hands. Scratches marred his arms and legs, and his feet were red with blood and raw with torn skin. His face, olive-skinned with dark eyes, was pallid and drawn, his eyes sunken and malnourishment evident on his features.

He continued to run between the trees, branches and twigs adding to the scratches on his arms and legs, until finally he stopped. Curled over in two, he leaned against a tree, done. His eyes glanced behind him, looking for the signs of pursuit. Perhaps - just perhaps he had at least put enough distance between them that they wouldn't follow. Perhaps they wouldn't venture into the forest after him - this was not the safest of places to visit, after all.

His breath was laboured, his body heaving as he tried to suck in enough oxygen to recover. A hand ran through his tousled hair, getting caught on the knots and matting, and he struggled for a moment to free his hand again. Slowly his head lifted, and he began to take in his surroundings, the darkened atmosphere, the tall trees casting their imposing presences above him, the sound of the river nearby.

Another moment longer, and Dante began to consider that maybe he was no longer being followed. He made his way closer to the stream of water flowing nearby, and discarded the sheet, stepping into the water waist deep and ducking his head under.