Tol-in-Gaurhoth XXII: Hic Monstrae Trucidant

[Durelin]

*clang*

*hiss*

*smoke*

*woosh*

Fashionably late.

The only thing anyone is able to make out for several minutes is the faint glint of a forehead protector.

Then...

*sching*

*thunk*

In the confusion of the smoke bomb, a kunai flies from out of the mist, fixing itself in a conveniently placed tree. Attached to it, is a mysterious note, tendrils of mist still sliding from its mysteriously torn edges.

The note reads:

++The Man
(Saucepan)

Appropriately following the airborne message, Durelin wanders lazily from the mist, her right eye busily reading over a shady looking manuscript, her left covered by her forehead protector.

We must work as a team if we are to succeed. For this, I suggest teamwork.