Welcome to Gaia! ::

The small kitchen was hot and fragrant with the smell of cooking meat. The wooden cabinet a were scratched and dinged from constant use while the linoleum counters were worn and faded. The kitchen was beginning to show it's age but it still was the heart of the building and everyone appreciated the cook who was currently the master of the small room. The tall redhead was working efficiently at a cutting board as a deep pot bubbled away on the stove. Pat wasn't the most accomplished chef but he was the only one on duty who could do more the call out for takeout so he had gotten stuck cooking, not that he really cared. It was oddly relaxing to follow down well worn paths and being able to watch others enjoy the food you made.

"Yo Pat! What's cooking? Smells fantastic." A tousled blond poked his head around the open doorway. He took a few appreciative deep breaths before humming in anticipation.

"Keep your shorts on Mac. The chilli still needs work before you tapeworms can have any." Pat looked up from the minced onions he had been working on and smirked at the blond. Everyone in the firehouse knew that if there was food to be had Mac was there eating it. The firefighter's body was lean, mean, and put most health nuts to shame but he ate like a freaking garbage disposal.

"Well if we are tapeworms what does that make you?"

"In need of meds, now go away before I recruit you to help."

"Yeah, yeah. Last time you conscripted help FNG nearly burned down the building." Mac scoffed and disappeared out of the doorway. Off to torment someone else in the firehouse at least until the meal was ready.

Pat just chuckled and shook his head. The new kid was going to be stuck with the nickname FNG until another newbie joined their merry band of trouble makers, or a better nickname came around. Pat was lucky he skipped that particular moniker and instead was immediately given the typical 'Irish' nicknames; Red, Patty O'Mally, Leprechaun, Lucky, Ginger, Charms, Pot O'Gold. The list really was pretty endless and Pat just shook his head each time they came up with a new one, if he didn't encourage them they tended to stick with Red or Pat. As long as they stayed away from the 'girl' names Pat didn't really care. A few well placed punches tended to 'encourage' his colleagues away from those kind of names.

With a final slice of the knife all the onions were ready for a quick caramization before being tossed into chilli, the redhead quickly slid the vegetables into a skillet and watched as the white squares worked at turned a golden brown. He kept one hand on the skillet's handle, agitating the pan, and turned away to grab the hand full of spices he needed from the cabinet. A glint of gold distracted him from his task.

Pat looked over at the edge of the counter with surprise and spotted a simple brass tiny cylinder and chain pooled on the counter. It was some kind of whistle, at least it looked like it. It seemed to glow slightly, it's light pulsing. It took him a moment to realize the beat of the light was in the same rhythm of his heartbeats. It was mesmerizing and the redhead found himself desiring to pick the simple object up, to examine it, to possess it. He would have done so if the onions that he had forgotten all about hadn't decided to pop, splattering scalding oil on his hands.

He jumped, yanking his hand away from the pan as he hissed in pain and surprise. With a quick flip of his wrist he turned off the burner and shoved the pan onto a cold one before he moved over to the sink. The cold running water quickly soothed the burn and a short examination revealed that no real damage was done. His hand hurt and he would have to remember to put some salve on it but he would live. Pat dried his hands and turned back to his onions which were a little over done, not that the guys scarfing the food down would notice. He emptied the pan into the pot of chili before turning back to where the whistle was on the counter.... Except it wasn't.

The whistle was gone and Pat could have sworn no one else had come into the kitchen since Mac had left. A cursory search turned up no little glowing whistle so with a frown he turned back to his cooking to finish it up. Once the last ingredient was added and the pot was set to simmer with a lid on Pat did a much more comprehensive search of the kitchen turning up with nothing more than a old potato that was beginning to sprout. The irony was not lost on him as he tossed the growing spud; an Irish man throwing away a sprouting potato. The mystery of the whistle was not that important, the image of the glowing piece of metal stuck in his mind begged to differ, so with a shrug he went in with his life.

Later during dinner as bowls of chili were passed around Pat couldn't help but ask as nonchalantly as he was able to, who had left their whistle in the kitchen. Shaking heads and jokes about various whistles rounded the table making Pat feel as if he was the butt of a joke, not a feeling he particularly cared for. "Seriously guys, one minute it was there on the counter the next it wasn't. Who's was it?" Silence and raised eyebrows were all the reaction he got to his admiralty snappish question. "Fine if you jackasses want to play practical jokes while someone is cooking I won't stop you." He shook his head and took his now empty bowl into the kitchen to deposit it in the sink. When he turned around the whistle was back on the counter right where it was before, as if it had never moved. He ducked back into the dining room and snapped, "very funny guys! Now pick up your damn whistle before it ends up in someone's food."

Mac was the only one who spoke up, "Pat we seriously have no idea what you are talking about. No one has left the table. You sure you still don't have onion fumes blurring your vision?" The other guys at the table were snickering and quietly cracking jokes as Pat glared at them.

"No. It's right..." He trailed off as he stuck his head around the corner, much like Mac had done hours earlier, and found the counter empty once again, "here." His sentence was finished quietly and full of question. He jumped when Mac gave him a hearty smack on the back and glanced around the corner also.

"It seems your mysterious whistle has once again vanished. Maybe some kids came by and swiped it, claiming it was magically delicious." He laughed at his own joke while the rest of the guys cracked their own cereal based jokes. Pat just quietly eyed the counter, ignoring the jokes that bounced around the table, and tried to mentally figure out the trick to the 'vanishing whistle'.

By the next morning Pat had decided that one of the guys were just messing with him and the others were covering. He had shrugged off the whole thing as a typical practical joke by his co-workers and other than the minor oil burn which was nearly healed by then anyway, no one was hurt so there was no point in obsessing over it. He might have been done with the joke but apparently the others weren't; on the counter where the whistle was yesterday was a small box of Kellogg's Froot Loops cereal. "Ha. Ha." His 'laughter' was so thick with sarcasm it practically pooled on the counter. He walked past it and gathered everything for his breakfast. Showing a reaction would just cause the fools to continue messing with him so with that plan of action in mind Pat sat down and started munching on his cereal.

Apparently his lack of reaction didn't keep the jackasses from continuing their joke because as the day went on more and more boxes of Fruit Loops kept appearing, with a spattering of Lucky Charms tossed in for good measure. The little shits even had the balls to stack the boxes in a small pyramid like a miniature grocery store display. As he studied the growing pile all Pat could think of was how he never should have encouraged them... and what he could do to get them back.

After a few days of the endless cereal Pat was fed up. Those little bastards would be getting a rude surprise when it was time for dinner that night, it was Pat’s turn to cook again. He spend as much time he could fixing a fragrant, delicious smelling meal, but when everyone came to eat all they got were bowls and a table piled with the mini boxes of cereal. “Dig in,” Pat said as he sat down with his own meal; a hearty cut of steak, baked potato, and veggies. “It seems we had an abundance of cereal lately so it needs to be eaten. Enjoy.”

Pat made it to the clearing he was going to spend the next few days in after a few more hours hiking. He was completely de-stressed and relaxed, there was only a few moments of anxiousness but that passed. As he set about setting up his camp the tall redhead chuckled at his earlier stupidness.

He had been enjoying the plants around him, keeping a steady pace, listening to the birds and the wind, just letting it all flow through him and washing away every little bit of the city and his life he temporarily left behind. Pat had been occasionally glancing at the forest around him, marveling in it, but his heart nearly stopped when during one of those admiring moments he had seen something golden shimmer in the distance. For a split second he had thought that the whistle was back, that it had found him… all the way out here the tiny little piece of metal had appeared.

Much to his chagrin, and endless relief what he had thought was a little metal whistle was infact a yellow wildflower. The simple bloom had found the perfect spot in the undergrowth and the sun had just ducked out from behind a cloud, just as Pat was walking by, and bathed the lucky flower in light. It was this that the tall redhead had spotted out of the corner of his eye, and made his heart freeze in shock. It didn't take him long to realize his mistake, and even less time for him to continue on his way, embarrassment following in his footsteps.

The rest of the hike had been uneventful. Just him, the plants, and the birds, no little metal objects showing up where they didn’t belong. He reached the campsite he told the rangers he would be in and got his camp situated. The other ‘sites’ were empty but he didn’t expect that to last long since it was still pretty early, the weather was perfect and while it wasn’t possible to check out the changing of the leaves it was still worth camping. It didn’t take long to get his gear setup and everything in its place, now all that was left was gathering enough wood for a small fire. Grabbing his now mostly empty bag, he headed off a smaller beaten path, eyes peeled for usable wood and the ever dreaded poison ivy, oak, and sumac. He did not want to have to cut his trip short due to the evil plants. Besides it was always a good idea to be aware of one’s surroundings when in the woods. You never really knew exactly what you were going to encounter, be it a simple squirrel or a bees nest. Both could be a nasty surprise if you weren’t expecting them.

Pat didn’t encounter anything unexpected on his wood gathering expedition, just plenty of fuel. By the time he made it back there was one other group setting up for the night, Pat gave a friendly wave but left them to finish situating themselves by themselves. If they wanted to hang or talk after he wouldn't mind too much, he might even share his marshmallows.

Chuckling the redhead dumped the wood and went to duck into the tiny tent only to be brought up short by a little golden colored whistle hanging off the center tent pole. With a gasp Pat took a step back. It had shown up! It had followed him! He took another step away not realizing that there was a particularly large branch under his foot, it rotated, he lost his balance, and with a yelp Pat fell backwards, his head thudding into the ground.

He blinked up at the two faces staring down at him, trying to make sense of what just happened. After a moment Pat remembered just what had him jumping back and quickly sat up, violet eyes widening in fear, only to slump in relief when there wasn't anything unusual in his camp. Nothing where it wasn't meant to be. And for sure no whistle hanging off his tent. Only once he was sure that he had imagined it did he answer the worried campers who had come rushing over to check on him. Physically he was fine… Mentally… Pat was really starting to wonder.

When he got the message on facebook Pat was surprised. He had added her as a friend because they were in the same club in college, he had added several other club members as well so felt bad not just tossing her into the group as well. He hadn’t heard anything from any of them beyond the ‘I’m engaged!’, ‘I’m a Father!’, ‘I hate my job!’, nonsense that was typical of the social network site. Personally Pat didn’t really use it for much more than keeping track of birthdays… his neighbors and coworkers that is since both had groups on the site. It wouldn't do to forget Mrs. McCleary’s 90th from two floors down or the FNG Don’s 25th. Mrs. McCleary would get flowers while Don would likely get some light ribbing from the rest of the fire house. Two very different reactions to the same day… neither of which he really could afford to forget, after all Mr. McCleary made the best damn chocolate chip cookies in the whole complex and she shared them with all her ‘boys’, the young single men that she looked after like a doting grandma.

So when Amelia tossed him a private note thingy Pat didn’t really know what to do at first. She had been the youngest of them all… youngest female, youngest club member, youngest college student. While the rest of them were seniors or older freshman Amelia wasn’t. Sometimes he felt like a highschooler getting stuck with a middle schooler for a whole day when he was around her. It just made him feel old. It didn’t help that most of the club were older guys who joined the ‘outdoor aficionados’ club, the name was from its heyday years ago, who just wanted to go camping, get drunk, and talk about chicks. Amelia on the other hand really liked the outdoors. She practically lived for it and if her facebook feed was any indication she had taken that adoration for the great wide somewheres and made a damn good living as a photographer.

Still though, there was no logical reason not to reply. Not one he could vocalize anyway. Any worry he harbored deep in his heart was proven useless though when the conversation was friendly in an almost detached way. Old colleagues catching up. Nothing overly sappy or familiar. A typical conversation only it ended with a invite to a group party. A gathering of other club members for some drinks, a bit of food, and lots of old stories. Amelia assured Pat that there would be several other members coming, not many since quite a few weren’t in the area any more… or rather they were still up in New York where they had all gone to school. A surprising number had moved down this way although one or two were coming from nearby cities. At least that's what Amelia assured him and a quick shout out to one of the others confirmed it. So against his better judgement the young man, not so young now since he was pushing 30, agreed.

Pat focused on running, on his breathing and his foot falls. Letting his mind just… let go as he steadily made his way through one of the marid parks he regularly ran through. The variation helped keep him active since seeing the different scenery was mentally stimulating even as he pushed his body to its limits. However this run was different. He wasn’t running to just exercise, he was running to shake off the chill from a nightmare. A nightmare that felt more like a premonition then some creation of a overactive imagination. It felt all too real and the redhead feared that one day it might actually happen.

It started simply enough. Common even since it was him, Tortuga, fighting alongside Denebola against a group of negaverse officers. It had happened before in real life and would likely happen again so that wasn’t too strange. What was abnormal for this dream was that Pat was watching it like a spectator, watching a movie except in it. Frozen, unable to move or talk. A ghost who could feel the cool night air, smell the rotting stench of the garbage from the nearby alleyway. He could hear the heavy breathing of all the fighters, the curses and insults, the sound of flesh pounding into flesh as punches were thrown and kicks were dealt. He was a ghost and yet he knew, instinctively knew, that both Tortuga, the knight, and Dene had no more magic to call upon, they had used it all up so they could only rely on their skills as fighters. And they were holding their own, her more so than him but Tortuga wasn’t doing too bad. He was getting in solid hits, he would hurt in the morning from his injuries but nothing life threatening.

The dream didn’t veer from a generally typical path until a short scream, nearly a yelp, drew both the dream Tortuga as well as the ghostly Pat’s attention. Both pair of purple eyes widened in horror as they saw Dene suspended by a hand in her chest, her multi colored eyes hazed in pain even as her mouth opened on a silent scream. “No,” Tortuga’s, the dream knight since Pat was unable to move or even speak, voice was soft at first but it got louder as he scrambled towards the impareled senshi only to be brought up short by a General. They were blocking his path, and would no more let him pass then a brick wall would have, nor was he strong enough to force the issue. So he did the only thing he could do… he made a deal with the devil.

“Take me instead!” His shout echoed in the space, making all the negaverser’s pause in contemplation as Tortuga continued to craft what would ultimately be his death sentence. “Take me instead of her. I’ll come willingly, no fighting or anything just leave her alone… alive and unharmed.” He glanced over at Dene, wincing at the sight of her battered form even though he knew he wasn’t much better to look at, “Not harmed any further. One tame knight has to be worth more then a senshi starseed right?” When there was no notable reaction from anyone of the chaotic fighters Tortuga faced the General who was still standing between him and Dene. “Please,” the dream knight quietly pleaded with the other fighter, from one human to another.

After what felt like an eternity the General lifted a hand and made some gesture that neither Tortuga nor Pat understood but it became clear when the officer who had been about to kill Dene let the senshi go, the woman dropping to a heap on the ground. The squire started to dart around the negaverser only to be stopped by a arm in front of him, cold eyes judging his every move. Tortuga gave a slight shake of his head, “A deal is a deal. I just want to make sure before,” he stumbled and nervously swallowed as it finally hit him, “we go.” After another moment the General lowered their arm and Tortuga stumbled over to the crumpled form of Dene.

A quick check proved she was still breathing, drained but alive. His shoulders slumped in releaf even as he bent over to press a soft kiss to her cheek. “I’m sorry,” using his body to hide his movements he slipped his knight’s ring off, triggering the emergency beacon as he did so, and tucked it into fist of the sleeping Dene. “I love you.”

With those last words the squire stood up and faced the General who had been watching the whole time. “Lets go, before the others show up,” with that he stepped around the prone figure of his beloved and joined the gathering of battered officers, ignoring the growl of disgust from the officer who was stalking behind him. He had been the one who was about to kill Dene and Tortuga knew the little b*****d wasn’t happy about being stopped, it was one of the reasons he had put out the call for backup. He didn’t trust them to honor the spirit of the deal… he didn’t trust one of them to come back, or send someone back, to finish what the one officer started. The squire came to a stop in front of the General, his chin tilted slightly upwards, his eyes locked with the other, even as he was pushed to his knees. He knew what was going to happen, or atleast assumed he did, and yet the knight didn’t waver. He didn’t flinch, although he did tense, when the officer who was behind him gripped him by the shoulder. Tortuga had to consciously keep himself from striking back but he did so, even though he could feel himself being drained.

He remained staring at the General until everything went dark and his body slumped to the ground. Pat was the only one who saw the negaverse officer smirk even as they directed their minions to shoulder the passed out knight, disappearing into the night even as the Order reinforcements got closer.

The redhead woke to the feel of grief choking him. His chest hurt and his head felt tight, as if he had been crying through the night. Or screaming…

Even after hours Pat still hadn’t been able to shake the unsettling dream so rather then just relax after work he went for a run, hoping that would quell his restless mind. It didn’t help really. Slowing down, the runner dropped from a trot to a walk absently fiddling with the ring on his finger. Oddly enough though it wasn’t the simple silver signet ring that had been in his dream. This one, this real ring, was a mysterious golden band with a yellow stone. A magical ring by all rights. One he was given through means he still didn’t understand. This ring hadn’t been in the dream. Besides he had yet to retrieve his signet ring from his wonder. So that meant that the dream had been just that, a dream. It was nothing but a dream.

Just a dream.

Right?

The rain didn’t bother him, even as it dripped in his eyes and soaked his shoes. He barely felt it. All that mattered was keeping the rhythm of his foot falls steady. The splash of his shoes hitting the sidewalk was just an added sound to help mute the general noise of the city. He needed the quiet, the steady thrum of his heart and thud of his feet as he ran. Pat kept a steady pace, passing his starting point yet again. He was pretty much alone in the park, there was no one on the running path and only a few others scurrying past, huddled under umbrellas or sheltered by a jacket.

His thoughts were swirling just as much as the water flowing in the gutters that he passed. Covering everything and nothing. Converging, bubbling, twisting, and dancing. Ideas and concerns crashing into each other. Past memories and future plans. Everything and anything. It was a good way to just work out what was currently bothering him or to come up with plans or formulate answers.

Rainy days were like that. He didn’t have to interact with anyone. Didn’t have to be polite or nice. He could just… be. It was as solitary as one could be in a city. That solitude was one of the reasons he liked to camp. The general silence. The space to breathe and just mentally float. Running was a close second, with rainy, damp days adding that extra little something to make things just that closer to being completely alone with his thoughts. Pat mentally noted that he needed to figure out another space to run, at least on wet days, because when he was starting on his next lap he had to dodge a particularly assholish driver. The guy behind the wheel was grinning when he swerved towards a large puddle just as Pat would have passed by on one of the few strips of sidewalk that bordered the street.

Of course Pat wasn’t stupid. Nor did he want to get soaked by the a*****e driver so he just made a wide turn and started back the way he came. The driver roared passed, flipping him the bird, and likely swearing since once he went flying past the redhead did yet another u-turn and continued on his way. This wasn’t the first time drivers were dicks, nor would it be the last. But pulling such stunts ment that he lost his running zen which annoyed Pat to no end.

Peeved, tired, wet, and now starting to finally feel the chill that was late winter, early spring, rain the tall runner called it quits once he finished his last lap. The last leg was mostly him walking, cooling down gradually from his trek. By the time he reached his truck he was just tired and ready to go home to take a hot shower. He had gone out to run hoping the action would help clear his head, it did in some respects but in others it just left more questions.

Bugger.

It hadn’t actually taken him all that long to find the chamber…. Not once he got to the right place. Several passages and doors later he found himself in a stone room. A cluttered room with one very, very eye catching feature. And it wasn’t the code that was sitting in the center of the room. It wasn’t the myriad of books and papers and other detritus of a messy person. It wasn’t even the suspiciously comfortable looking couch that faced the back wall. Oh no, none of that drew his eyes the way the giant, enormous, huge glass window that spanned the entire back wall. Top to bottom, left to right. Crystal clear and flawless. Yes, Tortuga had seen such large panes of glass back on Earth but he hadn’t expected them here let alone in this chamber. Every piece of glass he had found on this god-forsaken wonder was either broken, discolored, or bubbled…. And none of it was bigger than a sheet of paper so seeing a wall sized, unblemished, pane was just shocking.

He slowly drifted over to the glass, completely ignoring everything in the room, and as he got closer the man realized that the storm that had been raging prior to entering the halls that led him to this space was still seething outside. The view the window provided was actually just as jaw dropping as the glass itself. It overlooked a real wild storm and a worse ocean below. He was able to see, by craning his neck, that the wall of the chamber was cut right into a cliff face. Nothing below him but a damn near sheer drop onto some rather wicked looking rocks below. Rocks that were currently being beaten to hell and back by the ravaging waves that were kicked up by the torrential rain and insane wind. Lightning flashed and cracked across the boiling clouds. It was a real violent storm. When he was in it it caused concern but now that he was standing there, safe and dry, all Tortuga could feel was awe and respect for the power of the tempest.

After quite some time, Tortuga had no clue how long he had been standing there watching the storm, the squire turned away from the window and the weather outside to focus on the room he had completely ignored. His first thought was that it needed cleaning. And decluttering. His second thought wasn’t anywhere near as polite, and it mostly revolved around getting his task done. He still had quite a bit to do once he returned to Earth so the sooner this whole ‘commune with the code’ s**t was done the better. With this in mind the man quickly stole one of the sturdier looking chairs that wasn’t absolutely covered in crap and plonked it down in front of the pedisool that held the Code. He took his seat gingerly, not expecting the ancient chair to actually hold up against his weight, and muttered, “Ok, let's get this show on the road.” With a deep breath his eyes closed and he settled down into a meditative like trance, his mind starting to wander and drift as if tossed upon the wind and the waves as so much flotsam and jetsam.

At first his mind just drifted, nothing in particular came to him, no real thought or idea, but soon an image started to form. Like a picture coming into focus. Soon a town sprawled out from around him, stone and wood gleamed with care and cleanliness. Yes, things might have seemed a bit shadowed in some spots but there was obvious care. The people who lived here loved their homes and it showed. The squire drifted among the people, feeling happy and content, he didn’t know how long he was wandering the town before a dark line of clouds rolled in. The blotted out the sun in an instant, rain started to pour down and lightning spread across the sky. That's when everything seemed to go wrong. First a strike of lighting hit a house, setting it ablaze, then the water level in the town’s stream started to overflow. Houses were washed away, burned down, blown over… destroyed. Over and over again the town suffered damage, even the statue situated in the center wasn’t immune. It too took strike after strike of lightning. Bright flashes illuminating the stone visage of the Knight standing there.

But unlike the rest of the town, the statue stood strong. It withstood the onslaught of the storm. By the time the majority of the storm had passed, leaving just the overcast sky and heavy, oppressive, feel in the air, it was the only thing that remained standing. The people who were still alive, because there were dead strewn here and there from the aftermath of the storm, either cried out in despair or pain. Soon those cries turn to anger. It raged through those that remained just as strongly as the storm had through the town. Rage at the storm, rage at the damage, and most horribly, rage at the one person who had not been there… their savior. Their Knight.

With no one to take their anger out on they turned to the statue that still stood and together they did what the storm could not, they destroyed it. Piece by piece they pulled it apart until nothing but a pile of rubble remained. And then, with their meager remaining possessions they left. They left the town, they left the island, they left the wonder…. They left the planet. The entire place was left empty. Devoid of life.

That is how he found it once he/they returned. Tortuga ‘returned’ to his people only to find no people. No town.

No survivors.

He could feel the rage, the pain, the sorrow, and the grief build and build and build as the caretaker of the wonder traversed the destroyed town. It all came bursting out of him in a howl of all the emotions he had been bottling up inside, his legs giving out and driving him to his knees in front of the rubble of his statue, his/their hands gripping a bloody doll that he had picked up from the flattened remains of a house. His cry of anguish echoed off of the mountains, swirling about him just as the storm had whipped through the town. Carrying just as much upon it.

By the time the squire opened his eyes it felt as if his very soul had been the one screaming out, his own, very real body had been the one crying. His throat hurt from the ‘scream’, his face damp from the tears, and every joint and muscle aches from the tension that had held him in place on his chair. It took him much longer to fully return to the ‘here and now’, to calm his racing heart and to wipe his face. By the time the squire was able to fully sit up quite some time had passed. His purple gaze was drawn to the window, noting that the storm had faded and now the gray clouds were all that remained. No rain, no lightning, and no significant wind that he could see.

With a groan the redheaded man stood up, finally noting the absolue desaster that was now the chamber. What had once been random clutter scattered on the outside of the room was now paper, and books, and other miscellaneous things tossed about the entire room. With a sigh and a muttered curse the squire bent down to start picking up. He had no intention to actually clean a damn thing but he also didn’t want to just crush or break anything on his way out of the area. Might as well make a path to the exit and save the actual cleaning job to later. Or so he thought.

It was quite inevitable that his progress, relatively fast at first, slowed as he started to spend more and more time looking over the various things he picked up or nudged to the side. A book here, a paperweight there. There was a pretty cool Astrolabe looking thing that contained not one recognizable symbol or number. He had even unrolled a few scrolls, not that he could read anything on them. His progress was seriously hampered by his curiosity but even that came to a rapid end when he picked up one of the random scrolls off of the ground, ignoring the surprisingly violent yellow ribbon holding it closed, and opened it.

Again there weren't any understandable words on it but he still tried to read it. Tortuga sounded out the ‘words’ and muttered out the phrases as best he could but unlike the others he had done this with, this particular scroll started to glow and in a flash that had him instinctively drop the thing, only for it not to fall, the scroll faded into the light it had created. The squire started to take a step back away from the glow only to have it zip at him and strike him in his chest.

No, not his chest…. His whistle. His weapon. The small little object that rested right there around his neck. Unsure of what just happened the man pulled the necklace off and studied the metal whistle, spotting nothing different about it at all. Tortuga narrowed his eyes at his weapon before slipping it back on, not fully trusting it not to start glowing or something.

Leery now of any further ‘magical shenanigans’ and the possible complications the man stopped his meandering through the riotous mass of stuff and just started to nudge everything out of his way with his feet. Rapidly progressing until he reached the door that marked the exit of the room. One last glance at the Code, and the room it resided in was the last thing Tortuga did before beating a hasty retreat, concerned already welling within him that he had quite literally just opened a Pandora's box type of scroll. “******** magic,” He cursed as he rushed through the halls he had found just hours before.

Or was it days?