"Alright, come on in. Montcrief got snagged for some sort of pow-wow with Elle, but I figure I can give you the run down. We've been getting some strange surges along a few of the ley lines in this region, and there's some concern about Storm activity brewing. Since several of you have been through a Storm before, you get the lucky draw. We've got a path mark--"
She's cut off as Montcrief bursts into the room, striding over to her and leaning in to whisper. She listens, her face growing darker and more grim as he speaks. His murmurs are inaudible even to Echo, but her replies are completely within the realm of hearing--probably most of the way down the hall. "What? ... You've got to be--. ... No, that's just--. ... What did he--? ... So for all we know it's a damned snipe hunt? ... Tell that feathered--. ... Fine, dammit!" She sighs, takes a deep breath, a deeper drag on the stogie and a deeper still swig from the glass, and then nods.
"Right. Change of plans. One of our intrepid explorers seems to have found something he thinks is important down in the Dinosaur Swamp. Which is impressive, since last I heard, he was investigating some caves about 20 miles from here. Anyway, we've got a half-assed message he sent back this way saying he needs support immediately. Apparently, Elle of Owls, in her infinite wisdom, has selected the 7th for this detail. So, here's the deal. You're to make your way as quickly as you can to these coordinates in Georgia, about 40 miles southeast of the ruins of Macon. You're to meet up with Harlan Sarma." She takes the pad Montcrief has been holding out, and taps it, bringing up an image of an absurdly handsome young man with olive skin and dark eyes.
"According to the message--which is apparently horribly fragmented, having been passed along orally at points--there's some sort of major threat brewing in the area, but we don't know what that threat might entail. So you get to go down there, find out what's got his panties in a bunch, and then figure out what to do about it. Since it's the freakin' Dinosaur Swamp, I'm going to be insisting on you getting Hazard Pay; we'll have the amount settled by the time you get back. Load up and head out!"
Montcrief adds, helpfully, "The route data and Specialist Sarma's file, most notably his radio frequency, has been downloaded both to the Big Boss' onboard computer and Sasha's systems, Specialist SnackHappy."
She tolerates only the briefest of questions before directing you all to gear up and get moving, already.