There was a stillness to the air and a dustiness to place that Melinda found herself in that have it the feel of some forgotten crypt or ancient storehouse. As she looked around all she saw brought to mind some of the stories she'd been told of London's beginnings as a Roman military outpost from the age and regularity off the heavy cut stone. In fact, it made her think of the ruins of the Roman fort her family picniced in one happy summer. Oddly, and in its own way, it was clean and neat, which was more then she could say for herself as her torn and tattered dress hung off her body by threads and her half naked body was a mottled mess of dirt, blood and bruises.<br/><br/>At first there was no real response to Melinda's softly spoken words. She valiantly attempted to rise and cone to the aid of the suffering woman, but promptly collapsed in a heap pin the ground. Perhaps it was that, or due to the second time she called out, but the womanly screams faded into anguished sobs as something left her presence.<br/><br/>Footfalls grew louder and louder as they approached Melinda, heavy and slow. Whatever was approaching was big and... Strange as the footsteps didn't have the click of heels and shush of shoe leather on stone. Instead they sounded bestial or mechanical as they'd a scraping-scratching quality to them.<br/><br/>A few heartbeats later the doorway was darkened by an enormous but nondescript figure hidden within a voluminous cloak. The way it moved was awkward, incongruous uncertain in a childlike way but at the same time tremendously powerful. In some ways, the one infront of Melinda might have been a baby troll from a fairytale, if such things existed, trying not to destroy its surroundings by accident.<br/><br/>"Awake...bad... " it growled in a manner that was labored strange sounding. It wasn't a matter of an unfamiliar accent or odd intimations it was more like vocalizing thoughts was a new experience for the individual addressing Melinda. "Rest..." it invited her, in a manner that was almost caring.