Cold, dry, empty, and most of all, dark. The enclosure that the adventures and nobles awoke in was about one hundred feet wide in both directions. A single torch rested on a pedestal in the center as well as torches along the walls gave the smooth dark stone of this room a color that mimicked rotting pumpkins, and this sickly coloration faded into blackness upward, the ceiling was beyond the depressing light's reach. Each of the people trapped in this room awoke one by one as if synchronized, each sitting up with a sudden start from the chilled floor and into the dusty and still air around them. The scent of musk was faint but apparent as they looked about, seeing one another scattered across the room.

Sigrdrífa's eyes popped open and she looked around. No danger, yet. A self check revealed she was fully armoured with a weapon and no visible injuries or signs of damage. Which left several questions. Why was she here, where was here, and who were these people with here? There about six other around the room, all seemed to have come awake at the same time. Eerie. Her eye's flicked around for search of an exit but the dark made it difficult to tell what was a dark wall and what was something else. Sigrdrífa took a step or two and pounded her spear butt against the floor and spoke decisively. "Sigrdrífa Rylo, knight of Jorhan. Current situation unknown."

Well there wasn't much else to say. She had no idea what sort of people were here and how they would react to someone taking charge. If needed she could do so but if there was a noble here she would be loath to make an enemy in such an unknown situation. Sigrdrífa scanned the face's of those still waking for their reaction, hopefully they were either like her and soldiers with no idea what was going on, or better yet, they had some semblance of what had happened. The fear that they would be bandits and of that ilk went unspoken and mostly unthought, such things would a waste of energy unless they proved themselves in time.

Ulrich started to stir from his... sleep. He opened his eyes only to find that he seemed to be in someplace where the sun doesn't reach. He was still lying on his back. He propped himself up using his elbows and then looked around. There were torches lining the walls and then one on the pedestal. This place reminded him so much of when he saw Val's dead body. He felt a cold shudder run through his spine before he shook himself, reminding that he was not there anymore.

But then, where was he and how did he get here? Those questions remained in his mind as he continued to look around. Oh wait, there were other humans in there. About six of them and then one was already up and running and even spoke in such a way that she was taking charge. Not that he minded. He was a mercenary, so to say, and he's used to hearing orders and following them. He then finally stood up from his position. The others were just waking up from whatever trance they had been in.

"Ulrich Halechstin's the name. Mercenary by trade." The gray haired male said, to introduce him somewhat to those who could hear him. He wanted to know who he was trapped with. Hopefully, he could at least squeeze out some names from them. None of them were familiar after all and since they were all trapped inside, he might as well get to know them.

Cato let out a soft groan as he opened his eyes and slowly raised his sore body from the hard ground. His eye adjusted to the low light quickly as he studied the room, he took note of the dreariness of the room, it was cold, dry and dark, like a dungeon. How did he get here. He wondered, did Miran nobles kidnapped him for ransom? Was he to be tortured then killed by assassins? There was so many possibilities and no answers as the only people in the room who were awake just looked just as confused as he was, it also didn't help him figure out their predicament when they said they were just a knight and mercenary, maybe the others still passed out were nobles or even royalty like himself.

Cato stood up fully then he wiped away the dust and dirt off his clean sliver chain mail shirt and pants. As he wiped away the muck off him he sees on the ground a Heal Staff, like the ones he used during his training, he breath a sigh of relief at he picked up the staff, feeling just right in his gloved hands, it looks like he won't be completely useless if he gets into a fight. As he strapped the the staff onto his belt he notices that there's vulneraries hanging off of his belt ready to be used. Cato thanked the kidnappers for letting him things to keep him safe, with the irony going over his head of thanking his kidnappers. Cato finally decided to speak up.

"I'm Cato Mancha, Crowned Prince of Mira and your local healer~" Cato said in a bright cheery tone, he decided he would just let everybody know his title so if they want him dead they should just kill him right away, he doesn't need secrets to feel safe, since he won't feel safe until he's back home. "It is nice to you meet you, Mister Ulrich and Miss...Sigrdrífa... did I say that right?"

Juniper never liked mornings. The sun hurting her eyes, the dry feeling in her mouth and throat, the grogginess... She groaned, feeling the surface around with her hands. Cold, dry, rough-- Wait, where was she? She opened her eyes, and pushed herself up, looking around fear, like a wild animal captured. Juniper calmed down slightly upon seeing other people around her, most of them asleep or not hostile. Juniper steadied her breath and brushed dust off her shoulder guards and chest. She tried walking towards the torch, nearly tripping on something. An axe? Nice, she had some weapon now, even though it wasn't her favourite silver. Juniper sighed and grabbed the iron weapon. It was far too dark here for her liking, but at least there were others here. They... did not look like her soldiers though. A lady knight, standing taller than anyone in cave, and two rather small boys, one holding a staff. Nice, a cleric. "Hey, I'm Juniper Drev. Any idea as to where we are?"

Varrus Volkanon

Darkness and silence were all encompassing. How he came to be in this state or how long was unknown to the young man. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't concerned, but oddly enough it was not for himself. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he was fearful of someone seeing him. Despite his attempts to rise, he couldn't move his groans of effort echoing in the silence. Yet, as sounds of other began to fill the room, Varrus took in a breath sharply as his eyes opened slowly. It was in this low dull light that he could make out the subtle shadows and silhouettes of others in this dimly lit interior. With a heavy groan, he'd push himself off the cold stone floor, resting on one knee before raising to his full height. Quickly he turned to those he had heard before, spotting a variety of people before him of varying statues and builds... However, something was amiss.

'No, this is not my army. What happened?' For a moment, he stared on in silence, clinching his teeth through his attempt to appear stoic, 'Where are they? Don't tell me...' Cursing in his thoughts as he stepped forward, Varrus couldn't help grow suspicious of this sudden grouping. It was then that he heard the exchange of introductions, others announcing themselves as lord and soldiers. Varrus couldn't help but chuckle, his cold and calculating nature unable to see past the possible folley of these actions.

"Forgive me for not taking part in this exchange. Introductions for courtesy's sake can often reveal privy information to those unworthy of trust." He spoke coldly and in a matter of fact tone, wearing his stoic visage as he took stock of those before him. Two females: both sporting heavy and bulkier frames from the ladies of which he was familiar, though one bore heavier and more generic armor then the slightly shorter one with an axe. The other four were males: one wearing the armor of a sellsword (or so he announced), one with a smaller frame and lighter attire, another was smaller of frame though his armor betrayed his status, and the last was very similar though with no armor to speak of. All of these details were evident, but nothing matching the designs of his homeland. Though he did not speak about his observations, he couldn't help but feel uneasy about the foreign nature of those about him. Idly resting his hand upon his sword, Varrus began scanning his surroundings as his body still faced towards the group.

"So, where are we?" He asked curtly, taking into account the layout of the room as he tried to ponder how he wound up here from- At this point, he grew wary. Why could he not recall his previous actions? Where was he before this displacement? "How is it I woke up with no memory of my travels to this place?" At this point he fell silent, looking over the group careful with a cautious stare. It did not bode well for him nor his trust in these mysterious persons, refraining from showing his disdain as his eyes now hardened to a cold stare.

Life.

He wasn't sure what sort of state he was awakening from, but Augustus imagined it must be what death felt like. Simply... emptiness, like sleep that had no prayer of a dream. The cold stone below him was uncomfortable, but at the very least it meant he was alive. Carefully he picked himself up, noting his personal tome of magic was in his possession, and listened as the others who were gathered made introductions. It was a bizarre situation, he didn't recognize any of those who were gathered, and none of them seemed to know how exactly they came to be here. At least, if the cold warrior was to be believed.

He thought back to his studies. Surely it was some sort of magic that had brought them all together, several gathered were lords, if they were to be believed, including himself. He had practically been king, no mere kidnapper could have penetrated the mages and royal guard of the palace. However, nothing about this place, or their circumstances, triggered any memories from his teachings. Assuming they all survived long enough to do so, he would have to study this place and learn what he could. Perhaps his kingdom could put this structure to use.

Ulrich.

If it was magic that brought them all here, then that man was the likely culprit. His garb was unfamiliar, but still unmistakable as a practitioner of magic. Plus, a mercenary, as he proclaimed himself to be, would have quite the monetary motivation to capture men and women of high status. It was odd that he would intermingle with the group, but it could easily be a ploy to catch them off guard. The danger in this situation was clear, and he considered the cold warrior's judgement sound. Friendliness, however, would get one farther in strange company than being a stone.

"Edmund. Third son of Margrave Albrecht, magician by trade and noble by birth. I cannot say whether we're in my father's lands or not, I have about as much memory as the cold one here. A pleasure to meet you all regardless, at least considering the fact we're being introduced with words and not swords."

It was a calculated lie, Margrave Albrecht did indeed have a third son who was said to be talented in magic. He doubted that any of the people here had met the man. He would have preferred hiding his nobility altogether but that was be next to impossible, the mannerisms were hammered into him from birth, and his attire wasn't the least showy of those gathered.

The noise of the others finally stirred Keaghan from his sleep. He rose from the harsh ground, about as slowly as he would on any normal morning. Once his eyes adjusted to the dim light, however, things quickly changed. Springing up to a standing position and readying his sword, Keaghan's glare darted between the others as he began to assess the situation.

Where am I? Have I been captured by the army?

After a few moments of no action being taken, he lowered his weapon, still radiating an uneasiness and tension not uncommon for someone thrust into an unfamiliar situation. "... What is this place?" he said in a soft but stern voice. Much like young lord who refused to share his name, Keaghan preferred to share only what was absolutely necessary about himself, when it was absolutely necessary. He scanned the walls and floor for any sign that would give away their location, but was of course unsuccessful. He then checked the ceiling, and again came up empty-handed as he peered into the seemingly endless darkness above him. Finally, he once more bounced back and forth between the others that stood before him, this time studying them more intently.

Ulrich's heart sank when he realized that he was in the presence of many nobles. From the way the others spoke and acted, he could guess as much. In all honesty, the mercenary didn't know if he should kneel down and show them respect or do nothing but greet them back since statuses don't seem to matter right now considering that they were all trapped inside this dark room with seemingly no way out. Or at least, nothing that he couldn't currently see. He hasn't been looking around and just stood there while everyone else introduced themselves. Well from the way everyone spoke too, he knew who he could possibly stick by, at least for now.

His eyes traveled to the ground, a familiar object coming into sight. It was his knapsack. Thank God, he could practically hug the thing right now. He picked it up and began to rummage through it. His books were there and so was his inkwell and feather pen. But there were no signs of his original weaponry, replaced only by a thunder tome. Oh man, he really didn't like that. He didn't even see any of his staffs anywhere near him. Maybe it was somewhere? Some other things that he could use? From what he could see right now, there were a lot of warriors among them and only a few mages. Not that he minded.

"As for where we are and how we got here..." The boy said as he looked at the lords and other people. He could see that they were still suspicious of each other, not that Ulrich could blame them. I mean, being bunched up in a group like this so suddenly and they had no idea how they got here, of course you'd suspect the other that they were responsible. "My guess is as good as yours." He continued after a very short moment of silence. He then secured his knapsack upon his bag.

The gray haired male then proceeded to walk around, to check the walls or the floor for any kind of opening so they could escape. Of course, he expected that it wouldn't be too easy to see if there was any path. After all, it seemed like some sort of dungeon. When he didn't find anything, he would just merely look back to the others who were possibly infinitely better than him in wits. After all, a mercenary is just someone who follows orders right? And they were older than him and possibly more experienced.

Sigrdrífa noted the reactions of the various peoples to her statement. A small smile crossed hre face at the prince's careful pronunciation of her name. "Yes Prince Cato, you got it in one. Though you may call me Rylo if you find that easier." She turned to attention to the hypocrite refusing to share his name yet asking for information. She found people like that rather irritable, but thought that now would not be the time to rebuke him for it. Sigrdrífa noted the names that were given as they were, mentally repeating them to ensure she would not forget. Luckily she'd always had a head for names. Seeing as there were only questions it was unlikely anyone knew any more than she did, or if she they were holding back. Either way that meant action would be required to gain more information. "Since none of us seem to have any recollection of our last actions or this place, I suggest we attempt to explore, I at the very least will do so." Having said so she grabbed a torch off the wall, awkwardly holding it in the same hand as her spear, and began searching for any exit or any other distinctive markings. Hopefully some of the others would take the hint and follow suit, she'd enjoy having a healer such as Prince Cato back her up and doubtless he felt the same about having a hulking mass of amour in front of him. Such was the way things were.

Varrus Volkanon

Varrus sighed heavily as everyone carried on with their introductions, none seeming to have knowledge of their current situation or how they arrived here. 'It's possibly a trick, but if they are telling the truth... They're in no better position then I.' As his focus shifted from the people to the room, he'd pay very close attention to the heavily armored female as she grabbed a torch from the wall. Gripping tightly onto his blade's pommel, he'd step towards her flank- though keeping in mind to stay a couple steps behind. Looking over his shoulder to those behind them, Varrus plotted and planned.

"As much as I'd like to sit and stratigize, the lady has the right idea. We have very little information where we currently are, and without anyone coming forward," At this, he'd intentionally pause. He waited a moment to see if anyone looked suspicious or wary at this remark, "The only thing we can do is find this information out on our own. Even if we run into a dead end, it's more than what we know now." As he prepared to step forward once more, a sudden revelation gave him pause. He had been in the habit of commanding soldiers, many who had seen and survived battle under his guidance... He couldn't say the same for the rest.

"If you're not familiar with a weapon or it's business end, stagger behind. Be mindful: the further you are, the longer it will take to support you. Couple yourself with a healer and cover them. They may wind up saving lives as well as your own." With that his attention would focus forward once more, his eyes scanning everything lit by the subtle light of the torch as he followed closely behind the well armored woman.

A brief swelling of pride filled Augustus, annoyed at the thought of someone else taking charge of the situation, but he let it subside. Above all else, he was logical. If he were playing the part of a minor noble, there wasn't much use in trying to take charge like a crown prince. The risk to his life was far to great at the moment to let something as silly as pride rule his actions. Besides...

He looked over the Cold One and the woman-knight once more. Sure, Augustus had received the best training available in the kingdom and had no fear of facing an armed opponent, but those two at least appeared to have seen plenty of actual combat. It would probably be wisest, given the current situation. As much as he loathed to admit it, Keisser had always been the one suited for leading the army. Augusted lacked his... natural talent for it.

"Agreed. The longer we linger the longer we're going to be stuck... Wherever it is we are. I don't know about the rest of you, but that doesn't feel safe."

There did seem to be a certain malice in the air, or perhaps in the walls. Whatever the reason they had been gathered here he suspected it wasn't a pleasant one. Especially considering the fact that they were all armed. Just what was their purpose here?

With no answers forthcoming he shrugged, falling into line behind the Cold One. It didn't look like there were many "healers" to pair up with, so he instead went with one of the warriors. He may not be able to patch up the man's wounds, but he could pick off a weakened attacker before they could get a strike in. In theory. Aside from that, despite being as standoffish as the warrior was, he was the only one that had gained any trust from Augustus. The cold logic was something he could understand.

If his trust was misplaced, it would only mean his death. Right?

Juniper glanced at her companions. There were quite a lot of nobles - some mentioned kingdoms she knew, and of others she had never heard of. Perhaps it was best to keep her identity secret for a while, except for her name. If others knew the Drev family, they'd tell. She was, however, slightly suspicious of the purple-haired swordfighter. Or annoyed by him, perhaps. Unworthy of information? Juniper sighed, thinking of what nickname she could give him.

Sigrdrifa and the haughty swordfighter took the lead. Juniper tried to keep close to them, as they had the torch, and looked around cautiously. No sign of exit so far. Damn it. How long was this dungeon, anyway?

As the party explored the room, they were unable to find any sort of doors or other portals along the circular dungeon's edges. The scarce torchlight masked several patches of the walls in darkness, but Sigrdrífa's decision to bare a torch granted them what seemed to be the key as they passed along these darkened areas. Each of the four unlit regions of wall revealed text etched into the otherwise featureless slate stating thus;

---

Silence the cries
Made by the dance
Of the
Tireless ones.
Here they stand with desperate pacifism.
Engulfed you are by their aura,
Roaring quietly.

But first, retrace your steps...

---

In the wall she sat weeping.
And with each tear her life went seeping.

---

EMBRACE

---

It cannot be seen, cannot be felt,
Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt.
And empty holes it fills.
It comes first and follows after,
Ends life, kills laughter.

---

Varrus Volkanon

Varrus followed along in cautious silence, his eyes doing their best to capture the details of this strange environment from the dull light of the torch. Even now, he was wary of traps and possible misdirection, but (for now at least) it seemed they were stuck in a tower or rounded dungeon of some sort. As they came to a stopping point, Varrus began to take note of what seemed like etching on the walls. He wasted no time in approaching the etching (or at least enough to read them); reading the verses out loud in a soft and thoughtful tone that seemed to betray his earlier demeanor.

After reading the first verse; Varrus was slightly confused by it's meaning. It seemed to be a set of directions or a vague riddle... Even now he began looking about the room for possible signs of glinting light or ominous figures. Then, something cliked inside of his head. Roar, Dancing, and aura. Granted the last was merely an educated guess based on the first, but they seemed to be things that described an open fire or flame. At this point his attention diverted to the torch in the Armored Woman's hands, staring at it with now narrowed eyes. 'Why the torches?' He turned back to the inscriptions as he continued to read. The second verse could very easily describe a torch, however the flame bearing sticks did not drip unless one referred to it's embers.

However, despite his best efforts, Varrus could not determine the benefits of torches in their escape. The room hand no exits and appeared to be made of some sort of stone- or likewise substance. It wasn't as if they could burn down their prison; and even if they did, they risk losing their lives in the ensuing inferno. With a subtle growl and gritting of his teeth, the young man rounded as he faced the group.

"Well, these torches hold the key to our salvation in some manner. What good they do other then to light the way around a sealed room, I'm not entirely sure." His voice had it's usual curt undertone, though he seemed a bit more thoughtful in his remarks. Internally, he was disappointed in himself for not having the answers off hand, but had resigned to relying on the group for thoughts and ideas, "We cannot set fire to this place, nor does there seem to be any other fixture of which to arrange them. Suggestions?"

Listening to Varrus speak, Keaghan examined the engravings himself. He moved his hand over the letters in the wall, the slime of moss and mildew gleaning over his fingertips. As he moved toward one of the torches he rubbed the substance off his fingers with the side of his pants. "Yes, that makes sense for the second poem to refer to a torch". He then pointed to the fourth and continued, "This one is interesting. The thing being described defies all of the senses, but I can't think of any such thing. Whatever it is, it can't be all that great if it kills laughter". Keaghan crossed his arms and lowered his chin in contemplation, trying to work out the solution but experiencing great difficulty. "What do you all make of it?"

When they started moving, Ulrich scrambled towards the back of the line. He maintained quite a distance from the cold warriors who refused to give their names. Not because he found the untrustworthy but he was more or less intimidated by them. Well, he always bowed in the face of royalty and unlike the people who aren't nobles, he wasn't a knight. He didn't fit in any kingdom. Precisely why their lands from where they were from sounded familiar.

He got a good look of the riddle before falling back to the back of the group. He wasn't one for riddles. He favors books, yes, but when it comes to riddles and the sorts, he just becomes lost. He took things way too literally for his own good. Well they said that it was the torches that's the answer to the riddle. Now what would they do with it? Seems he'll be thinking a lot more before he got it so he just didn't attract any attention to himself. Being small really helped with that.

Juniper groaned when she saw the writings on the wall. She was not the one for intellectual activity, although there was still hope that her mother's cleverness passed down to her. There were three poems, and she focused on the last one. "Something that can't be heard or smelt... I think of light, but it's something you can see or feel. Is there anything unlike it?" She paced back and forth around the dungeon they were in, muttering. "Cannot be seen, cannot be heard, cannot be heard, cannot be smelt... What the heck is it?"

It seems that all others focused on the riddles as well - some speaking their thoughts out loud, like the two men whose names she didn't know, others remaining silent, like Sigrdrifa and Ulrich. Juniper stopped near the brown-haired merc and rubbed the back of her neck. "Any ideas on what this could be?"

Ah yes, there was certainly magic in the air, although the details of this place didn't ring a bell. Augustus half listened to the others around him as he thought, studying the words. It wasn't their meanings he was focusing on, but rather their purpose. How did solving them connect to getting out of this place? Some of the answers were relatively easy, as for others...

"Torch. Torches."

He called quietly, waiting for some sort of response. He was sure at the very least that was the answer to the second riddle. As it became abundantly clear that nothing was going to happen, he sat on the cold stone floor, cupping his chin in his hand as he pondered. The answers alone didn't matter? Assuming it wasn't all a game designed to give them false hope, then what did it mean? Four riddles...

With a snap of his fingers he stood up, raising his voice:

"I think they're some set of instructions! See that second one there? I'm quite sure the answer has to be a torch, or torches, but simply having the answer didn't do much. There has to be a purpose to have four of them, laid out as such. I think the answers go together. Maybe it's something we have to do or at least some sort of phrase we have to arrange."

Cupping his chin in his hand once more, Augustus began pacing back and forth, muttering to himself.

"As for what that phrase or set of instructions is..."

Sigrdrífa shrugged. Stereotypical as it was, she wasn't much good for riddles. Give her a good tactical problem or some weights and she was good, but this sort of abstract reasoning was a little beyond her. Frankly she probably wouldn't have even figured out that torches were a part of it. Sigrdrífa peered at the riddles once more trying to make any sense of it. There was no way to retrace their steps, it was very clear they had no idea how they got here and what good retracing their steps in this room would be. "The only thing I can think of that ends life but can't be sensed would be some sort of magic or poison." Sigrdrífa offered before falling silent. It seemed the others could probably figure it out through brainstorming it so she wasn't terribly worried.