@GarlandDaHero,@Suku,@Guess Who,@Enkryption,@Burst,@AdmrlStalfos19,@Skyrte,@Sunbather,@Shizuochan,@Hyyde322, as well as all future characters in the rp.

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@GarlandDaHero,@Guess Who,@AdmrlStalfos19,@Sunbather,@Hyyde322

How oppressive these walls were, compared to all the others. Even amongst prisoners, these were the most violent, or outright sent here for the most heinous of acts. Of course, all falsehoods, as the Zweite never cared much for justice. Only punishment, and reaping their own rewards. Here lies many, who had been here for varying lengths of time, with the aristocrat's daughter being the most recent one, only brought in just the other day and bound at the ankle, unable to cast magic with the Ether-lock placed upon her. The copper Dhirom, Short-Horned Draph, and woman who insisted on staying masked were all sent for fighting, whether it be against other inmates, guards, or others, they have for the most part been sentenced to an indefinite stay. Lying here for much longer, however, was none other than the nephew of Crimson Dorian, who was accused of botched assassination. Having had no contact in what seemed like three years now, his only saving grace to his sanity had been the small hole in his wall that let him hear his fellow inmate Satirra.

There was no hope of escape from such a place...no such thing as someone who could escape from Ziggurat in the first place, but usually those in Normal Confinement at least had that 1% chance. Here, that 1% was crushed beyond recognition, leaving those whom were told to never see light again to rot. But, something was different about today. Today was the only day, once per month, when a new airship would arrive carrying munitions, supplies, guard changes, and, of all things, today was when Sielma, one of the 13 herself was slated to be leaving with a large number of the stationed guards. Some sort of military expedition, one could assume. Today was a once in a lifetime chance...one that would require all of them to work together. Without weapons or magic, the only strength they would have was that small hole in the wall that allowed for coordination to happen. A plan to form, and for chains to break.

"...Anybody wanna sing a song while the guard shift changes?" A fellow solitary confinement inmate said, a burly Draph Male that had done his best to try and improve the mood in such dour conditions. To...no real avail, really. "...You all alright? Sounded like you all zoned out." he said, before the obvious became apparent...he was OUTSIDE his cell.

---

@Suku,@Enkryption

"...Skathi..." a faint, yet familiar deep voice called out in the depths of the imprisoned Erune's mind. She would become aware of her surroundings, chained to a wall at both her ankles and wrists, though it seemed these were less to restrain, and more to simply hold her upright. No doubt her body would ache after spending years like this in sleep...but escaping those shackles would prove no problem, save for the figure standing before her. Rather than a guard, a small harvin with violet hair tied back in a small bun seemed hard at work observing a head in a jar, while a much taller human woman stood right next to her, her mere presence sending chills down her spine. Something was...different about this one. Gingerly tapping the harvin on the shoulder, she smiled warmly. Sielma, we have to go dear. We can pick Marshall's brain next month, too." she said, extending her hand, which the harvin accepted without hesitation. "...Okay...Morgianna." she said glumly, being lead by the hand as if she was a child. Stopping in the doorway, she waved at the head in the jar. "...Bye-Bye Mr. Chambers." she added as they left, not once letting go of the knife that she held clutched in her other hand, a violet dagger drenched in splatters of red. "...Skathi...the...isle...need..." the voice in her mind grew more faint, before fading out entirely, her familiar Patron having awoken her from her sleep...but clearly different from the Dragon she had seen in her sleep. Awake enough that she would see a guard dead on the floor, caked in his own blood, with an obvious wound right through his heart. Along the walls were other people, chained up much like she was, many of whom were emaciated and pale, having numerous wounds healed, or open along their bodies, as well as stitches over various vital areas. Some were simply left decomposing on the walls.

In Marshall's mind, he would feel a presence speak to him. "...One who's heart reeks of Envy...oh, if only you had your arms to strangle that girl. Though, that woman...something is off with her. You cannot die, but do avoid causing yourself additional trouble like this. Time for you to get up, my Avatar." the Lady within his mind spoke, in her usual condescending tone. Despite being a deity of supposed virtue, she certainly prodded Marshall with unreasonable demands, ones she knew were impossible JUST to make eternal suffering more insufferable. Regardless, the faintest twitch resounded in his mind...it seemed someone had dropped his right arm, just close enough for it to be within his mental range of control. If he could get off the table and out of the jar, perhaps he could connect to it.

---

@Shizuochan,@Burst,@Skyrte

The same day was happening as it always did for those in the "normal" prison cells at Ziggurat, namely a day of hard labor, minimal meals, trying to not get into a brawl to avoid solitary confinement, the usual. And, as usual, behind the guard's backs those confined to their cells were plotting for TODAY to be THE DAY that they all spring loose. In particular, the knowledge that two potential helmsman resided in the same cell gave Arno and Kagami quite a bit of clout in the plannings. Another key factor of this relied in the natural athleticism and hidden ability of Gilvan. While every inmate was operating with an Ether-lock shackle on that normally would surpress their ability to manipulate ether entirely, gradually kicking his own ankle-shackle over time has caused it to no longer function, a fact that they've kept secret from the guards. Now, the biggest key to their plan lied hidden inside his cell, the thing that could break down anything if used with his ability...

A circular rock.

Once the guard began moving to leave, a slender hand gave the signal for Gilvan to "go for it", belonging to the organizer of the breakout, a shrewd erune woman that, having managed to pilfer from the kitchens unseen, controlled the flow of food, and naturally handsomely bribed those who weren't interested with the only thing of value that could fill their stomachs. Some said that she was a merchant before coming here, and some a thief, but right now, she was the organizer of what would be the first successful prison break in Ziggurat's history.

In solitude, the mind wanders, wonders, and conjures figments to attack the silence. It questions itself, oneself, and life. Is that encroaching madness why I rest here, allowing myself to concoct a dragon that deigns to question my fate? Arrested in silence, dare I refuse to answer...? How would I answer what obscures the awakening from a dream? I suppose, I’m bored enough to try...

Imaginary Dragon, you would ask me to ally with those that could impede my aspirations -- a word that hasn’t nearly the strength to hoist the weight of my existence. No, ambition is the proper word. An ambition that I will entertain no pointless foolishness nor emotional drudgery. If you would ask me to sever ties of such alliances, I would be unhesitant. I seek the hearts of seven steeped in Sin. It is not for all.

No. Such an ambition is mine, and mine alone. My immortality is unjust, unnatural; a punishment. My atonement is all that drive me. Isn’t that funny, Imaginary Dragon? Darkness seeking to atone for its nature. For that reason alone, destruction does not frighten me.

Perhaps, I can pose to you, or rather, myself, Imaginary Dragon? How should I accept this? A dream, as you seem to want to be? Pray tell, how does one dream, if they are merely a head in a jar; trapped in a haze of thick oranges, subdued reds, and muted yellows? How do you imagine, when you are left to choke in a liquefied nightmare of yourself, silence, and anguish?

Shall I accept this as a concoction of my solitude? A ragged attempt to stay sane in a prisoner of a jar upon a shelf, a mere head without a body, yet able to feel ever twist of the knife that peels flesh from my body, muscle from my bone, and draws against the nerves from my organs? How can I think, when I am trapped within this cloying substance; the mere playtoy of an overthinking bastard’s lab in some rich bastard’s hole in the ground?

Is this figment or fact, fiction or reality? Do I dare to believe that I can still dream, or accept that my mind is become lost? To whom do I speak: a dragon or myself...?

As the Bound Dragon rushed out, to be replaced by Unbound Reality, Marshall shook himself awake, and capped off his thoughts, ‘I wish I could trust myself to know,’ he sighed, ‘Otherwise, that was one hell of a dream I just had.’ Awakening, Marshall opened his eyes, and peer out. He saw the Harvin that always treated him with an infuriatingly conceited reverence. ‘Bye-bye, Mr. Chambers.’ he mocked her voice in his head -- high-pitched, immature, unable to be taken seriously. ‘Someday, conceited child, I will drive that knife down your throat.’ he swore, before the dream flittered over his thoughts. ‘A dragon...’

‘I--’ Marshall paused, sharply, and he felt a twitch. He closed his eyes, and focused. ‘Alright, then, Imaginary Dragon...’ the immortal mused, ‘I’ll see what comes of trusting you, or embracing my madness.’

In the distance, a mistake was made; a simple slip of the hand that caused a jar to roll into just the right range. Inside said arm, an arm twitched; flesh blackened, burn to a crisp, yet radiating Light-natured Ether. It held for a moment, as the scientist that had dropped it scrambled over to retrieve it with his pair of escorts, before thrashing wildly; a powerful fist slamming into the jar, and shattering it.

‘It’s time to shake off the atrophy.’ Marshall says, as the jar his head was in started to bubble and boil. ‘It time to wake up, and reclaim my Sins.’ There was a distant scream – that could help to rouse his roommate -- that dissolved into choking gurgling. Against the wall, the scientist and guards were whipped by the arm that lied in pools blood and formaldehyde. ‘Return to me, what’s mine.’ Marshall says, as his arm turned again, and the blood disappeared. ‘And, pay me... in blood.’

‘Time to escape.’ Marshall decided, as the jar shattered around his head. ‘I have my right arm back,’ he noted, as said limb rammed down the door, ‘Now, the rest is needed. Until then...’ the immortal looked to his roommate, ever-silent, in her lasting, impenetrable coma. ‘Awaken...’

Marshall controlled his right hand, and it leapt in the air; as it hovered, it forged a baseball-sized sphere of blood, and forced it forward at his roommate. As it hit the wall to the right of her head, it shattered -- a shockingly powerful concussive force shattering the wall, the chains, and slapping the piss out of the Erune.

‘It’s time to stop sleeping, isn’t it?’

---

@The Irish Tree & @Suku

@AdmrlStalfos19@The Irish Tree



How long had it been now? Two? Three? Could it even be four years? All that time, locked inside this dark cell, with barely any light to allow Cayde to see. He was just thankful that the designers of the prison had kept the chains to a minimum, only binding a single ankle to the wall. His time spent in the military had made him become antsy if he didn't at least attempt some sort of physical exercise to keep his body in decent shape. It wasn't because he had any plans for escape or a return to civilian life. It was simply habit.

When he wasn't training or talking to his neighbor through the small hole between their cells though, Cayde would think. About his victories, mistakes, family. It all would lead back to the same point in time though. That one week of his life where everything came crashing down. Every night, he had to lay down in the sorry excuse of a bed they gave the prisoners of solitary and ask himself: Who am I in this world? The hero? The villain? The fool? Or am I no one? Just another soul passing through the living world before joining everyone else on the other side. Where do I fit in inside the narrative of life?

Cayde never awoke with the answers as he hoped. He never tried to bring up these questions with the dhirom next door either. As much as he appreciated her company and the small laughs she gave him whenever she told him what cruel punishments she'd enact upon the guards that they both knew deep down they'd never get their hands on, she didn't strike him as the kind of person who knew either. After all this time without anyone else to ask though, a new opportunity presented itself in a dream.

He wasn't sure why, but despite the dragon's terrifying size and sharp claws, Cayde felt nothing but concern for the Bound Dragon. Such a magnificent beast, imprisoned just like the rest of them. He wanted it to be released, but he didn't think that he could be the one to do it. Then the dragon spoke and with each question, the once proud knight gave his most honest answers.

The dragon asked what he would do if those he would form bonds with would stop him from fulfilling his ambitions. Cayde answered. I have no aspirations. Before I only wished to do what I believed was right. If it shall only lead to more pain and misery though, then is it truly the correct way?

The dragon asked if he would carry the troubles of the world upon his shoulders. Cayde answered. I carried every weight ever offered to me, then carried the weight of those around me when they could no longer go on. It has broken and twisted my back and I'm not even sure if I should carry anymore, let alone if I can.

Finally, the dragon asked him what drives him. Cayde answered. I... don't know.

Then, with one more cryptic fortune, the dream ended. Though he wasn't quite sure if it was a dream anymore. It felt... different. "Satirra? Did you-" he began to ask before a new voice spoke up. One he had never heard before. Was this still a dream? "Yes, I'm fine. But... Pardon my rudeness, but who are you? And how did you get out?"

“I’ll round ‘em all up and we’ll have a nice, long discussion on vulture mercantilism and unsavory business practices... eh?” Wakefulness and a sounder, if less than keen, mind returned to Gilvan as he answered the Dragon’s first question with the beginnings of a rambling truth that gradually focused itself, “... s’pose we’ll just… all have a grand old time, won’t we? As we’re free to do, fate be damned.”

He could’ve sworn, although he dared not mention it, the slightest hint of condescension emanating from the dragon’s bound features. It pricked at him, although it did not dissuade him, “And, hey, who you calling a failure? Criminals getting locked up is more… natural cycle, is all. We’ll see the sky again and then, sure, we’ll carry that weight, just you watch.”

The dreamer bristled, his soul alight, “My conviction? The sun, and the moon, the crimson blaze and the cool blue sky. All our freedoms lie beyond the horizon, right? Right?!”

---

Today, Gilvan was feeling too lethargic by far for a prison break. Some voice, full of power and gravitas, reverberated between his temples, and Gilvan’s head ached from the tension. Still, it couldn’t be helped; the moment seldom waited on account of someone’s comfort.

He retrieved the stone from beneath his ‘bed’, some meager, rickety excuse for hospitality, giving it a toss or two into the air. To calibrate it, or whatever vaguely spiritual nonsense athletes believed in.

And then, as he lofted the stone one final time, he rose. His body twisted in the air, leg first - the rest of him following - to strike upon it with a furious crack.

The stone curved between the bars of his own cell, and smashed against the padlock of the cell opposite, before ricocheting back from the force.

It began.

---

It was just another day. Another day being wasted away in this miserable hellhole that was the Island Prison of Ziggurat. All Satirra Izyntanth could really do to pass the time was fling stones at the wall, with them rebounding towards her so that she could pick them up and throw them again. That was all the frustrated Dhirom had been doing for the past couple of odd years that she'd been stuck here. And it was all because she tried to eat the face of that one guy who tried to kill her. That was fine, though; at least solitary confinement was less likely to drive Satirra insane than the ordinary kind, since there'd be less assholes that'd rub her the wrong way.

Eventually, however, Satirra's eyelids were starting to weigh down on her, and everything around her started to blur. She kept her ears open for just a little bit longer, if only to determine whether or not anyone would be rude enough to try and wake her up, but she willed the rest of her body to die down a little. There was no reason to stay awake; not when there was literally nothing else that could be done.

...

The next thing she knew, Satirra found herself in a strange dream-space, where she seemed to be falling from the sky for all eternity. Why she didn't think to flap her wings a bunch in an effort to stay airborne, she didn't know. A part of her had given up on life as a whole, and a part of her refused to acknowledge the fact that this was even happening to her... or rather, most of her refused to acknowledge the fact that this was even happening to her. In any case, the next thing Satirra saw was a black dragon, who'd been blinded by whatever it was that had been binding its maw shut and had its armed wrapped together. Satirra plugged two fingers into her ears and closed her eyes as hard as she possibly could, trying to ignore the dragon's musings for the longest of times. But the fact that they were penetrating deep into her mind wasn't making it easy; in fact, all her efforts proved to be for nothing.

'God, damn it; why won't this thing shut up?' Satirra opened her eyes again, only to see that there were other people conversing with the dragon as she looked more closely into the scenery. In retrospect, it made much more sense for the dragon to have been addressing more than one person that it persistently trying to reach to her alone; after all, there were others that it had the attention of. Still, it was when the dragon had the audacity to suggest that they "failed before they even began" that Satirra finally snapped.

"I haven't begun anything!" she retorted balefully, "Not yet. Not back when I was expected to slave away for the rest of my life. But make no mistake. You haven't seen the last of me. I'll break out of this hellhole, and kill anyone that tries to stop me!"

Finally, the dragon had asked about everyone's convictions. It had already heard Satirra's voice; even if it hadn't realized she was there before, it certainly would've by now, so there was no use not saying anything. So... fine, she'd bite.

"All I ever wanted was to fuck with some heads; and yeah, I do mean the 13 Heads, in case you're wondering," she clarified at the end there, before continuing on, "I wanted more. I deserved... more. They have all this money that my people have been quite literally handing out to them, but they never gave us shit in return. Hell, they wouldn't even let me take any of it back, the bastards! And now I'm here, expected to rot while they keep taking and taking and taking. Well y'know what they can take? A nice big footful of irony right up their fucking assholes! That's what the 13 Heads can all take, and that's what I intend to give them."

...

Suddenly, the dream came to a grinding halt, and Satirra was left clutching her head in agony. She knew that none of it was real. There was no way any of it could be. But she still couldn't shake it off. A somewhat familiar voice had called her name.

"Satirra? Did you-"

"Did I what?!" the Dhirom sneered, making her irritation known. She did not like the prospect that she was going insane... not in the slightest. But then again, one did not simply explain that kind of dream away with logic.

As she looked to her left, Satirra had relocated a hole in the wall that she'd completely forgotten was there. Thankfully, it was at the wrong level of height for the type of "hole" that she was imagining. And besides, it would've been way too big. And it sure as hell wasn't circular. But then Satirra thought of something. Wasn't that hole supposed to lead into Cayde Selmy's cell? Before she could think too much into it, a newcomer had asked if anyone would like to sing a song... which threw off her train of thought completely.

"I swear, if anyone one of you starts singing, that person's throat will be the first thing to be eaten!" she threatened to everyone else, before noticing that the newcomer wasn't even in a cell, "Tch, lucky bastard..."

With that, Satirra sat back down, awaiting further actions from all the others.

@The Irish Tree @Guess Who @AdmrlStalfos19

Dreams. Dreams were something that Homura believed in, something she believed came in multiple different forms. A dream could be something you strive for, a desire, a vision. That and so much more.

This dream, the one Homura was experiencing right now, was most peculiar. Dragons were powerful creatures. Godly, even. This one was bound. Helpless. Even so, it spoke to her, asking her questions. Questions whose answers she couldn't keep to herself.

When the time comes to untie those bonds, I will leave them behind. The strength those bonds gave me will stay. I need it to succeed in my mission.

If the world has need of my strength, then I will carry those wishes with me. Those I care for, those who care for me...they give me strength. Strength that the world desperately needs.

I am driven by my desire to grow stronger. Stronger so that I may protect the people I care for. Stronger so that I may surpass those that have wronged me, and show them the error of their ways.

---

After Homura awoke from her dream, she was greeted to Satirra's less than quiet yapping. With an annoyed sigh, she stood up and addressed the fellow Draph, who was oddly free from his cell.

"Who are you?" She spoke quiet enough so that no passersby would hear, but loud enough so that Cayde, Satirra, and this escaped inmate could hear. "I would hope that you have a good reason for being out of your cell. A plan for saving the rest of us would also be much obliged."

When I come to, I find myself surrounded by a familiar sky. Usually, such beautiful sight would let my mind be at ease, however, in this particular case, the first emotion that shakes my heart is fear. I am falling at an extremely fast pace, and my mind cannot afford to waste a moment to come up with a reason why my life suddenly has been put at risk. All I can do is try to grab a hold of that sky in a futile attempt to save my life. But it is useless, not even when I am this close to it, not even when I am literally submerged in it, can I claim it. It's only natural. From the very beginning, it was forged to represent freedom.

"Ah... Hah..."

The presence of a mighty creature makes itself known. I can tell with just a single glance that its existence is something that is beyond human understanding. It looks like a dragon wrapped up in chains, but that's not what my very being registers it as. After all, had it been an actual dragon, I would have felt fascination, above all. However, even though it has yet to make an actual effort to scare me, all that those black wings seem to inspire is... Terror.

"..."

Embracing my helplessness, I let it do as it wishes and communicate with me. Contrary to its monstrous visage, the words it utters do nothing but assure my own safety. The actual meaning behind them is hard to grasp, however, the firm conviction behind them convinces me that they cannot be anything but the absolute truth.

---What follows cannot be called anything but a trial.

The 'dragon' asks me how far I am willing to go for my selfish dreams, whether I am willing to step on the corpses of others to achieve them or whether I can sacrifice my ideal for someone else's well-being. I guess it would be normal to feel intimidated by the weight behind that question, but...

For some reason, I can only feel my blood boil.

"I do not believe bonds to be burden. On the contrary, I would have never gotten this far without them."

Mother and father.

... And my crew. Even if in the end I was left behind, I don't hold anything against them.

"Should I ever think that way, I am sure one of them will hit me. Our bonds are not something that can be looked down on. It cannot be untied."

I make a picture of them in my head.

Before I know it, I am sharing my sincere thoughts with the 'dragon'.

"But... Should we have to walk our separate ways... I'd like it to be on good terms... So we can all feel satisfied."

The supreme being listens intently. Not once does it try to interrupt me or defy my logic. I instinctively understand that it is not its purpose to do so. That said, once I allow silence to return to the skies, it mercilessly breaks it with another question, one more confusing than the last.

I guess what it wants to know if I am willing to become some sort of hero, or rather, a tragic hero, a martyr, seeing as it mentions that 'I've failed before my real journey has even begun'. To be honest, I do not really know what to answer to that. Unlike the last question, this one actually manages to leave me speechless. I am not trying to conceal anything, and I do not feel confident enough to defy its logic. I just...

"I... Don't know."

But it won't be satisfied with just that. Before I can recover, it delivers another blow in the form of a third question. What is the force that drives me? What is the strength that will keep me moving forward even when tragedy may be inevitable? To that...

"I want to leave a mark, a proof that I've lived my life to the fullest."

Just like mother and father have.

And, more than anything, I want someone to find that 'proof'. So that, maybe, that person will feel the same as I.

In response, the beast does not merely acknowledge me, it breaks free from its bindings and unleashes a binding flash of light, intense enough to cover the entire sky.

Ah, this is bad, at this rate, I will...

-------

"Hnng..."

When I open my eyes once more, I am welcomed by the foul smell and dark surroundings of my cell, located at the inescapable prison, Ziggurat. For me to have such a fantastical dream, sleep deprivation must have really gotten the better of me. But I guess it was par for the course... After all, we've been working on a plan to finally find freedom. I am not the kind of person who would spend all my chips on a reckless plan with little chances of success, especially if the cost for failure is most likely death, but I have reached the conclusion that my demise will be inevitable if I continue to wait here, arms crossed. A fair amount of inmates mistook me for a Harvin -even when I share my cell with an actual Harvin!- and before I knew it, I was part of a scheme to break out of Ziggurat. I would have liked to plan things more carefully, but time is not something we can stop. Today's the chance of a lifetime and we cannot afford to let it go to waste.

---It cannot be helped, today we might have to fight for our lives.

Gilvan is the one to make the first move. With a body of a child and my magic unavailable, there isn't really much I can do, so I decide to observe instead. Assuming the plan worked and the cell was unlocked by the force behind the impact, it would be reckless to simply run outside. It is likely the guard will notice the sudden noise and make a 180 degree turn to check. In that case, we have a higher chance to neutralize him the moment he gets close to the cell.

Granted, should he fail to register what's going on, we also know what we have to do...

Dreams, something every living being had, they are a funny subject. They can appear as the most ridiculous thing someone has ever heard of, yet they can inspire even the youngest of minds. They can even manifest themselves as warnings of what is to come. This dream however she did not know know what to make heads or tails of. She had found herself in the presence of a dragon with its hands bound to its chest, its eyes and mouth sealed shut. Though intimidating, it did not seem threatening. She felt sorry for it, yet she could relate to its imprisonment. It had seemed to speak to her in her mind.

"What-who, who are you" she asked. "My aspirations? Bonds?" She scoffed. "Who would want a useless heiress around, if anything I would be a hindrance to them. The most I would want is to find my sisters, but now the only thing I will get is to rot in this cell."

What strength? I couldn't even stand up to my own father. I did nothing but blindly stand there and watch while my family reaped its benefits off the suffering of others. How could I carry the weight of such a burden when I can't even carry my own If the world has need of my strength, it must be desperate.

"Convictions? Singularly? I've never needed these until now, but I believe that wealth shouldn't be earned off of the suffering of others. Those who gain it that way don't deserve to have it. Life should not be something measured in gold. If I could, I'd find my family and see all of those guilty of this injustice brought brought before it. Even if it means facing certain destruction."

She answered all of his questions without hesitation. It felt as though the only thing she could tell the dragon was the truth, yet it was nothing forced. As what seemed like hours passed, her vision grew dark, it seemed like the world around her had grown dark. Before darkness enveloped the world around her, the dragon let out a roar that sent light spiraling out filling the sky. It enveloped her as well as the other figures and before she knew it, the cold harsh reality returned.

The days seemed like months as the girl wasted away in this cell bound by these shackles. Solitude seemed like the one thing she would beg for in her old life, now, it was the one thing she wished she could get away from. The lack of sun and fresh air had been unbearable, the only connection to the outside world she had was through the slot in the door they would slide her meals through, if you would even call it a meal. It was the only thing she had to look forward to. That and her dreams, dreams that would take her far from this hell, dreams that would see her reunited with the siblings she had never even had the chance of knowing.

Sasha often wondered what they would be like, what they looked like, how they lived, surely they must be in a better position than her's. She sat there in silence as she had always done. It was depressing, soul crushing, enough to break the strongest of wills. It was then that she had heard a voice of one of the prisoners who seemed to be out of his cell. "Sure, as long as it's a cheery one" she chuckled.

Skathi started to stir as she began to wake after so long her mind still flashing back to a battle that has long ended ages ago as she flashed back to the battle she growled as she leaped forward Her gauntlets flashing with a dark power as she lept forward. The fact Marshall let the blast so close to her didnt help much either. "YOU WILL FALL!" She growled out more like a berserker lost in rage as she raised her claw at the one who attacked. She would defend the island and all who seek to harm it will FALL! Though part of her mind questioned the dragon she saw Primals are fickle beings but for one to do so while she had to defend her island was bad. She couldn't allow such distractions no such a slip in thought could mean the death of many. "I WON'T LET YOU HARM THIS ISLAND!" She yelled once more her claw strikes began to come closer to Marshall's face. Rage clear on her face as she sought a strategy first she would take care of this attacker than find her weapon.

Marshall would have rolled his eyes at such a predictably pointless assault, if they weren't still swimming in formaldehyde. To be honest, he'd expected this much of his roommate; her story was unknown, but her experiments -- tortures, really -- weren't hidden from him. After all, he's been no more than a head in a jar. To what did anyone think to hide the harsh reality of this place from his water-logged eyes? No more than one sensible thought to betrayed the hopes of a child, when they wished upon a star. As such, he figured her durability was high, temper was sky-high, her sense was low, and her rationality was null.

That was good, in this case. As she lashed into reaction range, he threw his hand up, and it latched onto the back of her head. It slipped into the collar of her shirt, and skittered down her back, comically, like an oversized rodent, before fingers enshrouded in light, belying the darkness beneath, curled around the base of tail... and dug in.

'I can barely see, but, I know that was too close.' Marshall mused, as the Erune's berserker charge at him became a flailing struggle to detach his hand from her tail. 'If exposed to the right application of pain, I may be unable to control her, but, I can move her away.' he decided, 'After all, she cannot surmise that a head is capable of the physical feat occurring. Well, suppose, she can, but, the concept is sketchy at best.'

Marshall tabbed out of his own thoughts, for a moment, as the formaldehyde was starting to, blissfully, drain out the bottom of his neck, and he was able to see. 'Well, you're a cute one. For an Erune, anyways.' he admired for a moment, 'A fair sight, now that you aren't orange.' Marshall watched her lash and spin, 'Hrm. Maybe, a cat... or a dog...? No collar. I guess, that would be immoral or something... Insulting, perhaps? Racist, mayhaps?'

'Gah! Focus, Chambers, focus on not getting slaughtered.' Marshall huffed, internally. 'They do look fluffy, though. I'll sneak a pet in later. Maybe, a scratch behind the ears. If she purrs, I'll know for sure if she's a cat or a dog.' he wandered into his thoughts anew, 'Ah, dammit. Focus on the matter at hand. This isn't time to be thinking about a new pet.' he chided himself. 'I just need to make her... actually...'

It was with an inward smirk that he loosed her tail from his hold, and sent his hand rushing beyond the hem of her dress, and towards the door... just to see if she would chase it, or try to slaughter the head that had no possible means of attacking her. It was a risky gamble, but, hey, if it didn't pay off, he would just regenerate the damage in a few hours.

'Let's see if you can fetch.'

---

@Suku

Arno's eyes snapped open, fully awake. He felt... not all there. Both detached and attached to his body, a state that only existed in dreams and visions, but Arno wasn't aware of it. It felt natural, like it always was, at the time. He was falling, a dream he hadn't had in years. Only this time he wasn't falling darkness, it was through the sky. That familiar sky that he often soared through in his Akula. It was sunrise, he saw the first rays of light from the horizon, bathing the sky in a morning crimson. When the light came, so did the shadow. The silhouette of a massive creature appeared as the sun rose behind it. Horns, wings and scales, a massive shape, wingspan longer than it was tall. The dragon was bound, possibly by its own permission, it was blinded but it stared at Arno with an intensity that suggested it could peer into his soul if it wanted.

It spoke. Not with its voice, but with its mind. The weight of its speech was oppressing, Arno feeling it echo through his head. It spoke of its name. Dawn. The start of the day, the start of everything. And it came with with a warning, that death was just around the corner. Arno focused on the massive being in front of him, as the sun rose higher, the dragon filled more and more of his sight. Arno felt... confused. He was to decide the fate of the world? The sky needed him? Arno didn't know, didn't have an answer, and as if Dawn knew Arno's answer, he continued.

"Those who's fates you will entwine with your own... what will you do when the time comes to untie them? When bonds become only a hindrance to your aspirations?" Dawn had asked. The question lingered in Arno's mind, something he had never quite thought of. His mind wandered to his sister, had she thought of this same question? Did she decide to cut loose, and to follow her dreams, dreams that he would hinder? Arno felt his chest heave with pain, gripping his core. No. He wouldn't, he knew how it felt, and he wouldn't wish it on his friends. The team is comprised of individuals, but progresses as one. One sight, one goal, one mind. Again, it was as if Dawn knew his answer. The massive dragon spoke again.

"This world has need of strength... dare you to carry that burden on your shoulders, when you yourself have failed before you have even begun?" Dawn asked. Arno didn't know if he wanted to, or if he could. He blinked, but if a Dragon was addressing him then he must have the ability to. Dawn asked what motivated Arno. To him, it was an easy question to answer. To soar, to fly, to see things unseen by the people of today. But that question brought doubt, did he truly want to do that? Dawn's wings moved, Arno watched as the limbs moved, graceful but with force the wings came down and the falling stopped. Arno was suspended in the air. He glanced around, he noticed, in the distance, that birds had stopped moving, the clouds ceased, and the sun stopped rising. Time itself had halted at Dawns will. Arno took the time to examine Dawn himself, the massive dragon in front of him. He stared at the dragons curves, how the wind would flow around his body, at the muscles that looked strong enough to rend entire islands into two, powering the massive wings. Dawn could really fly, Arno had concluded. Then things moved once more, he saw his family, his home, the many prototypes of the Akula, his workshop and the many airships of his homeland. The light slipped away, and Dawn roared, a distant, but thunderous shout. The binds loosened, and from behind it came blinding light.

---

Arno's eyes snapped open, fully awake. He felt sluggish, groggy, his eyes blurred and his mouth dry. He felt the rough cloth of his cell cot, and the inadequate padding. The colorless concrete cell and its steel bars draining him. Arno took a deep breath, then heard an ear piercing clang. Arno practically jumped up from his cot, surprised. He looked at the cell door, the lock smashed by a rock. Arno looked to his cellmate, Kagami, both of them were relatively recent additions to the Ziggurat Prison Island. Arno looked back at the door, then walked towards it. He gripped one of the bars and gave it a weak push, the cell door didn't open all the way, it clinked against the lock. Arno looked closely at it, while the lock hadn't been completely broken, more than several weak spots and cracks were visible. He looked back at Kagami, mouthing 'Sixty seconds' at him, then he looked across the hall and did the same to Gilvan.

Arno rattled the cell gate a few times, and roughly a minute later, nothing happened. Now that he knew it was clear, Arno took a few steps back, then ran at the gate. He lifted his leg and planted his foot at the lock, having to aim his leg a little too high for comfort. But despite that, the lock gave way and the lock bent open. The door swung out, and Arno approached the opening. He glanced left and right, no guards. And right next to the cell opening was two keys. One key for the shackles, and the other for Gilvan's cell. That Erune woman must have paid off the guards on this level. After all nobody had ever broken out of Ziggurat, even if a prisoner got out of the cell the considerable garrison of guards would grab them. If the garrison failed to find them, it was a floating island, they had nowhere to go. To those guards that the Eurene bribed, this was just a few extra meals. To Arno, and the other two with him, this was an opportunity at freedom. One that Arno intended to take. He quickly undid the shackles and tossed the key to Kagami, then he got to work on unlocking Galvin's cell.
He turned to the both of them, speaking in a hushed voice. "Right. Now we meet up with our Merchant. Galvin and I will go and meet with her, Kagami, could you release everyone on this block?" Arno asked him, offering the key, "Once we're all out, we let them throw a riot. In the chaos we make our way to the Inmate Property Room to get our equipment. After that, we make our way to the hanger." Arno tapped the top of his wrist, as if he had a watch there. "Lets go." He said, picking up the circular rock and tossing it to Galvin.

@GarlandDaHero,@Guess Who,@AdmrlStalfos19,@Sunbather,@Hyyde322

Taking a moment to bow in the direction of Cayde's voice, the draph spoke up. "Me? Why, I'm only Perkeo, greatest musician in all of Tyragrande. Of course, without my harp I don't have more than my voice, but...good enough for me. Oh, and keys. I also have keys." he said, jingling them proudly. His smile waned a bit as he pondered Homura's words. "Honestly, I hadn't thought of taking anyone else...but, I'm not exactly much of a fighter per-se. As such, my plan for getting you out consists of...this." he said, unlocking the door to Homura's cell, before going in and unshackling her. "And, I suppose its good to spread kindness." he said, before going to each cell in turn to unlock and unshackle those inside, giving them all a good look at the guard who's helmet was dented in both sides by the temples...so much for not being a fighter. Perkeo himself was built like all draphs were: Large, and muscular from head to toe. His crimson locks spilled past his back, wild, yet seeming to be very well-groomed. His pale skin was flecked with small scars, with a rather large one cut in-between his pectorals. It was clearly fresh as well, given the redness of the wound. His face carried a jovial look to it, his lips always seeming to be curled into a smile. What other few prisoners there were in solitary were...well, not so up for fighting given that most had completely given up on life, hope, and the future. As such, in many of the cells prisoners, male and female, lay emaciated and broken in spirit, unwilling to even acknowledge that their freedom was within reach.

Clapping his hands together eagerly once they were all freed, he said: "Can you believe the luck of it? He tripped and fell, and took me with my elbow down right with him! Quite a terrifying turn of events for me as well, but...I've made due." he said, before two guards patrolling overheard his voice. Hurriedly, the twosome entered the room, brandishing shortswords identical to the one in the possession of the guard lying unconscious. A third, then a fourth patrol guard ran by, clearly with the intent of reporting this and sounding the alarm. The group would have to quickly dispose of the twosome, and silence the duo that was fleeing in opposite directions, lest they have to face a swarm of armed Zweite guards. "Well, this is a predicament." Perkeo said, clearly not intending to fight, given that he was already walking to the back of the group.

---

@Suku,@Enkryption

The pain of the sensitive tail-appendage from it being grabbed would cause Skathi to fly deeper into her rage, and, before she could see where Marshall's head had gone, she would see a troop of guards running from the direction Marshall's arm. "What the- The primal is loose! Someone, get the warden!" one of the guards called back, before he would be batted aside by Skathi's raw strength, a line of guards proving to be unable to stop her rampage as she literally tore her way through the fortress. As she did this, she would even come to notice that there seemed to be two types of people fighting amongst themselves. In addition, a gnawing sensation kept guiding Skathi towards the Inmate Property room, while a twinge sounded in Marshall's mind as his head, arm, and remaining body parts connected.

Stored in a bed of Formaldehyde, various devices were hooked up to the bare skin of his torso, many of which served to monitor his vital signs. A sharp pain persisted as his chest's senses reconnected over the distance they were at; An emptiness in his chest that seemed unmistakable. Someone had stolen his heart. Two researchers were monitoring the spike in vital signs present in the headless torso, before the bed was shattered by a sharp kick. The right arm and head of Marshall were the most interesting, and directly dangerous parts of his body. As such, the others were largely left intact for the researchers to experiment with the vitals of a body without a driving mechanism. Now, however, the driving mechanism that was his noggin was close enough to regain control.

---

@Shizuochan,@Burst,@Skyrte
The door's locks snapped apart as if they were twigs before the Ether-Infused rock. Though the one to Kagami and Arno's cell had been left intact, the harvin pilot's kick to it ended the poor lock's life. The padlocks having fallen, the group of three was left with the keys to the cells and shackles. New prisoners were often locked up in Ziggurat and forced into an anklet right away to seal away their Magic, or latent ether-based abilities. As such, the key being there was merely an oversight from a new guard; If anything, this was the luckiest day of their lives given that this also meant that access to their Ether was enabled once more. Even though Gilvan's anklet no longer functioned, getting it off would no doubt be more comfortable than leaving it. Before the threesome started carrying out their plan, a woman cleared her throat.

"Nice work Gil! Now just get these cells unlocked, and we can all make our getaway. Freedom here we come!" the erune woman that had organized the plan, bribed the guards, and managed to assist in disabling Gilvan's anklet said. As her voice rang out in the cell block, a clamour of excitement started overtaking the other prisoners, many rousing their companions with talk of home, family, and of revenge against the tyranny of the 13 Heads. Tail swishing as she waited by her cell bars, she excitedly pointed at the lock. "Yoo-hoo, right here! When we make it out of this, I promise I'm giving you all discounts on my most expensive wares. 20% off is a big deal!"

Bearing a tanned complexion, the woman had only been in Ziggurat for under a month, as shown by her not being as deathly pale as most prisoners were on this godforsaken Island where storms plagued the skies daily. Herr eyes shone with a mischievous, yet cunning light to them, as if everything she did was intentionally planned out. The blonde of her hair housed her perched Erune ears atop them, clearly feline in form, if that wasn't obvious by her long, lanky, tube-like tail. Once her cell was open, the woman burst out and stretched her legs. "Finally! Was getting tired of being clammed up in there. Alright, let's get down to business. Half the prisoners will go free us some MORE prisoners, and half will go to the Confiscation room. We need to move fast though; Won't take them long to take their airship out if they know we're gonna be able to steal it." she said, now smirking as she picked up a nearby pebble. "C'mon boys, we've got some freedom to fight for!"

Progressing through the prison's halls, the woman demonstrated her ability to direct people accordingly, having a few sneaky erune knock out two guards to steal their weapons, then storm the armory with a bunch of gigantic Draph men and women. Her leadership skills were certainly there, and, just as they reached the Prisoner Properties room, she smiled. "Alright! Anything you had when you got here is in here...probably. Let's get our stuff and leave." she said, rifling through a box before pulling out an intricately decorated stiletto dagger, in addition to what one could guess were her old clothes. With a bit of searching, it wouldn't be too hard to find their belongings...for those that cared, however, each box seemed labeled with the prisoner number on their anklets, as well as last names below that.

Bizarrely, on a nearby desk was a bloody heart, completely soaked in blood and sealed within a glass display case...still beating. Cringing a bit as she looked at it, the erune woman said: "Let's...not touch that."

"Thank you for the save," Cayde replied, rubbing the discolored areas of his skin where he had once been shackled. The nobleman then looked over to his cell door. There it stood, calling his name and pleading for him to leave. Yet, he continued to hesitate. He didn't like it here, that was obvious, but what sort of life waited for him out there away from this prison. His uncle would probably never rest until he was recaptured or killed. Every waking moment would be spent on his toes, searching for the next assassin or bounty hunter. Was that really a life he was willing to live?

His decision would be made for him though as two guards suddenly spotted them. Suddenly, his military training kicked in. There were lives at stake now, his and his fellow inmates of course, but also the guards. They did nothing wrong, merely keeping imprisoned the people they were told had broken the law in one way or another. They had lives and families just as much as the rest of them. The army had taught him that sometimes casualties were to be expected, but that didn't mean there couldn't be an attempt to save them. He wouldn't force the others to do so, but for now it was non-lethal strikes only until he found a reason to kill.

Still Cayde was a swordsman, not a pugilist, so when he saw the weapon lying by the unconscious guard his first reaction was to grab it. Rolling forward, the nobleman grabbed the blade by the hilt and lifted it above his head to parry the conscious guard's first attack. It was easy to see faults in his opponent's stance, an easy life of keeping locked up prisoners from getting out of what was until now an impenetrable prison makes one lazy and out of practice. So Cayde followed up his defense with a kick to the guard's extended leg, probably breaking his knee. It would heal... eventually. It was better than being dead.

However, there was still the problem of the guard running for help. His opponent was incapacitated but still a danger and the other one was still very much active and uninjured. Someone needed to go after the man or else their escape would be short lived. No Erune was apart of their merry band of escapees, meaning there was no obviously faster member. Draphs were known for their strength not speed, so the impressively endowed woman was not his first pick. The silver and blue haired woman didn't look very physically active, perhaps being a spellcaster of some sort. Either way, also probably not the best decision for a runner. And their bard savior didn't seem at all interested in further dirtying his hands. So that left one other unless anyone else chose to leave their cell. "Satirra? How fast do you think you can run?"

@GarlandDaHero,@The Irish Tree,@AdmrlStalfos19,@Sunbather,@Hyyde322

{{Ignore}}

"So it is..."

A kneeling silhouette began to move, slowly and with precise purpose in every movement. Lassie B. Swings had pondered the vision - and she was certain that it was a vision, a calling, perhaps even a prophecy, and no mere dream or hallucination - but the time for thoughts was in the past. Now, action beckoned her to move.

Springing up from her cross-legged, grounded seating position, petals in the colours of the rainbow trailed through the air, twirling around her. Clever eyes shot across the sad cell, accentuated by the sparse exposure of her face, which was well-hidden behind lavish greenery shaped to encase her head, leaving only a hole at the back, from which a diamond-like mane cascaded down her shoulders.

"The pursuit is not the noblest of tasks, I confess! However, I, Belladonna, will offer my services, for they are needed in dishing out... JUSTICE!"

With grandeur, the woman gestured frantically, straining at the jingling chain that connected her ankle to the wall. Behind the loose prisoner jump suit, peeks of a well-tanned, steeled physique revealed themselves. The indecent exposure carried no such inappropriate notions, though - such notions were entirely drowned out by the confident swagger with which the luchadora presented herself.

"Now, my draconian friend, it is time to unshackle me!" Her demand was followed by a blizzard of flowery pink reaching out of her cell, and towards the bard, where they descended with sad grace. "I will mute the escapees alarm, like they have muted your poetic performances, the barbarians, if only you lend me your hand... Well, and uhm... the keys."

'There!’ Marshall felt his phantasmal blood vessels re-establish. 'Everything is there... save for one thing...’ he narrowed his eyes, as his right arm forced itself into the hole his heel had created in the bed of formaldehyde; forming physical blood vessels to connect with those swarming from the socket it was born to, and pulling together. 'Oh, that bitch stole my heart. Fucking perfect. I didn't need more reason to force-feed her a knife sandwiches, but this helps.’

Marshall twisted blood vessels to create five braided super-blood vessels that wound around each other to form a Gordian Knot with each of the five braids being contracted in alternation to move blood to atrophied muscles, and his lungs. It wasn't a perfect system, but, he'd learned to make an artificial heart when needed. 'Time to get up.’ he snarled, and smashed out of the chamber.

And, so it was to the rise of a pissed off, headless zombie that the scientists were treated. They saw the hole that showed his exposed heart cavity closing, as removed ribs were growing back in place, and the charred right arm extended. A sickening, bubbling hiss escaped the corpse, as the formaldehyde was forced out its lungs, and the scientists fell to their knees; not in reverence nor fear, but destroyed kneecaps.

Shambling forward, Marshall's body trudged over to their bodies, sensing a desire to escape -- a desire sharply cut off by bullets of blood that went cleanly through their shoulders, wrists, and ankles before shambling off.

'I wish I could enjoy this more... But, I will enjoy myself later...’’he says, as his body got closer and closer; making the return trip in minutes. Lifting his head, he rejoined with his body, as a whole, and took a second to adjust to feeling, all but whole, once more. “Finally...” he croaked, the word tired and dry, despite his constant state of hydration. “Now... I get to ask... some questions...”

Returning to the scientists, he picked up the half-alive men, and dumped them in chairs. “Please, please, please, don’t beg me to kill you, before anything you might wish to say, because, death will come to you,” Marshall opens with, before papping their cheeks, “Instead, ask yourself, who gets to not live longer? Just answer a series of questions, and the fastest to answer the most get to die first; blissfully ignorant to the hell that will follow the second.”

Marshall smiled. “First question: Where am I, floor, room, all that? Second question: How do I get out of here with the least encounterable resistance? Third question: I came in with a knife, so where might I find that? And, final question: How do I get off this island,” he asked his battery of questions, and stepped back; arms crossed, expression set grim.

“Now, answer me, kids. And, do it fast.”

---

@The Irish Tree

“You sure Kagami should do it? You two are the talent, you know?” Gilvan spoke in a hushed whisper despite the bedlam igniting all around him, “Just leave it to me or something. You two could be the helms-.”

He found his own voice overwhelmed by the bombastic staccato of the Erune lady. Or, woman, perhaps. ‘Lady’ seemed a smidge too proper-sounding a moniker for the organizer of a riot and prison break. Lady or not, she had a particular talent, and Gilvan did have an eye for talent. Regardless of whether her mercantile abilities proved up-to-snuff or otherwise, she seemed to have a preternatural capacity for organized chaos, of layering disarray and pandemonium. Disorder was a powerful tool - someone who could channel it in even a semi-orderly fashion was a force to be reckoned with.

With newly freed prisoners set to task, Gilvan took into the Prisoner Properties room, to reclaim that which had been taken. Which, in the end, was little more than a hard, leathery-ball, an oaken rod that he had grown fond of using as a walking stick during his injuries, and the black drapings of his garments. Ultimately all things he could spare, sentimental value being, strictly speaking, not a foundationally crucial currency. The singular beating heart, however…

That seemed crucial to someone.

“Right. Let’s not touch that,” The Headhunter turned to Arno and Kagami, perhaps inordinately compassionate towards the talent, “Are you two quite alrigh-?”

The momentary concern gave birth to even more worry, and a sad, idle thought, vocalized as he turned back to the Erune, “Hey… you don’t really think you’re going to manage getting all of us out, do you?”

It had been many months since the man known as Vandesdelca had been locked up. This man had been beaten, spit on, tormented, and physically abused by his captors just because he was their enemy. Being treated worse than dirt did not change Vandesdelca's outlook anymore than watching his entire team slaughtered before him. His mind ravaged daily with the thoughts of the bloodshed of those who he called comrades; people that he had protected with his very soul. No on deserved the fate that they did and now he reaped the rewards of standing against the Zweite. Such a devastating loss led him to sitting as far away from people as he could. He trusted no one in this prison but he also could not allow anyone to bare pain because of his person.

"Child of the sky." Van muttered to himself as he sat in the very corner of his cell, "A dragon huh? Maybe I've been in this cell far too long."

Suddenly there was a commotion that rang out in the hallway before the cells. One of the guards was injured and in strolled the one everyone knew as the bard. To Van, the man was speaking gibberish until he opened the cells that contained the prisoners. He only watched as the other prisoners started to make their way out of the cells. His one good eye opened to see the guard attempting to run and his body began to move before his own thoughts could be crafted. Wind wuld rush past everyone almost like vacuum as a blur, Van, dashed past them all. His hand reached out to grip the guard's head within his palm, all his muscles pulsating as he slammed the guard into the wall. It was enough to knock out the guard instantly. Van looked back at the bard and other prisoners before walking forward ahead of them. His escape would come soon by his own hands.

She would not have believed it herself had the draph man not come to open her door and personally unshackle her, as well as some of the rest of the prisoners. Much to the woman's disbelief, he was unshackled, SHE was unshackled, he was out of his cell, SHE was out of her cell. She did all she could to hide the shocked expression on her face as the man approached her and released the bonds "Wha-How did you" she asked. Before she could finish her question the man ran off to release the others. She was curious to know how the man had broken out, but now was not the time for questions and she was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

The woman took her first steps in months out of her cell as she reached for the ceiling stretching out muscles she had not used since the first time she arrived on the island. She could feel her magic returning slowly, it was like being reunited with a friend she had not seen in years. She took in a deep whiff of fresh air, it stank like a prison, but she was happy to smell it. What came next was figuring a way out she thought, there had to be some way they can escape, this prison could not be as inescapable as they boasted. Their success of escaping their cells, however, would soon be short lived as she noticed one of the guards running for help. She was not much for running and there was no water around for miles save the water from the prisoner's waste buckets and she was not touching that.

"someone do something he is going to alert the other gua-," Her sentence was cut short as she had felt what she thought was the wind blow past her. To her surprise, it was one of the prisoners as he rushed towards the guard and knocked him out "Well that takes care of that, now what" she asked.

---

Sure enough, the newcomer had introduced himself as Perkeo, and was apparently supposed to be a famous musician. Satirra didn't really buy that, and she hated bards anyway. But with him having the keys to each of the cells, he looked to be her one and only ticket out of here. The female Draph was the first to be freed... much to Satirra's dismay.

'Cayde being freed first, I can understand, but her?' she growled through gritted teeth, 'What, do those tits of hers have a gravitation field of their own that I'm not aware of or something?'

Sure enough, Perkeo had then moved to free Cayde next, and then Satirra, and then all the others. It would take a while for the effects of their Ether-locks to wear off, but that was fine with Satirra herself; she was more of a physical combatant anyway. According to what he said after that fact, however, that was all he was willing to do, as he said he wasn't much of a fighter.

"Well you're a lot of use now, aren't you?" Satirra asked Perkeo spitefully, before looking forward, "Fine then; we'll escape on our own."

...

It was at this point that guards had arrived, with Cayde trying his best to fend the forward-most two off while another was about to call for reinforements. Never having been one to mess around, Satirra turned to the other Draph.

"You there, with the badly oversized rack! Give Cayde a hand with those other two assholes! I've got the squealer," with that, Satirra charged straight at the guard in the back of the pack, wrapping her claw around the man's neck. That way, even if he was able to activate the device that would allow him to call for reinforcements, he sure as hell wouldn't be able to speak through it. Using her free hand, Satirra proceeded to rip the device from the guard's clutches, before rising it high in the air.

"Y'know, we could coerce the warden of this dump into making our escape all the easier with this," she suggested to the prisoners behind her.