Eyes tightly shut, hands even tighter clutching her purse, Iona felt a jolt go through her. The nauseating trip, or whatever it had been, was apparently over.

Breathe Iona, breathe...! Easier thought than done. In some rational corner of her mind, Iona knew she was hyperventilating, but it felt as if no air was getting down to her lungs. Can’t panic, calm down, nothing bad is going to happen, just – don’t – panic. Making an effort, she took a deep calming breath. And immediately started to cough violently, almost choking.

She had inhaled a fine powder that was now covering her in a fine layer, still settling around her. It took Iona few moments to collect herself, straightening up and taking stock of her surroundings.

Strange skies, strange landscapes, a seven pointed star and seven strangers... calmly introducing themselves. Panic was starting to seem like the sensible course of action.

"Where am I? Who are you people? What did you do to me? What’s going on?!?" She hated her voice when she got agitated, all sharp and shrieky; only a part of the reason she always strived to keep her emotions under control.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:00, Mon 19 July 2004.

“Thanks,” Raven smiled at Alex as Dren retrieved the parchment, then she dug into her pack and pulled out one of the scroll cases. “Wait,” she said to Dren, as he held the paper out to her. “You have no idea how damaging the oil from human hands can be.” She quickly slipped her gloves back on and then carefully accepted the parchment from Dren.



“As near as I can tell, we’re in one of several possible Hell Dimensions.” Raven rolled the scroll up and slipped it into its case. “Introductions, so far, have been Johnny B, Iain Short, Alex Taylor, Dren Telarwin and I’m Raven Cantrell.” She pointed at each person as she said their name. “I don’t think anybody here did anything to you.” Raven slipped the scroll case back into her pack. “If I had to venture a guess, I’d figure the creepy House on Haunted Hill over there might provide some answers. There certainly doesn’t seem much left to learn here, except for your name and his.” Raven pointed at the man who was sporting a ponytail and had a compound bow slung on his back. Looking at the group, she said, “At least nobody ‘beamed’ down wearing a red shirt.”

You see a Caucasian male among you. He is without a shirt, his skin moist with sweat. He holds a magnificent Renaissance-era sword in his hand and a compound bow slung over his back. The bow has an affixed 6-arrow rack. A Japanese short sword is sheathed at the small of his back. Bits of broken glass glitter his hair and shoulders and he brushes them away with evident irritation. A backpack and bow case rest near his feet. He wears black jeans with heavy-soled boots. There is mud upon his boots and his brown hair is damp and unkempt. He wears a pair of archer’s gloves, tipless on the left hand, and leather armguards on both forearms. A small, silver cross hangs from his neck. It belongs more on a woman –probably a gift from a loved one.

He surveys around him; it is clear that he is more alarmed by the environment itself than by his being in the environment. His eyes dart to each of you, pausing at the one calling himself ‘Dren.’ He nods slightly toward him, never leaving his eyes, and without any special flair, quietly sheathes his sword upon his left hip. He displays his open palms before the group; pointedly toward Dren. “Peace be with you. I bear no ill.” His voice is calming and soft with a deep resonance that hints gently of England.

The stranger then gives a general nod to everyone else. “Hail and well-met, all. My name is Pieran Swift.”

He observes the odds and ends tagging along with each of you: mud, cattails, printed materials, soaking clothes, etc. He kicks away some of the glass shards at his feet, along with the remains of a crushed microscope. “The gate must have crossed.” He pauses. “You have all been swept here unwilling. There is more to this than mischief,” he adds, pensively.

His closes his blue eyes and sniffs the air with a wolfish snort. “This air carries naught but what we bring to it.” He lowers his eyes, notes that he is not fully dressed. “Grant me pardon,” he says, nodding with almost imperceptible timidity toward the women. He drops to his knee, stripping off his bow and armguards and rummages through his pack until he finds some clothes. He quickly dresses into a white, long sleeve shirt, woven from today but cut to the seventeenth century. “I beg you my speech if it is not your custom.” He slips into a long sleeve leather jacket, marred by age, with a baldric sewn onto the back. He finishes, taking his bow in left hand. “It is only that...”

There is a sudden flash of lightning and Pieran flinches as though he were avoiding a badly pitched baseball. His right hand moves to his short sword as he kneels, looking contemptuously to the broiling sky, his anger masking more than mere anxiety. The chasing thunder rolls to silence and he slips the weapon neatly back in place. He swallows painfully, as if broken glass were lodged in his throat.

Pieran regains his stand, slowly recovering his composure. “Forgive me. The journey was unsettling.” He breathes deeply but clearly the thunder and lightning are making him nervous.

He abruptly changes the subject, speaking with gentle urgency. “Two of you are wounded. Your blood rings here like a church bell and this land doubtless offers little friendship. That may be shelter beyond but we should not disturb it with fresh wounds. We must be quick. I have slight healing arts. Unless any of you are skilled, permit me to tender aid?”
This message was last edited by the player at 19:59, Tue 20 July 2004.

Dren looked at Alexis' cut when Pieran mentioned blood and healings. Glancing back at Raven he slipped his back pack from his shoulder and quickly produced a first aid kit "'Ealin' arts or none, I at least 'ave a bandage.", as well as a thicker Irish accent. Producing the gauze wrap from the box he held it out to Alexis with a smile, "Dinna figure y'trust me enough t'wrap it for ya."

“Damn it!”
"Are y'okay? Nothin' broken?"
"Um... Hello..."
" what in the nine burning hells are we doing here?"
“Does this belong to anyone?”
"...Hell Mobile? Dimensions?"
"Where am I? Who are you people? What did you do to me? What’s going on?!?"
“ ...we’re in one of several possible Hell Dimensions.”
“Peace be with you. ...”

Suddenly, several of the train flyers burst into flame. The little fires start swirling around within the circle due to the light breeze.

Pieran tosses his bow just off to the side, drawing fresh catch upon his rapier, readying himself for close quarter combat. "By the pricking of my thumbs..."
This message was last edited by the player at 11:29, Tue 20 July 2004.

Iain grimaces. So our hosts have finally decided to introduce themselves.

He wraps the wakizashi in his jacket, ready to toss both aside and unsheath the katana should the need arise. However, he remains in a seemingly relaxed position, looking like he's not worrying too much about whatever is coming.

"Just relax, people... Apparently, they want something from us: we might as well listen to what they offer in return."

“Crap!” Raven exclaimed, since she was sitting near several of the flyers when they burst into flame. She grabbed her pack, brushing a few glowing embers off of it before she put it on. “I think that’s a hint that we’ve stayed too long at this particular spot. It may not look inviting but right now, it’s the only port in a storm we have.” Raven said, indicating the house. “To paraphrase Riff Raff, perhaps we better all get inside.”

Dren shrugged and simply tossed the bandage to Alexis, it was now up to her if she wanted it or not. Dren slipped the strap of his pack on and unholstered one gun into his right hand in a quick and well rehearsed motion "Stay close." he advised Raven while stamping out a fire near her left foot. A final nod latter he started moving toward the house quickly making sure Raven was indeed following.

Iona's gaze followed where the darkhaired woman indicated, automatically evaluting each individual and categorizing them, putting them in tiny boxes on the shelves of her brain for analysis later on. However, this was something that she did on autopilot; Raven's poise and calm answers did nothing to soothe Iona's frayed nerves. Iona wasn't entire unfamiliar with the concept of magic; it didn't take much to realize she was in way over her head now. And she did not deal well with uncertainties.

Hell dimension?!? No no no, hell is Christmas shopping on December 23rd, not this. No no no...



Look who's talking, was Iona's half-hysterical thought. She's like a female Mr Spock. Am I the only one not comfortable here? But out loud she said: "Iona. Is my name. Iona McLean. And you might not be freaked out by this, but I am. I mean, hell dimensions?!?" Again with the piercing note of desperation in her voice. Way to keep calm, Iona.

The weird-speaking man - Peter? - suddenly putting on a floor show momentarily distracted Iona, bringing a deep blush to her pale cheeks. But her anxieties returned with a vengeance with the thunder and lightning that had also startled the would-be Chippendale. More swords? Bows? What is this, BYO weapon?! What's he planning on doing with that thing? The other people in the circle were talking about redressing wounds but Iona couldn't hear them through the roaring in her ears.  Oh good, she was hyperventilating again.

And then tiny fires went off all around them.



"Don't hurt me!" Iona shrieked, taking a step back out of the circle and flinging up her hands for protection.



She peeked from behind her hands, relieved to see the armed men weren't about to slice her into thin litte Iona-slices. Casting an embarrassed glance around her at the ashes swirling around, she brushed them off herself, as well as the dust still clinging to her. She then turned towards Raven as the other woman suggested they leave, an idea that was starting to appeal more and more. Adjusting her head scarf and making sure it was still were it was supposed to be, she spoke up in a tremolous voice: "So none of you had anything to do with us being here? Are you sure you didn't do anything?" The question was directed at the whole group, as they started to make their way towards the house.

"'Cause whatever it was, I don't care. Just do it again and bring us back home. No harm, no foul...?" It wasn't so much a statement as it was a plea.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:44, Tue 20 July 2004.

"Well, let's see... Ah, yes."

He clears his throat:

"Krv drpglr pwlz chkwrt..."

*Cue crescendo music*

"Strplmt dwghzn prqlrzn lffrmtplzt!"


...


...


...



A lot of nothing happens. [Note: Assumption]

In truth, Iain doesn't really look surprised... He simply shrugs and comments to the others: "Sorry, folks, that was my best shot. So... Unless someone remembers a different portal spell they wish to try, we might as well leave, before it starts raining frogs or something."

He tries to find a comfortable way to keep his swords ready for use and carry the still-wet jacket.

Finally he renounces, and just wraps the formers in the latter with a sigh, taking a mental note to check the blades and make sure they didn't get wet.

"Um, yeah, whatever, Mr. Short. Please do protect me from all the hellbeasts and demonhounds." Johnny turned slowly around to face Alexis, smiling wickedly. "Would she be a Succubus then? A beautiful, evil temptress from Hell itself, set on torturing men for their sinful ways?"





"No, Peace be with you, Conan! You strong."



"So, do I get some medieval weaponry as well? My armourer had an urgent crop-harvest to attend."

Handing over the parchment to Dren, Alex returns both his and Raven’s smiles with a quick grin of her own.  A few seconds later, and Iona’s high-pitched shrieks cut through the air, causing Alex to wince.

Dear lord…  I hope she’s not going to do that on a regular basis.

She seems somewhat relieved to hear Raven’s calm response and looked at the woman with respect.  At least there was one person here who had their head screwed on.

Her attention then turned to the Man That Time Forgot, watching him carefully as he made his greetings and observations.  When he seemed to realise his half-clothed state, one corner of her mouth quirked up, turning into a full-blown smile at his choice of shirt.

Alex’s interest was piqued at his sharp reaction to the lightening.  Hrmm… Twitchy fellow.  Wonder what his story is.

She was about to take the offered bandage from Dren when the flyers burst into fire, her mouth opened to say something in response to his offer.  Instead, a look of irritation flashes over her features when Iain speaks.

Wow, who died and made you king?

Smoothly catching the dressing Dren had now elected to throw, Alex followed him and Raven as they headed toward the ominous-looking house.  She glanced across at Iona, feeling a little sorry for the nervous woman.  Unravelling the bandage, Alex proceeded to tend to her wounds, studiously ignoring Johnny as he jabbered on.

That finished, she decided it was time to ask a few questions of her own.

“I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m somewhat curious as to why we’ve been summoned here.  Perhaps it has something to do with who we are, or what we can do.  Anyone feel like sharing?”
This message was last edited by the player at 17:29, Wed 21 July 2004.

Raven looked at Iain. “Hey Merlin, you want to ease up on the magic mojo until we know exactly what we’re dealing with here? Ever see The Fly, or The Philadelphia Experiment, or any episode of Star Trek where they had a transporter accident? Trying to activate the magic teleporter without an instruction manual doesn’t seem too wise. Could lead to… unintended consequences.” Raven continued to follow Dren to the house.



Raven shrugged, “I’m just an archeologist.”

"An archeologist with intimate knowledge of the working of magic portals, that is? Whatever, guys, I'm getting tired of squatting around here...particularily with this ragtag circustroupé," Johnny B. commented, rolling his eyes the slightest. "So, yeah, let's go visit this house...you know, Conan, this is when you go all - CHAAARGE!

 Johnny looked uncomfortably around himself for a while, feeling the first silent moment in quite a while marking its prescense. "My, aren't you just a jolly bunch? Weapons? Check! Lunacy? Check! Sense of humour... Yeah, we'd better just leave that one hanging in the air, won't we?"

 Johnny shook his head, sighing audibly as he started walking towards the house on the horizont. "Yeah, that's right, just follow me guys...at least, you'll know there's danger afoot if I suddenly am nowhere to be seen."

 Bag hanging from his shoulder, containing nothing by far as strange as his companions had brought, he smiled wickedly, muttering by himself: "I knew I should never have left NY..."

“It’s amazing the things you learn from reading books,” Raven said dryly. “You really should try it sometime.”

Dren glanced stole a glance back at Raven to make sure she was still following, then turned and risked walking backwards just to observe the group for a bit, "Well Johnny-Boy, y'care to tell us 'ow you ended up 'ere considerin' yer the only guy not armed t'is teeth?" Dren waved his .45 for effect before making a note of Alexis bandaging as she walked, Th'Lass has a fighter's spirit!, then turned back around to continue the trek toward the house keeping one ear open for stories and one open for trouble.

"Last time I read a book, I lost 1300$ to Chris Moneymaker and spent the rest of the weekend scrubbing toilets at McDonald's, which was also the place where I ate breakfast, lunch and dinner. Monday, my computer was struck by lightning - died at the spot - and to nail my coffin, my girlfriend left me for a French guy with the gayest mustache since Jacques bloody Henry, the man who owns a pink Ford and is proud of it. What a bloody faggot.
 "Second last time I read a book, I started studying medicine; I wonder who got the worst deal, me or my poor patients..."

 Johnny trailed off, looking interested up at Dren as he adressed him. As he spoke, his face melted in amusement. He smiled broadly. "But bloody hell, lad, that's what I've been asking ever since I came here. One moment, I was..." he said, lifting a finger to underline his point, "...I was sitting at what was probably the most uncomfortable seat in the whole Interstate Transports number four thirty-three - to which I did not bring any 5 foot claymores - trying to not think of the unsavory taste of old cognac and techincal spirit in my mouth...
 "When I woke, a blink of an eye later, I was the new bruised at battered member of Anardo Travelling circus. If I didn't know better, I'd say I was still asleep, but heck, I don't have a quite this lively - freaked - imagination."
 "There are plus sides to the whole thing, though - I won't be getting any obscene threats of mutilation and murder from my bookie any time soon. Chances are my internet bill won't reach me either..."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:57, Wed 21 July 2004.

"Well, maybe... It was worth a try, nevertheless. The place I was aiming to is in many ways a lot more comfortable than this, and it has recently become much more human-friendly - something to do with a cow who turned into a princess, but don't ask me about the details because I'm not clear on those."

His hand slipped slightly on his jacket and touched something that wasn't there before -- or maybe he just didn't notice? Strange...

"Um... You know, I think maybe I have something that belongs to you."

He carefully spreaded the jacket, showing a wet parchment on its back, still intact despite the recent abuses.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:55, Wed 21 July 2004.

Iona McLean typed:

“Don’t hurt me!”

“Don’t be afraid,” Pieran says, his voice embracing her like a soft quilt. “I’ve no cause to harm you, M’Lady.” He smiles gently at her, offering a faint bow of deference.

Satisfied that another gate was not suddenly opening upon them, Pieran sheathes his sword into the baldric and moves to recover his bow.

Johnny B. Hope typed:

"Conan, this is when you go all - CHAAARGE!"

As Pieran takes up his bow, he glances sidewise toward Johnny Hope with subdued irritation. It lasts but a second, his annoyance broken by a withdrawn smile.

He swaps his scabbard for a loaded quiver and, gathering the last of his belongings, heads off toward the distant house, following as the last in line.

Alexis Taylor typed:

“I’m curious as to why we’ve been summoned here....Anyone feel like sharing?”

Iona McLean typed:

"What did you do to me? What’s going on?!?"

“My tale is long in the telling, Alex, defender of mankind.” he smiles ahead at Alexis, a blush of embarrassment turning his cheek. “Forgive my clumsy speech. I sometimes forget myself.” He exhales heavily. “I don’t know exactly where we are, but I have not been summoned like you. I am bound by quest to be here –whether by fair or by foul I do not know. I...must kill a man. Or perhaps it is a beast. I won’t know until I find it. Until then, I follow where my sense leads me.”

He readdresses his voice, indicating a change in attention. “And to you, Lady Iona, whose name upon Santorini is ‘violet flower;’ my regrets. For the gate was not my making, neither your summoning my design. Something else draws us together which we may discover as our tale unfolds.”
This message was last edited by the player at 08:54, Wed 21 July 2004.

Dren turned and walked back to Iain to help remove the not-that-wet parchment from his shirt and carry it back to Raven, while handing it to her he pulled a scoll case from her back pack and opened it for her so she could focus on neatly rolling it with her gloved hands.

"Well, we were in a Tomb and Raven-"

“Temple. It was a temple, not a tomb.” Raven corrected. Dren turned to her ignoring the growing reactions from those around them, "Oh well last I'd checked t'was about to become our tomb."

“I would’ve corrected that in plenty of time if you hadn’t pressed the wrong stone and gotten us sucked, quite literally, into hell!”

"Oh, I don't recall anyone else in that Tomb, tellin' me to go mess with The Rune of Set!" challenged Dren.

“I did not! You never listen to me.”

"An' now we know why!" returning to the group he restarted his story "So we were in an Egyptian temple w'en a portal opened and swallow'd us up." Dren rolled his eyes and added "Bet'er?"

“Oh yeah, everything’s just peachy now.”

Dren just seemed to shrug off her last comment venomously laced with sarcasm as he slid the scroll case back into her pack and zipped it closed before returning to Point in the marching order.

Raven turned to Iain, “Thanks. You have no idea how difficult that particular piece of paper was to acquire. Sorry about your jacket.”

The man with the leather jacket started making odd noises at Iona’s request. She looked at him with an alarmed expression on her face, but relaxed slightly as nothing seemed to happen.

Casting a weary look up to the sky – nope, no frogs yet – she kept on walking along with the rest of the group as they chatted away. She felt a bit better now, because they had a plan. Sure, a short-sighted plan, “Hey, let’s check out the creepy-looking house”, but a plan nonetheless. And a plan entailed a list of things to do; a to-do-list could be sorted, prioritizing items, alphabetizing them – although that was rarely the most efficient way to do things – and finally things could be crossed off the list. Order and organization, that's all she wanted.

And so, Iona made her own little mental list of things to do.

1. Make self presentable. She rummaged through her purse and brought out her little mirror and basic make-up, quickly touching up with efficient movements. In a flash, she as done, tucking it all back into her purse, replacing them with a little brush in her hand. There, hair done too. The whole thing took less than a minute.
2. Get a grip of group. Right. From the shelves in her brain Iona took out the little boxes she’d previously stored. Despite being in panic mode, she had managed to register some details:
    • Johnny B: med student, probably wealthy parents, compulsive gambler, obnoxious wise-ass, making cracks with every breath he took. There’s always a class clown, no escaping that. Horrible taste in clothes. Velvet. Puh-lease. Unarmed though, that was a redeeming quality.
    • Alex Taylor: armed with a sword. Clearly not a common accessory for a young woman, though it seemed to be the popular choice with these people.  Iona couldn’t quite get a grip of her. Something was… odd. She frowned slightly, looking over at the slender woman. What was it about her?
    • Iain Short: Favoured black, leather and sharp edged weapons. Definitely a mystery, needed more studying.
    • Raven Cantrell: archaeologist,  level-headed. The take-charge type. But there was more to her than met the eye. Iona wondered what it was.
    • Dren Telarwin: Favoured more modern firearms. Irish? Iona wasn’t very good at dialects.  Raven’s partner, the two clearly belonged together. Though if they were romantically involved was too soon to be determined. He was flirtatious enough with Alex to make that unlikely. On the other hand, they did bicker like an old married couple.
    • Pieran Swift: Another swordsman, fine specimen of a man this one was. Wary of this place, in a way the rest didn’t seem to be. Seems to know more about this place than the others too. Old-fashioned, both in attire and speech. There was a sense of age about him, despite his young appearance.

Pay attention, he’s talking to you! She turned back towards the handsome man.



She blushed slightly at that. ‘Lady’ indeed. A girl could get used to that. And noone had ever bothered to find out what her name meant. 

”On a quest, you say? For how long have you been questing? … if you’ll pardon my asking?” she added. His courteous manners were contagious and his speech quite appealing. The flowery language had always been one of the reasons Iona liked Shakespeare. That, and the clever puns. Pretty soon she’d start spouting ‘thees’ and ‘thous’ if she didn’t watch it.

Iain smiled: "You are welcome... You know, maybe the jacket is not lost, after all." He thinks aloud, looking critically at the wet leather. "Anyway, it's not like it's an irreplaceable item - like, say, an ancient egyptian scroll."


Deviating from a straight path toward the house to walk closer to Johnny, Iain pat him on his shoulder - taking the chance to check if he had inadvertentenly found some of Raven's possessions: "Come on, Mr. Bee, don't be blue: I, for one, can appreciate a man able to find the good side in a bad situation. We clearly are a... Colorful group, I'll admit that. And yet, somehow, I'm confident you could find the good side in that, too."

"Well, yeah, I guess we should try to find solution rather than problems - while the latter might be far more frequent. Oh my God, I hate my psychology lecturer - Students! Strength lies in teamwork, he quoted, doing an impression of his teacher's barritone voice. Only through cooperation can we succeed...the wolf preys on the lone animals, who stick their heads out from the group... I have rarely seen an idiot with such a love for his work.

 "But, well, teamwork has its virtues...it's not like as if I want to be stuck with you guys any longer than strictly necessary, after all..." Johnny did one of his playful smiles, but it soon faded as he clutched his head in pain. "Bloody hells, my head hurts...