[center][h1][Color=DF0101]Haakon J. Elvsgaard[/color][/h1]
[img]http://riverwalkjazz.stanford.edu/sites/default/files/images/Bix_portrait(1).jpg[/img][/center]

[hr][center][Color=DF0101]Location:[/color]Egyptian Museum[/center][hr]


[Color=DF0101]"No need for that, Miss Munn, I already have plenty."[/color] Haakon casually pulled up a pen and his notepad from the satchel still slung over his shoulder, trying to act calm and collected in his newfound company of...well, a group of people who supposedly were experiencing the very same thing. Each distinct in their own way, and not a group he would have dreamt of being with. 

[i]Å ja, drømmen.[/i] Haakon turned his attention down to the notepad in his hand, the one where his finger had been [i]magically[/i] branded, as if magic still was a force man believed in. That was at least what Haakon thought - or more so now hoped -, though the mention of an ancient Egyptian godess surely didn't help his sceptical mind. He tried not to think about it too much, instead focusing at writing as detailed as possible on his dreaming pattern. The Ring had first appeared once he came to Egypt, but the memories of it was only a few days old. As Haakon began to write, he remembered more of the dream; the dreadful desert around him, the never-ending wandering across the burning sand and relentless sun above him.

And then he closed it, the notepad, as he had drained his memory for anything useful to write down; he was a journalist, he knew what was better left out. And as he closed it, the scetch he had made of the ring came into view, pulling him back to the Nile where the ring had haunted him; haunted them all. [Color=DF0101]"...I wish I could share your enthusiasm for these strange events, Lord Major, but this far more absurd than anything I've encountered. There must be a more logical explaination behind this than an ancient Egyptian god doing...whatever this is."[/color]

Haakon turned towards Drake as Miss Kingston spoke of him, speaking kindly of him, The American it would seem. Once Haakon looked at him, his journalist instincts kicked in and gave his gut a special kind of feeling. [Color=DF0101]"That, or he's an American opertunist who came to Egypt for the same reason as so many others. But then again, Mr. Drake, what do you think of this?"[/color]