Lance lost count of how many times his head was chopped off. He wasn't sure if he was in heaven or hell, or perhaps some kind of bizarre purgatory, but seeing his life over and over again he began to wish for the silent bliss of oblivion. How many times did he have to watch his wife die? How many times did he have to lose to those corrupt noblemen? All he could do was wonder what it all amounted to. He never saw the peasant revolt. He never saw the sweeping reforms. He never saw his name in history books generations later. All he saw was a jeering crowd, then the sky, and then it started all over again...

Lance gasped and bolted upright, looking around with a bewildered expression. He didn't know this place. He let that sink in for a moment. He [i]didn't know[/i] this place. It was over. The eternal life, death, and rebirth was finally over. He felt his neck. No scar. He stood up. Somehow, even that was easier than he remembered. His tired, aching back seemed new and full of life once again. He rolled his shoulders. No sharp pain from that knife he took to the nerve. It seemed that wherever he was, the gods had seen fit to fix of the dings and dents that middle-age had done to his body. He went to reach for a cigarette... perhaps the gods weren't so kind after all. 

As Lance got his bearings, he leaned against one of the crumbling buildings, blending in with the shadows by instinct. For a moment, he just listened. Names... places he'd never heard of. How can a place both be one's homeland and the subject of a play? None of this was making sense. [i]Come on, Lance,[/i] he thought. [i]You've made sense of crazier shit than this.[/i] If a place was ancient history to one person, but the home of another, then that meant they were from different times. He glanced at the potpourri of comrades trying to figure out the same things he was. It would explain why they were such a mismatched bunch. A group of people from a variety of different times and cultures.

Lance emerged from the shadows and approached the group. "What, indeed, are we supposed to do about this mess?" The snow crunched beneath his feet and he shifted uncomfortably. He had seen snow only a couple times in his life. Usually, in Grimwater, it just rained. "That's a big question. One I don't think we should tackle just yet, especially since we don't even know what this mess is." He took out his arcane magnifier and began scanning some of the buildings. "Was this natural? Was it arson? And if so... What in the hell?" In all his years as a detective, Lance had never seen a magic residue like this. How could something burn [i]and[/i] freeze? "Well... that's different..."