(a few hours into the Jaunt, open broadcast)

[protect_and_serve]

[Joscelin's voice, sent across the network, is warm, dry, composed - instilled with enough confidence, he hopes, to reassure the new and uncertain.]

A calm beginning makes for a welcome change. We should still start sharing what we know. Who's with us, and who is missing? Who is infiltrating? What do we know about this world?

If this is your first Jaunt - and there were many new faces in Liminal Space - ask for assistance, and we'll give it.

I'll begin. This is Joscelin Verreuil. We're on the coast of an island, somewhere between Alba and Terre D'Ange- England and France, I think, locally. Magic of some sort appears to be open and commonplace. I can't make sense of their calendar, but we're in or just after the Twentieth Century, as.... Christians... reckon time. This is a port where foreigners are common and unremarked. I have clothes that fit the era, and in my pockets were ten five-pound notes. The Trumps don't mean for us to be spotted immediately, or starve, but I can't guess more than that.

Comments

[howexciting]

[Leonardo actually seems a little happy at the praise, despite his immediate humbling smile and shake of his head. But now is not the time to debate such things; they really must find out where to go.

So he gently takes her arm, pressing his hand warmly over hers, before leading her to the tourism bureau.]