"Tell me who you are!" Logan insisted, his hand white-knuckle tight around the grip of his sword. He was half-wild, a kind of unfocussed look in his eyes, and he was sweating, despite the comfortably moderate temperature. His voice was steady and clear, though. "I am the king of Albion and I demand to know what is going on!" It didn't occur to him that pulling rank may not be the best solution. It was the only thing he could currently think to do, his thoughts a mess of darkness and panic and cold, oozing sludge.