Pulling the shroud the rest of the way off of himself, Joscelin leapt lightly to the ground, turning slowly, inspecting the room for threats, making certain he recognized every face in the crowd. he knew all the veteran Travelers - almost no-one had been doing this as long as he had, searching for the right world...

Carefully, he stretched, testing his injuries. The aches in his muscles feel like old wounds, not fresh ones. Sorcery or advanced science. That was good to know. With one hand resting lightly on dagger-hilt, he made his way towards the door... only to freeze.

That was his handwriting. His initials. What... what was going on here?