Sound assaulted Morgan's ears, and he shook his head to try to clear it. The sun above was blinding, even through his closed eyelids. The inside of his head still rang and his chest and back hurt from the earlier impact. But he had to get up, and take up sword and shield! The contest would not wait for him to recover.

When Morgan rolled to his side and opened his eyes however, it was not the sand of the jousting field he beheld through the visor of his helmet. Despite the weight of his platemail and the chain hauberk beneath, Morgan pushed himself into a kneeling position in time to note the two figures running off. Before he looked about more, however, he shed the heavy helm and pushed back the padded hood beneath. Forcing himself to stand, Morgan finally took in the others slowly coming to their senses about him and the fiery figure in the distance. Confusion distorted his thoughts at the scene, and his hand drew his broadsword before his mind bade it to do so.

"What new Hell is this?" Morgan whispers under his breath, thinking that he assuredly must have been struck fatally in the joust. Only two minor dents could be found in his armor however, one in the breastplate and one on the side of his helmet. No blood flowed from him, but that could easily be a trick of this afterlife. Turning at last to the flaming figure, Morgan started toward it with a determined stride. So far, it was the only thing he could see clearly native to this place, as the strangers around him wore a motley of clothing and equipment. Even if it destroyed him, it would answer at least one thing about this place.