[ He almost turns to look behind them as the voice echoes past. Not that there is any point to it. He can't really see until the lightning cracks. The blade remains unsheathed. His own flight or fight always tells him to fight, and the always lingering presence of his ancestor just adds to it. ]
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[The voice seems to fall past them as it speaks, dwindling into the distance.
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Where the hell am I?
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Then it's a hallucination, and I have nothing to worry about.
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SOMETHING TO Drink. Somewhere to stand.
CONVERsation.
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What system?
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[The figure sounds grateful that he understands.]
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People don't really translate those two things well when you're trying to get something out of them. Other than trying to fight back.
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MY kindred.