Xaviers!

"Yes, that's us. We're the best damn band of warriors in the land."

This was followed by a series of deafening shouts from the assembled warriors:

Glaine ár gcroí!
Neart ár ngéag!
Beart de réir ár mbriathar!

"Beasties?" Tosh asked between what in that time would be manly mouthfuls, "Not just the dragon?" He sounded curious far more than anything else.

"It's a whole...a whole hoard of dragons, lad. A pack."

Awesomeness sense, tingling.
No, man-eating lizards are not.

"Can you... describe them?"

"I've never encountered a dragon." she says as a polite way of being doubtful. "What do they look like?"

"They're about two feet tall and seven feet long, with vicious, nasty tails. And claws like you wouldn't believe."

"No wings?"

That almost sounds more like a... no... it couldn't be...

"Aye. Land dragons."

"I need you to describe the tail. I think I may have read of such beasts."

"It's long, and it seems to use it for balance."

"And the claws... is one shaped something like a sickle?"

"Aye."

Goddamnit nazi superscience.
Yes! Dino fight!

He cast Ashlie a look before saying, "In our lands, we call them Swift Robbers. Clever pack hunters out of primeval nightmare."

"Don't tell me you brought them here with you."

It takes Ashlie a moment to decipher Tosh's hint, but when she does she realizes that they might have, in fact, brought them here.

"Certainly not on purpose. But we will help you deal with them none the less."

"Right, with your incredible smithing abilities," the man deadpanned.

"Have a little faith..." she pauses. "My apologies, I never asked your name."

"Fionn mac Cumhaill, the Anvil of Dagda, at your service."

"Ashlie." she simply says. "Anvil of Dagda, is that the title for the leader of your band of warriors?"

"No. It's my title by birthright and by deed, and not one to be passed down."

Did he... just say Finn McCool?
Damnit Bro, why isn't that my name?

"What does it mean?"

"Ye've never heard of the three tools of the blacksmith, my boy?"

"Of course. I mean anvil as a title."

"No, THE three tools.

The Anvil of Dagda. The Cooking-Hearth of the Morrigan. The Spit of Nethin. The Three that constitute a blacksmith. Learn your triads, boy.

Each of them have their own role in life. The Anvil stays firm, and is a tool for shaping the world around it. Through the power and glory of Dagda, I have been proud to form the Giant's Causeway and the Isle of Man. Like the Anvil, I stand firm and force the world to bend to my needs."

"You created the Giant's Causeway?" she asks. She doesn't sound incredulous, even if she doesn't really believe the man. It's possible, if extremely unlikely, that he's some sort of ground manipulating mutant, she supposes.

"Aye," he grinned. "Benandonner, who lived in Scotland, was threatening us over here, safe and protected by his body of water. So, I ripped up chunks of the Antrim coast and created a pathway across the waters, to show him what was what."

"Then you ran away when he turned out to be five times your size," another person called out, and everyone laughed

"I beat a strategic retreat and came up with a winning strategy, and saved Ireland, ye ungrateful sods!"

"Well that explains the name then. Very interesting. Are there many people like that in these lands? Giants and those strong enough to move the ground?"

"Only the best and brightest among us, lassie."

"My lady's lands are much the same, a haven and home for the extraordinary where great builders and noble warriors are forged."

"Well, welcome to our island, then," Finn said, raising a mug.

In Tosh's dreams:

He joined in the toast and slammed down the mug after downing it all in one mighty gulp. There was much rejoicing.

In reality:

He managed one swallow before having a coughing fit.

"Oh God I think I breathed some..."

Meanwhile Ashlie politely declines one of the other warriors trying to hand her a mug by raising her hand. "No thank you, I suspect I'd handle it even worse." she tries to explain it with an amused chuckle.

"C'mon lass, you've gotta drink something, at least."

"I'm alright. I don't mean any disrespect, I just don't need much food or drink." she tries to be polite. She's not really used to her eating habits (or lack of such) being under this much scrutiny and who knows what these people would think of her if they knew she wasn't human.

"You've had a long journey, though. What have you been living on?"

A powerful palladium battery.

"I practice asceticism. Right now I'm fasting."

"And so I eat her share, thus preserving the balance of the universe," Tosh joked.

Finn stared deep into Ashlie's eyes, dubiously.

Then he shrugged, and bit off some more meat for himself. "Suit yourself."

Ashlie's eyes are passably human, though at a closer glance they show subtle signs of being cybernetic, faint signs of circuitry running through the iris. Someone like Tosh would recognize them as artificial, a regular person from the 21st century at least suspect some alterations. Who knows what an ancient Irish warrior might think.

Tosh rested his chin on his arm for a moment and unintentionally fell asleep, snoring himself back awake.