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The Language of the Gods. The Imperial Tongue. People from his own world? All the use of Japanese tugged at Isoroku Ikari's attention. Sure, he had heard people use a few terms here and there. Usually their accent showed them to be barbarians, and their pronounciation and grammer was incorrect. But this one sounded almost like a native. Off, but close.

He pushed up from the table, straightening what remained of his uniform. The pants, the jacket, they were stained almost a deep brown for the most part, only in the occasional spot could you see some of the more tan wool that it was originally. The chest, the sleeves, they looked tattered, as though something there had been ripped off. Everything seemed to hang off his frame, as though he had lost more than a few pounds since the uniform was tailored for him. And to cap it all off, he was wearing sneakers, of all things. Red sneakers that seemed wholly out of place with the rest of him, and fairly new.

Of course, what really stood out was his belt. It was polished well cared for, unlike the rest of the man. A postol holster on his left showed the same love and care, with not a mark to mar anything on the belt. And on the right, his blade, the Kodachi Hitomi, the blade of his ancestors and most treasured posession. Its sheath was well cared for, though obviously had seen quite a few years. No matter how much care you put into it, it was hard to disguise that the blade and sheath had to have at least a century, if not more on them.

He followed the cleric, peeking out from the doorway to these strange otherworlders.

Gareth gives Hiroshi an odd look.

Gareth: "...wait a minnit. Friends with these?"

He tosses the marble in the air to emphasize the word "these". He snatches it out of the air before continuing.

Gareth: "The answer to that little f#*@in' conundrum is no."

Durem: Outside Square Stone Building (SSB?)

Lyendi relaxed a little seeing no immediate threat to her but had a puzzled expression on her face, how she got here and the whereabouts of the other members of her team remained a question; and more importantly was worried for their well being. Voices followed by footsteps approached her and quickly took her fight stance again until a girl's voice mentioned her name.

"...", she remained quiet until the person that called out to her showed themselves. To be safe than sorry Lyendi took a few steps away from the front of the building, her eyes focused on the doorway.

He nodded to the cleric, "Yes, I have been informed..." he said. His voice was cool, very formal, not betraying his emotions.

His eyes however, were locked on the strangers the whole time. Strangers was right, he had hardly ever seen anyone stranger than them. He slowly stepped out from the door, taking a deep breath, puffing out his chest, putting up his chin. If it wasnt' for all the dirt, grease, grime, and less indentifible substances dirting him up, he might have cut an impressive figure. His stance, feet at shoulder width, hands behind the small of his back, everything straight, angular, just screamed military.

"It obviously does not belong to her..."

His voice bristled now. it was low, his words rough. It was obvious she was not one of the privledged, she was not samurai, not even a noble. One of the heathens. To dare use an honored blade... that was almost an unforgivable crime.

Should he had found her back home, she would have had her shot, buried in an unmarked grave.

But now that he was here, he merely leveled a chilling glare at her.

A short young girl with a very long braided brown ponytail trailed behind her as she ran up to Lyendi shouting once more her name. The long ponytail was a dead give away and she recognized the girl as Eileen, a member of the ASDF group that was assigned to the mission. "Eileen!", Lyendi yelled out to the girl as she took off forward with her left arm outward then wrapped it around Eileen while her right held onto the sword. "Where have you been? How did you get here and where are the others?", the infamous 100 questions began spilling out of her lips as she held onto Eileen, her light blue eyes taking notice of two more people in the doorway but chose to ignore them for the moment and focused on Eileen.

Gareth's left hand dives into his pocket to emerge with a battered cell phone clasped within it. He flips it open, and after a few noisy beeps he looks away from its screen and at the cleric before him.

Gareth: "Lay it on me."