"Oh damn," Rebo says as Sleel is snatched by the dragon's teeth.

Thinking fast, Rebo centers his thoughts, allowing the psi energy to flow forth and form into a Thought Form - in this case, a man about Rebo's height, with somewhat larger-than-normal hands.

Get Sleel outta there, Rebo orders his Thought Form, hoping that this will be enough.

Slinky sways on all fours, head spinning. She puts a hand weakly to Gypsy’s on her shoulder, and takes a deep breath. She gives the slim, long-boned hand a squeeze and lets go, sitting back on her heels. Dogma seems speechless. Gypsy steps up, spouting Sperethiel. Jack collapses. Rebo stands firm, looking the dragon straight in the eye. Tev appears from behind some boulders looking shaken, but intact. Sleel… Sleel? Where’s – Andy! Slinky lurches forward, the stab of panic overridden by the need to take immediate action. She sees Tev and Rebo leap into action to save Sleel from dragon-snackdom as Dogma, Gypsy and Jack all focus their attentions on the dragon.

Trid images of nature programs - orcas tossing seals into the air – polar bears killing for sport - flicker through Slinky’s mind. She streaks past Gypsy and the others skidding to a stop as Sleel reaches the top of his lazily looping arc and starts to descend into the dragon’s waiting mouth. She shrieks, “Squrlifcreatilliader – NO!”

Sleel frantically scrambles to find a handhold as the dragon picks his foot up off the ground, finally managing to get his hands underneath and gripping one shiny scale, before he is simply plucked off and thrown in the air. Tumbling through the air, Sleel frantically begins thinking of any possible way he might be able to land without making a nice new artwork. Catching himself with drones is out, because they are all rotor-aircraft, not to mention that they couldn't support his weight even if they wouldn't turn him into mincemeat.

As he slowly tumbles to where he can now see the ground, he is taken back by the sight of the great dragon spread out before him. Of course, this is quickly taken away by the sudden realization that he can see into the dragons mouth, all those glittering swords, and down into his throat, where he is certain the dragon is trying to place him. Frantically flailing his arms about, as if he could suddenly learn to fly like his drones, Sleel panicks, looking about for anything to grab a hold of, maybe one of those birds? Suddenly, a storm spirit appears, grabbing Sleel and quickly whisking him toward the ground. Sleel fumbles at his belt finally getting his mini-grenade launcher free, and in his hand, pointing it at the dragon. He feels foolish as he realizes how tiny the blasts would be compared to a heavy burp by the great beast, but keeps it ready anyway, anything is better than nothing. Quickly broadcasting an order to his drones, he has the 2 arty drones, fly up high, giving him a great overall view of the area, and recording some footage of the dragon. The little bird drones get sent over to Slinky, hovering around her, keeping watch. The Ajax and Gunther drones float up in front of Sleel, forming a floating wall with guns attached, not that it would do much to stop the dragon, but hey, it might give him some indigestion.

The storm spirit suddenly materializes behind Sleel, holding him in position directly in front of the Dragon's mouth. Realizing that being caught did not in anyway save him, Sleel orders the drones to open fire, in a last ditch effort to save his skin. Pellets slam into the gaping jaw of the dragon, turning the flesh of his pallet into a wave-like vibratory pattern that resembles the waves of an ocean. The Dragon is obviously shocked, his mouth quickly closing as his neck draws back, trying to comprehend what just happened. There was no visible magick to be seen, other than the now disappearing spirit that hovered with the human, preventing its fall, yet the noise and pain were not hallucinations either. He looks at Gypsy, noticing the leash still connected to them. With motion quicker than a Street Samurai, he grabs the strand of astral energy and yanks, literally pulling Gypsy's astral self from his now limp body. His jaw opens again, this time words come out, not in Sperethiel, not in Common, but in English.

"Icewing, eh? That would be a very.... different way of saying my name in this era, but synonymous nonetheless.", the Dragon goes from looking at the air (or for those who Astrally Perceive, from looking at Gypsy), to looking at Slinky, "I Blame You, you may call me Icewing, but your name does indeed interest me. Each of you, well most of you, have demonstrated the most bizarre talents. You shall live if you like. Although, why you would want to live in this era is beyond my comprehension. I recommend you head east to the great city of man. Get off this rock as quickly as possible though, it is the home of the blood elves, and has a taint of evil that exceeds any other part of the world. Get to the water quickly, waste no time, every moment you're here, you risk life. Do not rest until you've arrived at the next land mass, only then do you risk peace."

Astonished you stand there, wondering where the Dragon went. He was there, you know and feel it, but there is no sign to prove he ever was, other than, perhaps, the debris of broken rocks, Sleel plummeting to his death, and Gypsy's fallen body.

Jack starts breathing again when Ghostwalker pauses before the hail and gunfire, and started to speak. He saw Gypsy suddenly drop out of the corner of his eye, but his attention was too closely riveted on Sleel's precarious position. He furrowed his brow again as the wyrm spoke, readying a very respectful reply, when suddenly Ghostwalker was gone, leaving nothing but a fading mental echo, and Sleel plunging from the sky.

Sleel plunging from the sky!? "Sweet monkey Jesus!" Jack shouted, rushing forward. The chips in his brain started tossing figures around. Sleel was thirty to forty meters up, gravity accelerated at 9.8 m/s, and the force of impact would be enough to...break the both of them Jack belatedly realized, already in position below Sleel and and bracing for impact.

Over and above the shock involved, the feeling of having his Astral self ripped from his body is beyond description. Gypsy fights to control his panic, not to mention his awe, as he is brought face-to-face with Icewing's glowing presence in Astral space. The sorcerer finally manages to martial his concentration just in time to take in the Great Dragon's words. He is still contemplating the ramifications of what the dragon has said when their future employer simply vanishes before the elf can even formulate a response, leaving Gypsy's Astral form hanging alone in mid-air.

Trying to shake off his confusion, the elven spellcaster looks around in an attempt to orient himself. The first thing Gypsy notices is a bright, rope-like strand of mana that seems to stretch from his Astral form northward into the distance, probably some kind of strange link still exists between himself and the Great Dragon. Putting thoughts of the possible repercussions of such a link off till later, he continues to examine his surroundings. Spying the empty shell that comprises his physical body laying among the rocks below, Gypsy tries to make his Astral self move to rejoin its host. Having never been exposed to the ways of Astral Projection, which is what he assumes he is currently doing, the elf is at a loss at first to know just how to accomplish this most basic of tasks. Once again battling down the panic that begins to rise, he tries to remember the various classes he was forced to attend at U-Dub, classes in which he had let his mind wander because they did not pertain to his particular magical abilities. He seemed to recall that movement here was accomplished though an act of will, and that he only needed to focus his thoughts to accomplish his goal. Or at least that was his hope!

"Ah damn," Rebo curses again as Sleel falls.

"Forget this," he says, realizing his Thought Form won't be strong enough to break Sleel's fall. He decides to take matters into his own hands.

Concentrating on his comrade, he opens his mind...

Tevos sees the swirling cloud stop Sleels fall. "Yes!" he hisses. However the spirit simply hangs there, right above the dragons mouth, dangling the rigger like a kitty treat for a very large kitty. Sleels drones open fire straight into the gaping maw, apparently not hurting, but certainly supriseing the beast.

"Icewing, eh? That would be a very.... different way of saying my name in this era, but synonymous nonetheless. The white giant speaks again. Tev's jaw drops as he registers the voice in his head speaking flawless english. What the eff? He cant keep track of all the craziness the last 30 seconds have brought. But before he can reply something, anything at this point, the dragon is gone and so is the storm spirit. And Sleel is falling, and but fast.

"I really wish I had paid better attention when we went over sky and land..."
Tevos grimaces and orders the remaining mountain spirit to slow his fall, hoping that the gigantic stones provided enough residual enviroment to allow the manifestation to do so. So much for being ahead of things...

"Hmm" says Dogma, with a look on his face that does not match the synthesis of his words.

Gypsy just went limb like a sack of wet meat, Sleel shot inside the Dragon's mouth moments before the lizard was about to swallow him, cause the dragon to give them a little talk in english, and now there simply is no Dragon here.

Currently, Sleel is still "about to die", such as he has been for the past few minutes. Efforts to make him not "about to die" seem to be underway by the magic users of the group, much as they have been for the past few minutes.

There is still not much Dogma can do about any of this. The elf smacks his lips a bit, and then picks up Meener from his cowering position, and drags him towards the limp Gypsy for medical attention, but hopefully not towards Sleel for the same purpose.

Crazy drekking 4th Age. Dragons and blood elves and shades that don't look under covers and miles of ocean to cross with no boat.

Tumbling through the air, Sleel frantically clawed and flapped with his arms, his legs under him windmilling through the air, none of it having any beneficial effect for him, but at least he felt like he was doing something. Finally, as he fell, he inhaled a deep breath, and yelled
"HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLP!"

With detached interest, Jack noted how the doppler effect raised the pitch of Sleel's ululation for assistance. There were still a few moments before impact, and he had his legs back under him. There was still time for him to step back from beneath Sleel and not get himself crushed. He wasn't sure if that kind of unchivalrous self interest would go over well with the others, especially as he had already stepped in. He wondered what value X sympathy had to be in order Y shattered bones to be worth it?

Belatedly he realized that the internal debate had consumed the last bit of time he had to withdraw. He hoped one of the mojo makers was about to pull off a last second save. Although diving out of the way probably would've gotten him censured, surely the rest could forgive him for flinching in the moment before Sleel hit.

Sleel plummeted to his death, game over.

At least, that's what it seemed, except for the way the corpse hung in the air a few centimeters above Jack's head. Jack quickly moved out of the way, as Sleel slowly came to rest on the ground. The outstretched hand of Rebo being the only visible explanation for the timely save. Together the team let out a breath they didn't even realize they'd been holding, with the exception of Sleel who gasped in for breath after his girlish scream that he'd never get to live down. How his voice had gotten so high pitched moments before death were a mystery. A far too silent sigh settled over the team. For the umpteenth time in the past week, had it really only been that long, it felt like there was a moments peace, and they all needed the rest. However, if the Dragon's words were true, they had no time to rest, not yet. The land had to be traversed and escaped. They were standing in hell, and the Caern was likely the remnant holding of human life on the entirety of the island. Oddly enough, or perhaps not so oddly... none of the Caern members seem to have made it to the surface before the collapse of the mountain, with the exception of Meneer. He seemed to be taking it well enough though, although he did look older, and alot more tired than he'd ever looked before. Only now did you start to realize something. Meneer never looked at anything directly. His eyes had never seen such brightness, and he was likely 100% blind in this relentless light that plummeted upon the earth and reflected off the rock. Even your eyes, who had seen sunlight for their entirety had trouble seeing further than your shadows without some sort of flare compensation. It's no wonder he didn't show the fear one would expect though, he didn't see a thing.

The trip would be long and possibly difficult, but there would be time for repast if and when you made it to civilization. But first the trek must be made.

Jacks legs went wobbly again, and he sat down hard after getting out from under Sleel. "Thank you Rebo," he said, his voice a little steadier than his body. "I am much too fond of my skeletal structure to enjoy the prospect of it being pulverized." He let his head tilt back, his vision darkening perceptibly as his flare comp kicked in.

As Meneer took a hesitant step, the skin around his eyes crumpled in a squint, Jack realized how much worse it must be for someone with all meat eyes, who'd spent the entirety of his life without having seen the sun. He popped the latch on his case, reaching into one of the padded pockets and pulled out a pair of shades. He deactivated them first so that the healer would not accidently find himself staring at the world in 30X resolution, then pressed them into his hands, helping him guide them to his face and over his eyes. 'Better, nu?" he inquired.

He could still feel adrenaline lacing his veins, his limbs a little twitchy. It was making him feel positively chatty with nervous energy. "I think we're going to want to take the Big Big Big Boss at his word and bolt out of here. I didn't quite understand what he was saying about the Elves that live here, but he made them sound even worse than Aztlaners."

He tries to pushes himself to his feet, and then suddenly sinks down again. "What if we have just fulfilled our sole purpose in life, if the only reason we ended up in Denver, in his service was to come back here and save his life? That really helps explain why I was given a place on the team instead of a bullet behind my ear. If, when, we get back home, what's to say that pale and scaly isn't going to classify us as knowing too much?"

Struggling against the seductive pull of the Great Dragon's link, Gypsy bends his will towards reuniting his Astral form with his material body laying on the rocky ground. Although the surroundings appear familiar, the feel of being out of body is unlike anything the sorcerer has ever felt before, and words were hard to come by that describe that feeling adequately.

Overlaying one form on top of the other, the two join, and the elf settles himself into the meat of his real body. A weight that he had up till now not known drapes itself heavily over his being. It feels very confining, almost like being strapped tightly down after having been allowed to run free.

The elf's eyes slowly open, but immediately shuts them again against the glare of the too-bright sun overhead that almost overrides his cybernetic flare compensation. Gypsy finds himself surrounded by members of his team, concern etching some of their faces as they weren't sure until now just what had happened to him. Rising to a sitting position, he takes one last peak into Astral space, confirming that the glowing link remains, flowing from his body off into the distance, presumably still attached to Icewing somehow.

Gypsy awakens from his strange experience with the young team leader's face over his, his long dreads falling around his face.

Dogma slightly jerks his head backwards when the sorcerer opens his eyes and blinks rapidly, removing the two fingers he had checking the other elf's pulse.

"You ok, G?" asks the team leader, getting up from his crouch.

His attention switches back to the rest of his surroundings after Gypsy manages a nod, Dogma catches the end of another of Jack's comments:

"If, when, we get back home, what's to say that pale and scaly isn't going to classify us as knowing too much?"

Dogma looks at Jack directly in the eyes and sends him a private mental message

<<I've known too much about too many people all my life. I'm still here. Don't worry about it>>

Dogma surveys his team. His glance stops a moment on Slinky who looks at him but then turns her head away ashamed. Meneer with glasses that look far too funny on him.

He lets out a inaudible sigh, and wipes off the crunched pebbles sticking on his hands.

"Well then... time to head for that shore... Nothing here but dust and bad memories. And blood elves, he thinks. Whatever those are...

Rebo breathes a sigh of relief as he lowers Sleel to the ground. They didn't need any more casualties.

Dogma's suggestion about following the dragon's advice and leaving sounds like a good idea to Rebo. The less time he spent on this island, the better; he wasn't sure if those shadow beings were restricted to this place, but he knew that they were here, and that's all he wanted to know before getting out of here.

All of a sudden, a realization hits Rebo.

"Hold it...we're in Ireland right now...so heading east would put us in...England. Great; if they've got half the laws against my kind in this time they do in our time, us non-mundanes might be in trouble."

"So...how are we supposed to get over there? Anyone got a boat?"

Gypsy takes Dogma's hand and lets the elven leader help him stand. Brushing down his once again dusty long coat, he looks over at the psychic warrior.

"I don't think we're going to solve that problem from here. It'd probably be best to just get moving for now, and deal with it when we actually get to the coast. Might be that some opportunity will present itself somewhere along the way."

Too many people.That's different than knowing too much about a Great Dragon. Jack keeps this thought to himself however, not saying anything in response to Dogma's admonishment, turning towards Rebo instead. "We should head to the shore, see if there's any driftwood, or anything else that'd float. In the very worst case scenario, do you think a combination of thought forms and spirits could drag, carry, push us across?" He is puzzled by Rebo's comment about then English not liking his 'kind.' "You mean continental Americans? As we're currently predating both the British and American empires by several millenia, there'll be no inherent prejudice against you. Given B-B-Big Bosses comments, we should be more concerned with how they'll react to elves. Good thing I was able to bring along my whole disguise kit. Once we're away from here, I should be able to do something about covering up the fact that not all of use are sapien sapiens.

"No, I'm not talking about Americans, I'm talking about..."

Rebo hesitates as he squeezes the word out unwillingly so the others will comprehend.

"...'magic-users.' They make 'em all register over there, y'know. Not very friendly, from what I've heard."

Jack cocks his head. Odd that that pertinent fact would've slipped from his memory. "And of course they include psionicists under that catagory as well." He consults the 4th World datachip that he has tucked away in his headware. "I believe that the heavy regulation of magic and similar paranormal abilities was a fairly recent phenomena. The scant evidence gathered in the sixth age indicates that some degree of extranatural ability was fairly common in most people around this time. I would hazard a guess that we would find ourselves in much more danger simply by the fact we're strangers."

As Gypsy gathers his gear and prepares to depart, he casts a seething glance in Jack's direction.

"Don't be expecting me to be disguising myself!"

The elven sorcerer slings his satchel before continuing in a more rational tone.

"From what I've read, there doesn't seem to be any overriding hatred towards elves. In fact, there appears to be less racism in this time than in our own world."

"I wasn't talking about racism. I was inferring from B-B-Big Boss's comments regarding the feared, and apprently quite unloveable 'blood elves' that are supposed to live here, that the appearance of any sort of elf might provoke a less than open armed reception be they bloody or not."

Sleel very shakily collapses on the ground after being set down. He lays on his back, and closes his eyes, revelling in the feeling of having ground beneath him again. He holsters his armtech, and gives quick orders to his drones to land and charge as much as possible while the team deliberates on what actions to take. Sleel lays on the ground, eyes closed, until someone disturbs him.

You prepare for a long journey, as memory recalls, the width to cover from where you stand to where Dublin would one day stand is about a 15 day walk. However, you are right next to the ocean, in so far as to say that it shouldn't be more than a kilometer from here with the falling of the mountain. You could walk along it looking for a way to traverse along the water, but the journey would be longer, with no guarantee that a vessel is found or created. Either way, from the eastern edge of Ireland, you realize you've got at least a distance of over a hundred kilometers to cover over water to get to the UK Island. Unless you crossed up towards where Belfast would one day stand, reducing it to a 50 km stretch. Decisions would have to be made and soon, as the sun was starting to fall, and distance would want to be covered before it fell.

Tevos gets to his feet fully as Sleel is lowered to the ground. He notices the stone spiri looking rather annoyed at him for telling it to do something it cant. Always a little touchy those mountain spirits are . Tev whispers "My apoiligies, you may go now" and dismisses the form.

"Listen, right now I dont think what the local are going to say when we get there is the issue. Barring anything else, we have guns, armor, and the ability to stay out of the way. We NEED to get off this rock, and we need to do it NOW. Those 'blood elves' are twisted nature spirits I think, and we lost Gremish and James to those basterds. We can't hold them off, there are too many of them. We need to get the hell outta here."

With that Tevos tosses his pack over his back and starts looking around for a clearing to summon some allys. In a mater of moments he is finished, a trio of shimmering metahuman like forms around him. "Find where there is wood on this island, and then tell me." The forms scatter.

"I do have an idea, though Im not sure how well it might work. Rebo if you can fully levitate someone, how far away can they be before the spe... erh... power fails? I was thinking of conjuring up sky spirits and getting them argee to help us move with great haste. But I dont think in your condition that you could lift all of us at once."

Gypsy looks up from helping Sleel and his sister with their equipment.

"I'm pretty sure that those Shade-things you mentioned were not the Blood Elves that Icewing was talking about, but that really isn't important right now. I agree with you that we should be getting moving as soon as we can though."

"Alright, let's head out then. We'll talk about what magics we can use to cross the water. I very much doubt we'll find any wood, even dead wood, that we can use to make a craft. There's nothing but sand here."

Dogma hoists his bag over his shoulder and helps the rest of the team pack up and leave.

In her head Slinky could see the dragon. Feel its presence. But it had just... vanished. It wasn't there any more. Sleel was. Sleel in one whole piece. She ran to her brother's side, stomach still clenched and sick from the impact she expected. Rebo lowers Sleel to the ground and Slinky looks up at the psion gratefully, tears welling in too-bright, tired eyes. Sleel grunts and the young woman turns to her brother. She swallows. Boy, I have a lot of apologizing to do.

She looks up at singed Jack and Dogma, headed toward Gypsy's limp form. Her brow furrows. What happened to Gyp?

"Hey, Andy," she sniffs, "Thought you'd had it. R..Rebo caught you pretty good." She balls her hands into fists as she feels control slipping again. I've had just about enough of this. She sniffs again, "That was something, huh?" She stands, pulling him up with her.

She nods at Dogma's orders to gear up and move out, south to the coast. God, I hate this place. She shivers, thinking of Hate and wondering what further horrors this world, her ancient world, would treat them to. Blood elves. Shades.

"I'm a little worried about this sailing business. Didn't one of you caster-types say the ocean was ridiculously full of life? Some of the nastiest and most deadly creatures in our day live in the oceans." She squints south trying to catch a glimpse of the shoreline and the water. Clambering up onto a rock, she winces at the bright sunl and at protesting muscles.

On her rocky perch there is no shade. The sun beats down ruthlessly onto her armor. Wish I'd gotten those AC mods. Her nose crinkles as she gazes into the distance. Man, I reek. I'd like to get to the ocean just to bathe. She peers south, but the haze of wind-blown dust from the mountain's collapse keeps her from seeing very far. She shakes her head and sighs, I can't believe we've lost Gremish and James. She swallows and looks around in the rubble all around. I'll miss you guys. Her eye catches a gleaming from the deep shadows between the boulders and an unmistakeable twanging utterance fills her head - MYRMINOTH - she winces. Oh... yeah. She sits down and slides off her boulder landing in a deep shadow. Her body relaxes as the glare of the sun is, for the moment, gone.

<< Dogma, that bow is here. I'm going to retrieve it. Hopefully it's not attached to a dragon this time. >> She pauses, << Does the name Myrminoth mean anything to you guys? Every time I see the bow I hear that name. Weird huh? >>

"Well...I could theoretically use telekinesis to move 6 of us, including me. However...I'd be really hard-pressed to maintain them all at once. Plus, if we come under attack, we'd be fairly well and screwed, unless you guys can shoot with no footing underneath you."

"Could anyone else help out with this?"

Jack wishes that he'd brought those map chips of the Tir with the rest of his stuff, but they had seemed so unurgently needed that'd he'd just left them sitting in base camp, some thousands of years from now. "As I recall from the map, where we are now has about the longest stretch of water betwee us and England, whereas up North near Belfast is the closest. I think. I want off here, now, but the less time we spend on the water the better off we'll probably be. If we find some place lower down, we won't have to work out the logistics of levitating for long distances."

He sorted through the data from the fourth world knowchip. Blood Elves... Blood Elves... Blood Wood? "The Blood Elves live in a forest called the Blood Wood." We avoid that and we should be okay. If we can find a good cave, and we can temporarily block off the entrance, that might be enough to keep us safe from the shades."
-----------------------------------

Rolling his eyes, Gypsy bites back a sharp comment, taking a moment to compose himself before responding to the psionicist.

"You know that I can be of some assistance in this matter. We discussed this very thing not even half an hour ago."

<< Dogma, that bow is here. I'm going to retrieve it. Hopefully it's not attached to a dragon this time. >> radioed in Slinky

<<Go ahead>> radioed back Dogma

While Slinky started clawing at the dirt to unearth the mystical bow, the team leader gathered everyone else before they set out, within earshot of Slinky so as to includer her also in the conversation.

"Does anyone have any arguments for either of our travelling options, heading for the water right now and spending more time crossing the ocena, or spending more time in this wasteland to shorten our naval voyage?" inquired the elf. The decision was ultimately his, but a good leader listened to his men.

"Unfortunately, none of my Thought Forms could help with increasing our speed," Rebo says. "I could set one up as a scout for us as we travel over the ocean, though."

Gypsy wanders back to where Dogma is gathering the team, then tiredly settles on one of the rock spurs nearby.

"Well, if the option chosen is to leave right now, then one of you will be carrying me. I'll be of absolutely no use to you whatsoever if I don't get some rest before using that much magic again."

Sleel stands up and groups up with the rest of the team.

"Well... I'd say my vote is for more time spent on land, as my drones can't exactly land on water."

Slinky, hands dusty from the shards of the rocks, rejoins the group, the bow gleaming, somehow repelling the grime and grit, glows in the harsh sun. She seems in awe of the thing, holding it gingerly across her palms like it might twitch or bite suddenly.

She sidles up to Gypsy, "You've had a time of it, eh, Gyp?" she murmurs. She looks at Dogma, "As much as I don't care to stay here a moment longer than we have to, I'd rather face the dangers of the land. I can at least breathe air. Water... not so much. I'd feel much more comfortable if things went all pear-shaped on us and we had our feet on the ground, than if we were in a similar situation on the water."

She shakes her head, "For my part, I vote land. But I'll go where the wiser heads take us." She nods at Gypsy and Dogma.

She closes her eyes, listening to the wind, feeling the hostility of the land so at odds with the green and vibrant world of her day. No rustling of leaves, or spongy grass under foot. No gurgling rush of water, no life anywhere. A tight clenching in her chest rises with the thought that they need to keep moving or they might be adding their bones to the bleakness of this place. But the image what this land would one day become lingers in her mind, the promise of it pulling her forward as much as the fear of the now pushes her.

Gypsy smiles wearily at the tech-wiz. It was all he could do to keep his eyes open, and his mind focused on the task at hand.

"While there are advantages to both choices, I think that it'd be wise to spend as little time as possible actually over the water. If we are forced down for whatever reason, having solid ground under us for at least part of the journey would probably be preferable."

Tevos shrugs in begrudged agreement.

"I just assume spend as short a time as we can on this rock. Either way we have to get moving so we can get ground covered and find some way to defend our selves if we cant get off this rock by night fall."

Walking along the coast line, you are outside the range of debris after a couple of hours. Certain calculations enter into Dogma's mind as they progress. Huge rock slide with thousands of tons of rock, sliding forcibly into the ocean might create a bit of a wave. Island chains have been wiped out in future-history by much much smaller land slides creating tsunamis. There's a chance that without some action from the team, in a few hours, their target location could be wiped off the map completely, creating yet another barren landscape to greet them on the next leg of their journey.

Meanwhile, Slinky seems more than a healthy level of obsessed with the bow, almost as if it were calling to her, whispering in her ear. Her eyes and hands rarely leave the curvature of the bow, like a teenager looking at a woman's curves. Although she moves along easily with the group, and doesn't appear to be slowing her down none, something isn't right.

Discussions still need to take place over what actions to do to cross the ocean. Search for wood by spirits, or as you travel has proven to be fruitless. There's not enough wood on the entirety of the island to make a small raft. It's devoid of life entirely. How it would one day flourish with life is a mystery indeed.

Gypsy is visibily exhausted beyond belief. His eyes droop constantly, and his spirit seems to wither from the heat of the unforgiving sun. It is obvious that he's not going to be able to walk very much further, and indeed, it's impressive that he's made it this far even.

The drones are happy, well, as happy as non-emotional entities can be of course. What is ripping your spirits apart, is giving them renewed life. The sun bounces off of every rock and particle of sand, providing a blinding screen of white to walk into. Fortunately, you are walking away from it, and as the afternoon sets it, you have your shadows to look into, providing a reprieve from the anger of the sun.

The wind rushes past Dogma as the team heads for the narrow corridor of ocean between them and their verdant destination, their speed magically enhanced by spirits conjured up.

The elf has calculated by now that a mountain collasping into the sea will create a tsunami of dangerous proportions. However, to put it mildly, the team is not equiped to halt phenomenons of this grandeur. Dogma hopes that water is shielding the green island from the ravages of the Horrors can also handle an incoming tsunami.

Not caring to speak right now, using the isolation brought on by the rushing wind to be alone with his thoughts, Dogma thinks about home. His couch, of all things. Simple comforts...

After they had walked a short ways, Jack decided to show Meneer how to use the zoom function on he shades, advising him to be careful where he was looking while doing so, so that he didn't burn his retinas in the process. This allowed Meneer to keep his eyes protected form the unaccustomed light, without depriving them of one of their more useful visual aids.

Jack kept his eyes peeled whenever he could see the coast. Sooner or later they would see some signifigant deposits of driftwood. All they would need to see is one, large, washed up tree, and they could go to work turning that into a raft. If they could use the zeppelin drone's air bags for extra buoyancy, or even just anchor the drones to the wood, while letting them stay airborne to provide extra stability. As long as the drones had sun, the rest would be fine.

The landscape seems to almost fly past. Although a car would have been faster, you cover a distance near enough to be Wexford, by your calculations, meaning you're actually at a crossable location to get to Wales. However, the stretch of water is still immense. Another day's journey at this speed would have you at Dublin, and yet another day could have you all the way up at Belfast, where crossing could be done easily in but a couple of hours. Of course, this being dependant on if you made it through the dark night approaching you quickly. Dusk upon you, and the sun was setting over the edge of the horizon. It was time to setup a camp, and eat, rest, etc. Either that or try to walk or swim through the night when naught could be seen.

The amazingly speedy travel comes to an end as the sun reaches the horizon. The Spirits that accompany the team depart as is usual at the end of the day, and the frightening prospect of the nighttime horrors that inhabit the Emerald Isle is very quickly becoming a reality.

Gypsy looks around at the barren landscape in the gloomy half-light, almost unchanging with its lack of distinguishing features and landmarks, so different from the Tir Na nOg of their time.

"Well folks, what's the plan? Do we go on, or tempt fate and to camp for the night?"

Slinky, absorbed in contemplation of the fascinating bow, shakes her head, blinking heavily. The day was a blur of dust and wind and sun haunted by the gleaming bow she holds in her hands. I can feel it sitting there. Like there's sweat on my palms. She looks up at Gypsy eyes unfocused and too dilated for the brightness of the landscape. She blinks a few times and shrugs.

"We have an idea what night will bring and how we might weather it. We have no idea what we might face if we make the sea crossing. I vote land again. Does anybody know if it would be better to make land in Wales, England or Scotland in this time? That might be important to consid...er..."

As if a wave crests and crashes over the young woman, Slinky's eyes haze again and are drawn back to the bow. So beautiful. Myrminoth. Her lips mouth the name silently.

Dogma speaks in a soft, tired voice. "We'll have to set up camp, and hope those stories about shades not looking too closely at thing are true. Take the cloths and blankets we have and form up a tent to shelter us."

Putting a hand on the conjuror's shoulder, he continues:
"Tevos, since we run the risk of having spirits you summon turn on us, don't do it unless we're in a desperate situation."
Returning his look to the rest of the team, "These... apparitions are like all spirits and fear strong minds. That'll have to be our best weapon against them. Unless Slinky's bow can be of help. Slinky?... Slinky?"

The girl seems totally engrossed with staring at the bow and running her hand along it's shaft, and doesn't register the elf's words untill her nearby brother shakes her and nods towards Dogma. Slinky mumbles a "Huh? What?", which Dogma dismisses. "Never mind, doesn't matter".

As the team puts down their backpacks and starts fishing for the tent material, Dogma quietly asks Tevos if he received any bad vibes when he assenced that strange bow...

Jack twitches a bit, then raises a hand. "When Mouse and his family needed an emergency bug blind in Chicago, what worked best was to find some sort of depression or hole in the ground, huddle in that, and then not move until it was safe to come out again. The shades seem dimmer than bug spirits, so we might not have to worry about doing a perfect camaflauge job. We just have to find something big enough to fit us all, then make sure that we've got a solid layer of blankets over the top. We'll also need to gurantee airflow, or it's going to get really stuffy."

Setting up camp on the beachfront proved easy enough. High enough to stay out of water was insured by picking a place where the earth was a bit more packed. With Jacks' attention to detail, a nice inset location was found, and cover provided with air flow. Everyone remained huddled under the blanket, too worried to have someone standing guard on the outside, too nervous to enter a sound sleep on the inside. The snoring of Gypsy lulling everyone eventually into a sleep nonetheless. Morning however came with a huge startle. Sleel was the first awake, the sun starting to heat up the air under the blankets to a stifling degree. Realization of where they were, and how asleep they were startled Sleel to his feet in a nano-second, causing the blankets to act as nets encircling him and startling the rest of the team awake as they were attacked by the rough blankets flailing about them as Sleel fought his way out from under them. As heartbeats started to settle down, giggles started to form which turned into hearty laughter. Maybe things were going to be better today. However, they had a ways to go still.

Dogma almost felt happy this morning. He certainly felt revitalized, though. Everyone seemed to be in good spirits again. There was much travelling yet to be done, and the unknown faced them when they arrived at their destination, but for now the team leader hoped there would be no problems for a little while.

Dogma took the luxury of brewing some instant soykaf for everyone before setting out. He also analysed the nearby water for any signs of toxicity. If it turned out clear, a quick wash would do everyone some good.

After these brief luxuries, however, Dogma had everyone pack up, summon some new magical assistance, and returned to their journey.

The much-needed sleep has done wonders for Gypsy's outlook. He no is longer dragging his feet when he moves, and the bags under his eyes have all but disappeared. The elf is also pleased to see that the others are similarly in good spirits, and that each of them also benefited from the full night's rest.

Sitting next to the shore with a steaming cup of Dogma's hot soykaf, he watches as the team leader checks the water with his electronic doo-dad. With just a hint of a sly smile, the sorcerer runs through his usual daily ritual of spells designed to freshen and rejuvenate, wondering why nobody else has asked him to help them in the same manner. It has been a constant source of amazement to him that people never think to utilize magic to accomplish such mundane tasks.

Feeling even more refreshed after cleaning both himself and his clothing, Gypsy calls over to Dogma, who is just finishing with his tests.

"What do you want to do about food? I can whip us up some stuff if you want, but it isn't going to be the best thing you've ever tasted. More importantly though, I can keep us supplied with fresh water, as long as someone can find a suitable container or two."