Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

[Miranda Frost]

Adequte transportation huh? For a couple of random dudes standing about in the middle of Hell, they sure were over thinking this a bit. If the mountain range clearly visible in the distance is death mountain, Then what they were standing on must be the road to get there. Its subtle yes, but it was clearly well trodden upon. Its ash covered surface seemed finer than the hardened ground around it. The road wasn't straight to be sure, but it was traversable either by foot or land vehicle. Simple and direct, yet easy to ambush. They were right to try and take to the air, but that didn't seem possible.

Death Mountain was a suitable name. From here it looked as vicious as a giant's rusty axe on the horison. Apparently these warrriors or soldiers were journeying there on some quest of some sort. At least the one dressed in semi-medieval armor was. The one in red with a more modern touch probably tagged along for the same reason as she would be. Boredom was a savage beast indeed. As for her name, they needn't know her name quite yet. She wasn't one hundred percent sure on that one. Frost would do for now. "I'm just one who has lost her way, but you can call me Frost", she casually responded, the sound of falling gravel nearby catching her point of focus. Her eye's light brightened in intensity, enough for some of it to show beneath the patch that hid it.

Then she saw it. A boulder had been lifted by some invisible hand. Miranda turned to meet the possible threat, only for the boulder to drop, sending a thin wave of ash over her. Largely, she was unimpressed. Her heavy coat had already been soiled during her short stay here, and she had barely traveled a few hundred feet in. The man in red explained it simply, leaving Miranda to shrug and reach into the depths of her coat, pulling out an orb of rainbow light. She couldn't remember much, but this one was too easy to operate. With only a few thoughts, a vehicle of Miranda's choice built itself from the dust of the Ashen Steppes. The parts assembled one by one before their eyes, though the end result was far from spectacular. Before them was a simple pick up truck, beaten and battered by the scours of time. Rust had taken over where fresh crimson paint had once been. It was trasportation fitting for a woman like Miranda: sturdy and reliable.

Without a word she pulled a set of keys from her coat pocket and pushed passed Thor and Red. It was her truck after all. She'd be the one to drive. The other was free to come, Miranda honestly didn't care. What was the worse that could happen, her death? Miranda chuckled as she pulled the creaking door open. She sat down into the cracking, aged leather and started the ignition. The truck sprang to life like a giant slowly awakening from an eternal sleep.