[b]Mallaidh
[/b]

Something about the slender girl with green eyes, Dzel apparently, made the hairs on the back of Mallaidh’s neck rise. For such a young and tiny thing, her motions were like flowing quicksilver: effortless and graceful. Nonetheless, she appreciated that she’d get to lay eyes upon her sword after fearing it lost forever, so she bowed her head at Rozalind in thanks. 

After that the conversation turned to magic, a topic that many present seemed to have a firm grasp in, whilst Mallaidh was completely at a loss. She shifted in her chair, wishing she could contribute in some way. In the stories magic was a work of the divine and the dreadful, but the people around her made it seem as though it was almost just a language to be learned, with talk of runes, and how they all spoke the same language, and other arcanery. Therefore, she kept quiet. 

Even when the winged beast appeared with much commotion, Mallaidh held her tongue, even though her blood thrummed in her ears. She ran a hair through her fiery locks, and sighed deeply. The gravity of the situation was setting in, and she was ready for it, but she was no fool either. Strangers surrounded her. The room was small and an unfathomable distance underwater. That knowledge seemed to make the air cloying and thick. Yet, she was sure her tale would be an epic to be told for generations. 

People then seemed to agree that they wanted to return to the land of ice and fire Mallaidh could only barely remember. They had lost men there it seemed, to the dragon no less, and at this Mallaidh’s hands clenched – that was her prize, her doorway to legend. 


[b]Herbert[/b]

“What was I thinking?” Hebert asked incredulously, “I did not intend on… on… well, experiencing whatever that was.” He took a gulp of dry air. The tea could only come too soon. His lips were parched and talking his dry throat. 

“How long were you there? Did you see everything I saw?” Herbert rubbed his eyes, “I’ve had other experiences too, but I’d forget them quite quickly afterwards, I thought they were just dreams, but this most recent “dive” has burnt them into my mind. I’ve seen…” Herbert stopped in a painful splutter. Behind Twain stood, as beautiful as she had in life, Liza, with a finger pressed to her soft lips and her eyebrows arched. Slowly she shook her head, as if to say, “Not him, those secrets are ours”.  Then, gradually, she faded, and Herbert stared into space. He was stunned.

He shook his head. His mind went about processing what that meant. Looking Twain in the eye, he said, “I’ve seen too many things.” 

He licked his lips and tried to build up some moisture. “Is it foolish for me to be questioning my sanity right now?” Then he let out a mirthless laugh, “Does doing so mean I still am sane?” 

He got up out of the bed and almost collapsed, but steadied himself on the wall, and then stood shakily. “A walk would do me good I feel.” He looked about the metal prison and sniffed, “I never much cared for submarines.”