[b][u]We Made It....[/u][/b] [b]Warlowe, Frice[/b] Dean looks around at the team. The Sun beats down on everyone. He was sweating, the sweat dripping from his brow. He sat, wiping it away with his forearm. His chrome pistol is shining to the point of blindness from the Sun, his bone blade stand proudly next to it. He looks around again. "Anyone got a comm link?"