Owner	Pose
Jane Foster	Ruins of Ascetir. Somewhere in the Highlands. What must seem a lifetime ago, the guests of the Summer Horizons series at the Hayden Planetarium got a glimpse of a hidden archaeological site called Ascetir. Doctor Lizzie Fraser assisted Doctor Ian MacDonald in showing off the triumph of a decade's work. Now, those audience members stand on the edges of a lost "Pompeii of the North" shrouded in mist. The loch at the rim of the lost town lies flat and dark, inhibiting any easy escape for those who can't swim or stand chilly waters. Dark, twilit slopes shrouded in misty forest are full of nightmares they've just escaped. Though holographic projections gave a sense for the pre-medieval community, it's hard to get a full appreciation thanks to the sound-dampening fog that blankets the crater. The cobbled road made of flat, interlocking stones interspersed by small blocks tinted oddly by a metallic sheen stretches ahead to a site where Iain MacDonald and his colleague, Lizzie Fraser, were recording. Some of the gear is knocked over, a fallen LED lantern on its side the only source of light. The pair are several meters apart from where they fell. The woman has a stab wound and lies fallen facedown. Iain is prone, bleeding from a slash on his forearms that he probably raised at the last minute to defend against the leathery-faced man wearing armour a couple centuries out of date from the last time anyone in combat actually wore armour. The air is cold and wet, Ascetir eerily still. Several neat rectangular pits cut into the peat and gorse indicate where the archaeologists dug out other buildings. Several still stand in various stages of repair, all of them made of stone. The one wooden structure much visible has modern posts -- chances are, a thousand years of wet winters don't make a good condition for wood to survive. But the post-Roman design is visible, right down to the weathered blocks carved with a procession of people and happy hunting dogs, wolves, and a lolling cat-like creature having a good time in front of a fire. Like wild animals are totally known to do.
Mary Jane Watson	Red Sonja has tkaen some time to scrounge herself up some proper weapons from the ruins that had been excavated. Now she feels much better as she would start to sweep the area. Trusting one of the others to chekc on the unconsciuos scientists to see if they had any chance of surviving. She would go to hold her freshly acquired weapons up and over in a defensive stance. Then she's grinning and flashing her teeth.     Sonja is slowly going to then presuming that nothing is immediately popping out to attack them starting to sweep the area. "We should all stay within visual range of one an other so they can't pick us off individually." Going to move on ahead several meters, to try and use some of the edges of the ruined buildings as partial cover. Given the things they had run into on the way here, probably best to have something that could be used to give some solid ground to duck behind if need be.
Vic Sage	"Repeat, I've found the professors!" Vic shouts into the sound-nullifying mists. It's nullifying a string of curse words shortly thereafter. The Question moves to the downed academics and takes a quick appraisal. He is not a doctor, he is not even close to one, but he does have an internet connection and predilection towards absorbing information. Iain looks to be the least banged up, so Sage is moving to kneel down next to Lizzie, sliding his hat and coat off and setting them to the side. He lifts the tail of his coat and tears a few strips from it before he's rolling Lizzie onto her back and examining her more closely, eyeless face poring over every detail of the woman's state. Step one: keep the blood in the body where it belongs. With the makeshift gauze he tore from his coat, he begins to try and bandage Lizzie's stab wound, cursing softly and assured that he's the only person in the group that's still breathing. Typical.
Daisy Johnson	"You won't regret coming to Scotland..." Daisy is muttering to herself, and yes in a sort of scottish accent that very much resembles Fitz's. "And don't forget to try some fish and chips.." some more muttering as they make way to the ruins of the Ascetir. One good thing though? At least there's been no more sneaky wild cats leaving gashes in her leg. Even if she is now walking with a limp, gritting her teeth at the pain. Once they arrive Daisy takes stock of the situation, "Yes, no one run off ahead. We need to understand what's going on and ..." she spots the two wounded ones when Vic calls attention to the professors lying down on the floor. "Jemma, they are still alive." she tells her friend. "Very weak pulse.." She knows if there's someone that can help them that will be Jemma. "This place..., the rocks.." She points all around the ruins, "They are resonating with a .., song of sorts. Something long, it feels ancient. Let me see if I can replicate it for you to listen.." she focuses, hand pointing to the ruins.
Jessica Drew	The attacks seem to have abated. Even to Jess's super hearing the movement of the other people caught in the anomaly seem distant and oddly attenuated. Looking down at herself, she frowns and wiggles her toes in the frigid air. Yes, she managed to lose her other shoe dodging the wolf, if wolf it was. She feels cold stone under her bare feet, slick with moisture from the fog. Well, she has fought in worse situations than having cold feet. Spider sense still walking its trembly fingers up and down her spine, she walks toward the blurry light where she remembers the scientists standing before it all went sideways. A muffled shout accompanied by indistinct words reaches her from the vicinity of the nimbus of light. She looks hopefully into the fog behind her and calls, "Angelo?"
Angelo Tampambulos	Motion. There are times when the senses, and the brain that they report to, are only able to discern the most vague details of something. And then there is the MIST. Folks in the area are able to pick out swirls of motion in the MIST, but that could just be from the wind, or from some rodent scurrying to try to find safety in this gods-forsaken place.     And the fact that sounds are not carrying like they should means that armored greaves are not jingling the way they normally would as Angelo works his way through the MIST. He is fully armored up, his normal clothing subsumed by his armor that looks like a blend of ancient Trojen War era armor combined with some of the modern appearances, layers, flexibility and fibers. The horsehair helmet is still the same, coming down to cover his nose and letting his eyes peer out at the world. The circular shield on his left arm is held before him and the spear in his right hand shows evidence of blood on the blade. The shield also has scraped on it that are already healing. There is blood dripping down onto his left foot from a wound that is mostly healed in his thigh... one of the few parts not truly armored.     He's not there as Jessica calls for him. He hasn't really been here at all while everyone else has been in the area. But he steps out of the MIST like some forgotten artifact from history... stepping up beside the fallen scientists... and of course Vic. He plants his spear butt into the ground and crouches to look at the wounded. "Can they be saved?" he asks. His voice sounding like a croaked whisper even though he spoke at normal volume. "Huh. Odd." he says a tiny bit louder. This time it was an attempt to speak up. He didn't hear Jessica call to him due to that stupid muffling effect. But once anyone sees him, there is little chance of mistaking him for anyone else. Unless of course there are more than one armored Grecian warrior coming out of the MIST.
Jemma Simmons	It has been a whirlwind of activity so far for the british biochemist. And...it seems to show no signs of slowing for Jemma as she scrambles, as well as she can, towards some semblance of safety. This involves also taking Daisy with her, pausing only long enough to perform some battlefield triage on Daisy's leg. Hardly anything Jemma would be proud of, but at least Daisy won't be bleeding out anymore. Bad enough that there seems to be undead predators that should be in Scotland about. No need to give them the scent of blood for easy tracking. The muffled cries...and Daisy's statement of the state of the two professors, brings Jemma out of whatever minor panic she would have been in (for good reason!) and back to the present. People are alive but injured. "Right." The single word focuses the medical doctor as Jemma nods. Time to look after the professors. Lizzie is the one that receives Jemma's attention first. The obvious trauma being a sword shoved through her. With a murmur of thanks to the masked individual, Jemma leaves Vic to apply the makeshift bandage while she begins her diagnosis. Somehow...alive. "There should be more blood loss than there is. Honestly, she should not even be breathing, judging from the exit wound." Jemma shifts her gaze down to the metallic ground, fingertips sliding along the surface, as if feeling for any signs of blood from the professor. "Non-responsive, but alive. That's...nearly impossible." Then again, Jemma just walked from New York to Scotland without stepping outside a door. Impossible seems minor at the moment.
Jane Foster	One wet wildcat that took a dive into the loch with Red Sonja remains on the shoreline, strongly considering making a snack out of her when she disappears into the mist-shrouded site excavated from the hard rock. Presumably the cat has no trouble smelling her or the wound in Daisy's leg. What blood drips through and reaches the ground leaves a trail of faint silver. Much more impressive chromatic finishes lie under Professor Fraser's body that Jemma and Vic inspect. Neither victim is in good shape, and the sword-wielding maniac is nowhere to be seen. The video site they chose is in a depressed hollow, a pair of camp chairs beyond the staked-out grid that was clearly used to academically divide up Ascetir. It's hard to spot the nearest building other than the reconstructed wood-and-stone "hut" and a line of darker stones fashioned into something of smithy. Naturally something that sets everyone on fire would be on the outskirts of town. The hacker's attempts to recreate the song takes time to build up, the complex layering at multiple different frequencies something like mixing up a Gregorian choir with the polyharmonic chords of a completely different musical culture. The sounds slew together into an evocation piece as elaborate as any Led Zeppelin concert, played by the Olympians and Asgardians. Muffled, dampening effects make this a lyrical conversation felt more than heard down into the marrow and up to the crown chakra on the head. It's a conversation, but not in a sensible language.
Mary Jane Watson	Blades in front of her, Red Sonja would go along. Not paying particular attention over to the song or the language. The others would figure it out. The conversationw ould shift to something soon enough that was a universal one. No matter the time or place of origin.     Violence.     The song would play soothing. Red Sonja would relax. As if under a spell. Soon would be the time of carnage and slaughter and murder and mayhem. It would come and they would all be united in that style of rage.
Vic Sage	"I'm not a doctor," The Question answers the lean mean Greek machine that's just joined him in next to the downed professors. It's lucky that Jemma is. Or at least sounds like one. Taking a few more strips, Vic begins to tend to Iain's arms. Out of the two of them, he should be the most chipper and mobile, but he too is down for the count. Reaching up to wipe some sweat from his brow, Victor eventually finishes tying off the jury-rigged bandages. It's a stroke of luck that the chemical compound Tot designed for his color-changing clothes is no longer toxic to open wounds. The song digs at Vic. It's not like him not to know something, and it's getting on his nerves. "I hate prog rock. Unless it's Genesis," Vic says with a clearly-identifiable frown beneath his blank mask.
Daisy Johnson	With Jemma having taken the time to bandage her leg of course that Daisy gives her a thanks, and a smile. Back to sorta being able to walk. Or at least it not hurting like heck. No big runs for her in the near future though. But right now? She's busy trying to mimic a song... A bead of sweat runs down the side of her forehead at the focus Daisy has to bring forth to try and replicate the complex music. And the worst of it all. It's almost as if she was *there*, feeling enticed... "Anyone that's got an idea?" she asks in-between her replication. "Or understands the language?" She makes sure to remain near the group now while they mend the professors' wounds. It was their priority after all. Save the people.
Jessica Drew	"Have you been able to stop the bleeding?" Jess asks, standing a few feet from the agents grouped around the scientists, nearly shouting to make herself heard. Webbing makes excellent bandages in an emergency. Angelo's tall form, made taller by his crested helm, holds her attention for a moment. More than the rest of them, he belongs in this haunted place. She half faces away from them, peering into the MIST, the sense of wrongness keeping her on edge. The rising music, uncomfortable in its loudness to her ultra-sensitive hearing, occupies her. Its rhythms and lulls sound like a conversation. The chords are majestic and full, worthy of discourse between heavenly beings. But, concentrating on the music, she misses Daisy's question.
Angelo Tampambulos	"It's... at once familiar, and yet completely unknown to me." admits Angelo, his voice raised so as to sound at least semi-audible to those not far off. He stands then, seeing that the wounded are being tended to... and his eyes close. His torso -almost- sways a little bit before he exercises self control and stops it.     The feeling is.. familiar. "A muse." he remarks softly. "I have heard something similar.. before. Long ago." And as his deep green eyes open once more, he slowly turns his head about.     "It did not sound a -thing- like this. But the feelings, the emotions it evoked...." And then he tilts his helmeted head a bit and whispers... which of course, nobody can hear since it's a -real- whisper. "Calliope?"
Jemma Simmons	Even as Jemma works, plying her hard-earned medical skills, the music catches her. She listens....and she hears. Not just music, nor notes. But, as if she is listening to the symphony of nature itself. But...no. No. She has to concentrate on what she is doing. Attention turns back to Lizzie, checking on her to ensure she is stabilized before turning to Iain to tend to him. The masked man may not be a doctor, but Jemma certainly is. And she does what she can to assess the professor's injuries and place him in a stable state, like his colleague. The doctor doesn't speak during this time. The concentration is present upon her features. Jemma is doing what Jemma does best. Caring for others.
Jane Foster	Cold, wet mists continue to drape the ruins. They could hide a whole marching band, a Dionysian revel or possibly a bloodthirsty band of undead soldiers. Daisy's "performance" remains partly muffled by a clearly unnatural sound-dampening effect. Fog tongues the Pictish stones that decorate the entrances to three partly-excavated houses about as far as someone can see. Peculiar wolves and serpents cavort alongside processions of celebrating people carved on the dark, green-speckled rock. Vic and Red Sonja may be too engrossed to notice the halogen-green figures superimposed on the gloom at first. Jessica certainly will see the pair standing together under the roofline that no longer exists, holding flowers and heath in woven baskets. The tonsured men in grey or homespun robes that walk down the central path in conversation move smoothly as swans across the uneven terrain. A wolfhound rushes by Jemma, ignoring the injured, unconscious men, winking out of existence. Barely visible, the scribes writing something together share a laugh, anything they say smothered by the mist or the noise from the crater projected and amplified by Daisy. The resemblance to those carvings is clear. So is the fact that in colour and detail, they are almost alive -- and not ghosts. More like a vision of what was, when Ascetir lived.
Mary Jane Watson	Weapons up in front of her, Red Sonja doesn't see the glowing things in front of her. She's just sort of ensorcelled, and is just watching up as if spellbound. Her hands go to keep her blades up in front of her. A low smile on her face at the self assure dpromises of morbidity to come.
Vic Sage	Vic pops his jaw and tugs idly at the black leather gloves on his hands. The song, supernatural as it may be, has quickly become an obsession for Sage. All that he can focus on is the music. Does he spy the newly arrived figures? It's hard to tell, as he stands there fists clenching and unclenching.
Blackagar Boltagon	Returning from the rear guard, Blackagar's movements are made loud enough that those nearby can hear him and alert them to his arrival. Best not to scare or frighten the others after the near escape. Especially with other shapes about. Of course, arriving into the musical wonderment that has enthralled some is unexpected as well. His approach is made in that loud fashion until he stops short and glance around. The sound of the location, emenating forth strikes him and produces an uptick of eyebrow with a questioning look. Walking up towards those he knows, he taps upon a shoulder to draw attention then begins to sign. ~How is everyone? Injuries? Do we know where we are?~ A vague gesture around him he offers an additional, ~What is that sound?~
Daisy Johnson	It's easy to let oneself go in the rhythm, even if not understanding the lyrics. Some rhythms are just .., right. She is starting to let herself go until she feels the shoulder tap from Blackagar and snaps out of it, some of the song beginning to fade. She says to him, "The music that is resonating all around.., in the rocks, in these ruins .. Everywhere. I just amplified it so all could hear." She gestures to where Vic and Jemma are at, "The professors are alive, but will live and ---" she stops and looks down at her leg. "It has stopped bleeding.." That's odd enough. She may be Inhuman but she has no healing powers to speak of. "We need to press on again soon. How are the professors?" she asks, daring to disturb Jemma's concentration. But multitasking is important right now!
Jane Foster	The rhythms in the music quicken, strengthening through Daisy as a conduit. Another person in clearly out-of-period dress leans out of a doorway, a youth perhaps of twenty. He then moves aside to help an elderly man with simple but well-wrapped bandages around his torso and shoulder hobble into the street. The pair blip out after a few feet, and reappear among a group of five or six dressed in roughspun robes, tunics, even a brightly-dyed gown of vaguely Roman design. Half are clearly hurt in some fashion, but move unencumbered. Visions of a long-ago past. A more emphatic pulse of sound rises and spills out, as if the entire forest decided to join with a string section and involve every piece of iron from here to Norway in a choir. It's the strangest sensation, almost humming in the bones more than audible. For Angelo, no response comes -- if the eldest of the Muses is present, she isn't speaking. But that strange quality of something older unfolding remains. And wasn't History also a Muse?
Jessica Drew	Jess sees figures in the MIST, resolving slowly into a man and a woman burdened with baskets with offerings for a ceremony. "Look! We have visitors," Jess turns back, gesturing urgently to Angelo in hopes he will see if she can't be heard over the music resounding through the village. The scene is mesmerizing and repulses her, too; though she can't identify why. At first, she thinks they are projections - clever holograms played to give atmosphere to the village under excavation. Her senses want her to believe they are living, yet the robed men passing by stroll too smoothly for mortals or real men. The flowers in the baskets seem to have just been picked, the heath freshly cut. Jess sniffs the air. There is a metallic tinge to it. An odor of decay creeps on the air, the smell of a recently opened grave occupied by the long dead.
Jemma Simmons	The answer from Jemma is short. "Unconscious but stable." Then...a pause. And more detail. "They are severely wounded. However, despite how extreme the wounds are, they appear actually partially healed already. The blood loss is less than it should be." Jemma presents the information rather straightforward. Nevermind that there should be an air of disbelief. No time for that at the moment. The scientist falls to silence, as her eyes catch apparitions...ghosts of the past. Was that a wolfhound? And...where did it disappear to? So many questions...but yet the group is far from safe. And yet Jemma almost forgot about the predators just out of sight in the mist. Such is the power of the harmonies that Daisy brought to bear.
Angelo Tampambulos	For Angelo, the sounds of the music have overcome most other sensory input. Even the word music itself... harkens back to those inspirational figures, the muses. His hand reaches for his spear... and then both spear and shield vanish into his bracers. Don't ask how, it's complicated and hurts the brain to consider.     But he turns his head slowly and his thoughts come just as slow. Placated... not docile, but just incapable of feeling aggressive right now. He smiles sardonically. One might call it the 'Han Solo' quirky smirk. "So we do." he states, "I believe that we should speak with them. I have a feeling that.. and don't quote me on this, but my feeling is that we will only be attacked if we initiate hostilities. But... again, I -could- be mistaken." he says before closing his eyes to try to recall the antient tongue. Gaelic? Huh... right that word, and then...     He shouts to be heard at normal volume, and his words may make no sense to anyone. But he is -trying- to basically say, "We are here in peace. We wish to remain at peace. Will you speak with us?" (Again, it could be nonsense entirely. Those beings in the MIST may not have a clue what he is saying.)
Vic Sage	Vic's gloves are once again tugged at and he's looking to those within earshot of him. "Whatever is going on, we need to get out of here. We've got wounded civilians and I've got one clip left," Vic says, patting at the shoulder holstered 1911 to make sure it's still there. It's then that he finally spies the newly arrived figures. A quick study and he's stepping forward. "Listen. I don't care how long you two have been hanging out here waiting for guests, we've got injured people here, so quit jerking us around and let us out of here," he says, fists clenching once more.
Jane Foster	A lingering trace of dry rot might attract attention. The distant source originates from somewhere deep in Ascetir, in the unexplored parts with their partly intact buildings. For Red Sonja, the hard smell of metal and something catching her eye causes the woman to turn. She shifts her weight and edges closer to the mists, pointing. "Did you see someone there?" The direction she gestures follows the road ahead and somewhat off to the side. Apparitions that form, be it monks talking to one another or a procession of injured people, don't last long. Ten or twenty seconds of activity perhaps before the visual projections simply cease to be. Or they repeat; the wolfhound will lope back in the same animated manner in a few minutes from now, the same spot and the same duration. They don't respond to Angelo speaking an old tongue of the north. Anyone reaching for cloth or flowers will find their hands go right through, finding only insubstantial air. Then what is real? That rotten smell. That shiver of darkness. Vic's anger is at a whisper, a bubbling one, but still a whisper.
Blackagar Boltagon	Blackagar frowns, something about the place bothers him, his hands lift to sign to Daisy and Jemma, ~I do not believe we are in Arkansas anymore.~ It is best not to correct The King on his idioms. Looking towards the figures that materialize, then disappear, that brow of his continues to furrow as if thoughtful. ~Move on? To where? Because here is not here.~ Helpful, is it not? As a bit of explanation comes, he looks at Daisy, confused momentarily but then he nods as if understanding the situation a bit more. It is Jemma?s words that really cause him to tilt his head, ~The creatures, the ones with the axe, I have seen before. Their weapons caused great harm to strong beings. How is it possible that now in this place they are not as damaging? Is it because this place is not a place?~
Daisy Johnson	"To the source." Daisy tells Blackagar, "There is a ..." she stops, dropping to a knee and placing one hand to the ground. Eyes close and she focuses. "The ground shakes, it's starting to eat the other vibrations. Be ready.."
Jessica Drew	Drew's fists clench and she sneezes loudly at the dry rot tickling her nose. Ignoring the soothing harmonies, the apparent peace of the people projected over their reality, she walks up to the basket bearers and waves her hands through them. "Hah," she mutters to herself, vindicated. Mystified, she glances back at Angelo and Blackagar and opens her hands in appeal. "We are not in a place? Is someone playing with our heads?" The ground seems to shake in response. At Daisy's warning, Jess's spider sense ramps up painfully.
Jemma Simmons	"I am sure there is a reasonable explanation as to why healing seems accelerated. Perhaps it is the mineral composition. However, as far as a definitive answer...." Jemma shrugs. "I didn't bring my lab with me." Jemma....seems rather serious with that comment. Though it isn't like she can bring an entire research laboratory with her. Well...at least not to planetariums for archeological symposiums. Though...Daisy's warning catches Jemma's attention. There is little in the way of combat that Jemma can do, since she did not expect to need her usual gear for missions. However, she is trained...and by some of the best SHIELD has to offer. Her stance shifts to a defensive position, even while those brown eyes search for something to improvise a weapon with. A long broken branch could be a bo staff, or even just a club. A rock could be a makeshift dagger. It is all in the wielder's imagination.
Angelo Tampambulos	"I have been places that are not places before." begins Angelo. "It's complicated." he adds. But he holds his hands out from his body and adds, "So, it turns out they either do not understand Gaelic... or they do not wish to respond. I am wagering more of the latter."     He is actually not sure what to do here. A strange feeling for him. "I'll follow your lead Agent Drew." he adds.
Jane Foster	The vibrations that rock the ground are subtle and short-lived. Tremors last for a few seconds and then taper away, repeating ten seconds later. Again fifteen seconds on. Wraithlike visions of Ascetir's long-lost inhabitants shiver and wink out. All goes still. Then a brilliant green, blinding flash erupts deep in the ruins, illuminating a domed roof supported by tall columns. The same domed "well" building was projected in the planetarium. Here it's clearly occupied. Murky dawn turns to full noon for a moment. A breath or two later, the ground shudders hard enough for an unmortared stone wall to collapse and the perplexed visitors jarred by the main pulse. It would be easy to fall. The earthquake rolls out to the loch, churning the sediment-heavy waters to sloshing dark waves. The brilliant light flashes again and then simmers down to a rather bitterly-bright green fire.
Vic Sage	Richard Dragon had often sent Vic on journeys to places that weren't places. These trips were helped along by copious amounts of hallucinogens, of course. Helped center the man. Make him zen. He hasn't taken a trip like that in a long time. Clearly. Vic takes a long, slow inhale. This isn't like that at all. Damn. "No," Vic answers Jemma. "This is all...here. It's just that here isn't here. Pocket dimension maybe? CADMUS has been working to weaponize this sort of thing for use in black ops retrieval missions," Vic muses, leaning down to pick up his hat and slide it back onto his head. His coat is a lost cause, sadly. He does make sure to fetch the aerosol out of the pocket, though. It's tucked away and he's looking to the others.
Mary Jane Watson	The flashing goes down has Red Sonja closing her eyes, tracking things by the afterimages of them with her weapons raised up in front o fher. "Come out and face us, you craven lot! If you cannot be bothered to make it clear what you want, then show us your rage without cowering!" She's one to loathe the ways of ghosts, spectres, and whatever these things happen to be with her weapons up and out in front o fher.
Blackagar Boltagon	At the comment about his place.. comment, Blackagar looks over at Jessica and lifts his shoulders in a small shrug, hands moving in sign language to respond, ~A place that is not normal for travel. Outside of the normal reality you experience.~ It takes some time to put those hand motions together, enough that he almost misses something before the warning from Daisy pulls his attention back to what he feels in this place, eyes looking off down the road. Reaching over, he taps Jemma on the shoulder gently and gestures there, the horizon, down the road, a bit to the left. A single finger points as if indicating a direction before he begins to explain, ~A beacon. A focus. That way. Do not know if it is signal of ill or good.~ Considering the warning that had come, it is enough to give him pause. Striking off in a direction could fall either way. Considering is something there is no time for, but it is what is needed. Injured people, mist like figures, the pieces tug at his mind but the eruption of confirmation comes, causing that now familiar furrowing of expression. Reaching into his pocket, Blackagar pulls out an object which has resided in his pocket, slipping around his neck a chain upon which the bottom hangs a fork like object. ~If we are not where we are supposed to be, we hold the disadvantage. If we cannot find out what is causing this, we may be forced to attempt to break this place.~