Soft clicks of padded steel boots falling in quick succession echoed down the dark undercrofts; the prison of heroes, not so inaccurately named after its architecture. Arching walls lined with skulls of all sizes and shapes, riveted into place with long square nails and cross-stabilized with polished metals flowing with inscriptions of all forms on language and runic script...weapons potentially once of legend, drained of their favor, spirits and magic until being reduced to little more than fancy building components. On a glance, the structure could have passed for carved cobblestone for how the petrified, solid remains were polished flat. Maybe it was just an artistic choice? The line between the two seemed blurred, appearing as either out of the corner of the eye before abruptly changing, almost flowing fluidly from the magic the dungeon subsisted on.

The Stranger rounded the corner, deliberate in their steps as they paced down the hall. The mouths of the carvings of skulls creaked and groaned open, foundation crackling and lightly drifting as they appeared almost to turn and follow them, a glow from hollow eye sockets illuminating the hall faintly as they passed. After escaping a few meters past the skulls, they shuddered back into place, returning to rest and even reversing the flow of dust and debris which had once broken loose, returning to darkness. Fur bristled across the mask as The Stranger scanned along the cells, lifting their right hand high into the air and sharply ringing an impact with their index and middle finger. They slowed their pace and clinked their fingers twice more in a similar manner as they stopped between four cells, standing in the middle of the hall.

Grayscaling overtook the darkness, dully elucidating the features of the architecture to reveal nothing more than plane cobblestone set into black mortar. Their left hand extended towards the bars of one of the doors, requiring a fair amount of strain as their right hand appeared to be locked in place. So short in stature, they could just barely reach the door by standing on the tips of the toes of their metal-plated boots. A single success! Looking up, skulls briefly flickered into existence mere inches from The Stranger's gloved hand, mouths open and keen to bite. Their visage shimmered in and out of existence depending on the angle they were viewed. Spindly-thin necks as if held on the body of a snake carried the ghostly skulls in their pursuit.
The Stranger repeated the touch for each of the doors around them after a brief moment of returning the glowing gaze of the spirits, locked in the effects of what was presumably a spell of some foreign machination. With a small chime of their other hand in the same manner of before, the pale violet light in the eyes of the skulls, which had supposedly been frozen, shifted to the new sound in spite of how The Stranger continued to watch them.

What happened next would have appeared as a reverberating clink of metal, a swirl of glowing amber snakes and then a guttural crunch before a streak of seemingly the same light the snake-like spirits were made from 'unzipped' the local swarm. Three quick chimes! The world fades back to grayscale as The Stranger reappears at the same pace, their cloak having earned a few holes from bites into fabric. In a kneeling position, they crawl enough to tap on another series of cell doors, their locks spinning open, doors coming loose.

Perhaps they heard it before you, but they were already diving back the way they came, giving their first hand another series of chimes as the piercing screech meets your ears. In their progression down the hall, the effect of the first spell's area wore off on one of the heads which had coiled around to let out an alarm before being abruptly silenced by another wave of grayscaling as quickly as it began. Meanwhile, The Stranger groaned and squirmed, a foot twitching and kicking at the dust that lined the floor, their arm held aloft as they otherwise laid suspended a handful of inches above the cobblestone. After a brief moment, they relax. Panting and shivering, they ease themselves to their knees to collect themselves while the heroes hopefully did the same with their newfound freedom.

The doors loose, your senses slowly returning save for a hollow dullness as if something was horribly amiss. A lack of lay-lines, of radiance, of self...this is not a region where power is allowed. A privilege your bodies had long since been denied, and the aid of the small masked figure was hardly enough to give it all back in such an expected instant. If you hoped to find some form of death, you may be disappointed. No gates to white or scorching inferno, just a silence as still as a grave. However, given the sound which had just been issued forth from the nightmarish entity now locked in its own helpless purgatory...silence might not be such a terrible alternative. For the moment, at least, a still semblance of peace has taken this dark dungeon.

Auriel watched over the battlefield, it had only been mere minutes after the first clash had happened and yet she flew alone against the darkness. Those left of the group of Valor and Hope were two young angels, creatures who had been mere children when they had been chosen, Their names were Erthor Angel of Valor, and Faervel Angel of Hope. The two faced alone against a host of monsters, as their mortal companions had almost immediately died in the first few seconds. Erthor fought with a short-spear, each thrust of it's silver point causing a host of ethereal blades to manifest mere inches from him, turning him into a moving storm of silver and magic. Faervel stood close to Erthor, her very voice echoing out into the battle and drowning out all else, redirecting spell and blade with each sung word.

Shadows fall.
And hope has fled.
Steel your heart.
The dawn will come.

Auriel nodded, there was little she could do for the pair. She spared a single sideways glance at the approaching army, massive winged beasts whose wing-beats echoed across the plains, hoards of untold terrors both from this world and others that trampled each-other for a chance to raise a blade against the last angels. Auriel faced her own foe however, and she had no choice but to face them.

The night is long.
And the path is dark.
Look to the sky. For one day soon.
The dawn will come.

Her very presence illuminated the battlefield in place of the sun, her aura so bright that it forcibly carved a path through the battle, completely blinding any lesser foe foolish enough to approach. Auriel's foe however, seemed the exact opposite. The creature, hidden somewhere within the mass of shadow, was one of her own people. There is a difference when power is stolen versus when it is willingly given up, and this foe had stolen chunks of energy from Fate, Justice and Wisdom.

The Shepard's lost.
And his home is far.
Keep to the stars.
The dawn will come.

" Betrayed, by our own people! " Auriel's voice echoed from her lips as she faced the approaching abyss, her hand already filled with a three foot long blinding spear of light. " Tell me! What do you gain from this? " He did not speak, he made no outward display of emotion. Tears ran down Auriel's face as she rose her spear, ready to strike out at her foe. " TELL ME! Speak, SAY SOMETHING! " He said nothing as he approached the trembling Auriel, she thrust her spear at the living abyss, and it was swallowed whole. The host was now mere inches from her, and still he did not speak. " Please, at least tell me why. " Her voice was but a whisper. Below, the final two angels cowered in Auriel's light, fending off any foes powerful enough to approach, but weakened enough by their Archangel's light for them to defeat.

The night is long.
And the path is dark.
Look to the sky.
For one day soon.
The dawn will come.

It was only when Auriel stopped speaking, when the angels below called out her name in blind terror as her light ever so slightly faded, it was only then that the host of the abyss thrust his hand forwards into Auriel's stomach, his hand coated in a spear of shadow as he spoke in a whisper to the already fading Archangel, now close enough to see that he held his own tears.

" I'm sorry Mother "

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

A click and the sound of metal against stone, these were not exactly the things Auriel attributed to death, then again wherever she was gave her the idea she had been there for a while. Almost as if she had spent years or more in a dream, or more likely a nightmare. She was curled up in the center of the cell with her knees drawn up to her chest, her wings splayed out at odd angles. She really did hope this was all some elaborate dream, and that soon she would wake up and everything since the first god's death would be a nightmare, but she was nowhere near lucky enough for that.

She stayed there a good few more seconds before rising to the sound of footsteps and others stirring. She rose in her cell, the glow around her brigtening from a sickly flicker to a concerningly soft glow reaching a good 2 feet around her. She stayed there a bit longer, standing and stretching as well as preening herself. Her feathers were sufficiently ruffled and ruffled feathers are never very comfortable, plus it always provided a semblance of normalcy to any situation and helped her think.

One, Two, it was only two that she held currently, feathers that is, or at least those that could still hold some semblance of power. Auriel stuck them in the now empty leather sack at her waist. By this point she had sufficiently wasted 2 minutes since she woke up, though now she was in a slightly better mood than before, a mood capable of ignoring her most recent memories at the very least. In the hall before her she was unsurprised to find a person smaller than her, near everyone was smaller than her. What was surprising though was the room itself and how that person seemed to tie into it, Auriel was in a prison and that much was a given, and as far as she could tell, this young masked fellow released her, and apparantly a few others.

" It seems I owe you some thanks friend, I have many questions though I suspect they can wait. "

Once upon a clockwork dream...

---

A warm, baleful air pressed into her body. She could feel her insides overheating just from being near it. Fires crackled around her, as the roars and growls of angered machines howled in the distance creating a hellish symphony. The hateful machines, spitting fire and steam rumbled past her and paying her no mind as she returned their symphony with a cold, deafening silence of her own. She wasn't their target, after all. They left all the machines and robots alone, for the most part. Her metal feet clacked against the ground, scraping against metal of her fallen allies and comrades.

They were dead, weren't they? Moira was overrun...the cyborg fought till the last, and she had been helpless to do anything about it. That stupid, perverted inventor with all the machines was the second to go. Self destructed with a bomb, taking out so many with him just so the others could have a shot. Baylock...he...he...

Anger. hatred. Self loathing for being unable to help.

A glint of steel caught her eye, a sharp drill poking from the rubble. Bending down, she reached for it, taking it by its handle. It wasn't meant to be a weapon, but it felt fall more capable in her hands than a sword, mag rifle or explosive. A simple technicians tool. An item built to repair, fix, and build.

The ground rumbled, the mass of metal, gears, and clockwork loomed over her. It seemed to be speaking with her. Something about the 'First', and how he was the 'Second'. It didn't matter. She couldn't hear. She didn't want too. She just wanted this nightmare to be over with. To go back to Baylock's estate with everyone. Serve tea, mess around and have that stupid inventor hit on her some more. Talk about technology and upgrades with Moira, or just sit and listen to music with Master Baylock.

But such would be a dream, now. Nothing more than a distant memory.

What was she even doing? She should be running. She could accomplish nothing. She was no hero. She was a maid. She didn't have nearly the abilities the other had. What could she do that they couldn't? Anger, was a funny thing. Especially for an Automaton. Rarely felt, but such a potent thing to drive one.

Electricity arced across her body as her gears and servos began overclocking. Pieces of metal around her began flinging themselves away like scared animals, slamming into each other and sticking. She raised the weapon, leaping forward with all the fury she could muster. A bright light...

....

....

A feeling of weightlessness followed, as though she was suspended. Odd for a three hundred something pound automaton to be suspended in something. Did she question the sensation? No, she couldn't. She didn't want to focus on anything. If she could just stop thinking at all, that would be even better. It wouldn't hurt so much, then. A faint clicking noise broke through her thoughts.

"...urgh..."

Her body hit the ground, the stasis wearing off as the lock on the cell opened. For a few moments, she simply laid there. Alive? She was...alive? The Automaton wasn't sure she liked that idea. Her metal hand scraped against the stone of the floor as she tested her appendages. Fingers and arms, worked. Legs, seemed to be running fine. No gears seemed to be loose or jammed. Silently, she pushed herself to her knees and gazed down at her hands.

"..." She flexed her fingers. Ah...there was a small dent in one. She'd need to inform Master Baylock she'd need -

"...ha..." A small, almost inaudible laugh followed. Right. She was alive. He wasn't. More importantly...where was she? She couldn't remember anything after engaging the Second. There was just...nothing. It was like the time Baylock found her in that scrap heap. Her memory from that time was completely gone.

Frowning, Lia slowly pushed herself to her feet. Was she...tired? She felt tired at least. An impossible thing for an Automaton unless something was wrong with their core. Shaking off the thought, Lia took a few experimental steps forwards. It looked like a...dungeon of some sort? Had the Second taken her prisoner? No, that wasn't like him, even if he seemed far too interested in her. She couldn't seem to generate much power here for some reason. Was her core damaged? She'd have to inspect it once she was safe.

Walking out of the cell, Lia's steps were slow, though certain as she picked up the sounds of someone conversing. What she thought were humans though, were most certainly not. A large winged creature of some sort that she had never seen before and some masked individual along with others being released from some sort of prison.

"...Servants of the Second?" She fixed both the stranger and the feathered human with a serious, hostile gaze. "Mm...I suppose you wouldn't be talking or thanking him for rescuing you, if that was the case." Despite saying this however, she didn't take her unblinking gaze off the either of them.

@ilovepapa @Rune_Alchemist

The stranger lifted their head quickly in response to Auriel's voice, snapping in their direction. Behind the hollows of the horned mask of a bird held a series of pale pink rings that focused together into something resembling a two-tiered iris. Enthuse replaced their shaking which paused before returning in more of an enthusiastic shudder while they maneuvered themselves roughly sixty-degrees clockwise and angled themselves up into their arm which gave a wet 'click' of a relocating shoulder.

"Thanks..." Auriel's voice chirped back from the figure, the pupils sharpening to cat-like slits as they watched her. There was an inflection that came with it, a relief and faint echo of a light voice skipping back across the ambiance the stone provided. "Suspect...questions" They continued to reflect, the echoes becoming arguably clearer with the spoken words; a shapeless language that refracted into whispers of lengthy syllables past the words Auriel had spoken.

This was about the time Lia had made herself known, the sounds of composing herself having been largely ignored by the figure until she'd exited their cell. The stranger lifted their free hand to their face, angled with a tilted wrist for their index finger to pause in front of the beak of the mask, palm facing the construct. However, as they spoke, The Stranger perked up, dropping their hand a few inch as their eyes then focused on Lia.
"Rescuing!...friend" they once again replied, a bent mimicry of Lia's words and then the mid-sentence phrasing Auriel had only recently used to address them.

Distantly, faint words echoed back with soft consents flowing into soft vowels.
From the locked position of their hand, The Stranger was still forced to kneel in a stationary position if they wished to rest with comfort. Eagerly, they looked about to the other cells they'd freshly unlocked. They needed more words or syllables, but, more than that, they needed more voices. He certainly earned them.

Out of one box and into another.

It wasn't so bad though. Slowly she stirred awake as the stasis wore away. What appeared to be a corpse standing quite still soon filled with a deep darkness. That darkness was shortly followed by life as the frame shook while the power took hold. Almost falling over due to how sudden it all was she staggered on her feet to the left, reaching out to catch herself. Her hands hit the wall and she braced herself.

Her eyes were restored, the distant winding yellow orbs impossibly deep within her skull having reformed, their glow now resuming their continued emittance. They cast anemic yellow cones of dim light over the surfaces she looked over. Looking over the cobbled stone walls she stood up to get a better view of her surroundings.

She saw a short cloaked figure working with haste upon the lock on the barred door to this cell she was apparently in. It was a bit confusing considering last she checked she was inside a grey box and was also in several pieces. Looking down she also noticed her armor was gone, not to mention her anchor. She was dressed only in the old sea-worn rags that stuck to her bluish grey skin. Lifting an arm she examined the place that one paladin had cut her arm off at. It was sewn back on rather nicely, it's stitching far tighter and less sloppy to her own. She didn't have a fine eye for stitching but the fact it was so finely woven didn't escape her notice.

_
With a heavy kick she booted open the gates on her cell and strode out, standing proud with her head held high. In the middle of the hall she saw three people standing around talking, or at least two people talking and one assuming some sort of awkward position.

"Heeey Theeerre!" She greeted them. Her voice was lofty in pitch giving it a cheerful sound but as a result of the power animating her the sound of her voice seemed to hold a hollow ring to it. It was like the voice was echoing out from a bottomless cavern, easily loud enough to hear with good clarity but with the ringing of distant reverberations. Her words also seemed to be oddly drawn out like echoes themselves.

"How do 'ya dooo?" The sounds of heavy footfalls in the distance drew her attention away for a moment.

"Where are weee?" She asked the short fellow who unlocked her cell, her head cocked to the side with a quizzical arch to her mossy green brow.

"Do yooouu know where my stuff iiis?"

The foolish man, hero both in role and in nature, slouched upon the pillory where he was locked into. His entire world, lost into darkness, all because he wanted to be admired, to be famous. Grandmaster always said that fatal flaws can't be overcome, only resisted, but it didn't help. That was accepting the status quo, and now that status quo was a world ruled by this... Body.

A click of metal awakened the man, Nale, from his wallowing, as the heavy wooden piece was lifted from his arms and neck. Nale massaged his wrists, feeling the blood returning to them. He looked at the stranger, who had released him.

"Thank you, Mister... Miss..." Nale thanked before going quiet, realizing that he had no idea whatsoever what the Stranger was. "Thank you anyway."

It was then that he noticed a group of other individuals, recently released. They were certainly a motley group if there ever was one. They were all women. One looked like an angel, but she could also be a faerie, or a demon, or someone who had the blood of any of them. Nale would have to ask more once they got to safety. The second woman was clearly a construct, one made of metal. She looked like a servant of an important household. Maybe from Orbora, the land of alchemists. The third one was an obvious undead. Nale couldn't point out the type, but she resembled a revenant of some kind.

"Hello..." He greeted awkwardly. "I suppose you were also captured by the Body of Kazzok."

River’s mind was still half full of fog, even as the harsh noise of metal scraped her ears. She could only half-remember what had happened until she forced herself upright. It all came back in a flash as she looked around her cage: the bloodstained field, the strange army that cut through the hills, and the bizarre figure that plucked her out of her hiding-spot in the trees as if she were merely an apple.

Almost reflexively, she felt her hair for her Mother and Father, and she breathed a sigh of relief when they met her fingertips. There was barely any feeling in one of her wings. She must have slept on it. The feathers were filthy and out of place, and she longed for a bath, but she’d find no such thing in this prison, and the sounds of clinking metal, voices, and opening cells filled her with newfound urgency.

As she exited her cell, still flexing her tingling wing, she almost immediately came across a small group of people gathered around the smallest of them. The little-one barely spoke except for mumbled repetitions of what the others were saying. If it weren’t for the Human and the other Winged-Woman, River would have said that the little-one was somehow the least strange out of all of them; one woman looked like a corpse for goodness sake! River stared at them, silently for barely a moment before the shock of them all wore off.

“If this is a jailbreak,” she said, striding up to them, “shouldn’t we be moving a little quicker?” She crouched in front of the little-one. “Can’t you stand? Are you hurt somewhere? We need to get moving fast if we want to escape. Here,” she moved slightly, and shifted her wings, “you can nestle in there, and I’ll carry you if you can’t walk.”

Wishes answered, it would seem. Questions and voices from more sources drew The Stranger's attention first to the towering undead woman. Silently, with their free hand, they offered a small wave in greeting before curiously tilting their head as if not understanding one of their questions. They did their best to respond, however, by miming; their hand flat with the palm facing down, then lowering it a measured inch before stopping. This gesture repeated a few more times before they slapped their palm onto the floor and ground the metal tip of their index finger audibly against the stone. They raised their hand once more to maybe depict five; their fingers spread...or...no? They turn their hand back and forth to show the back of their hand and then the palm a few times before sighing and relaxing, apparently giving up in frustration. The Stranger was wholly aware of the complexity of what they were trying to explain, but probably not the best at miming it out with only one hand, if at all.

The Stranger eased back a bit away from River as she approached. They held up one finger and pointed to their other hand still locked in place. They made a sweeping 'behold' of a gesture to the faint ghostly forms of the remaining spirits also seemingly stuck by the same power. "I- can walk..." They replied with words River had just spoken before a faintly distant sound echoed back from them a soft "Eehhm..." in response to the offer to being carried before holding a hand to wave in rejection of the offer. "Thank you...miss" came Nale's voice from The Stranger, next, thankful that they'd used such distinctions to better politely decline River's offer.

They lifted their hand to their own throat, "Kazzok...hurt...my...talking" they explained with the echoes of Nale's, River's, Gangraena's and then Lia's voice in that order to form the comment before making a gesture of grabbing hold of something and pulling it away. Bringing an index finger back to the tip of the beak of their mask in an 'shh' gesture, they conclude with River's word, "Here."
Surely the group would have felt it by now, seen the spirits suspended by The Stranger's spell and gathered from their behavior that this was a world of curses. There was so much The Stranger wanted to tell them all, and that was very likely the specific reason his voice was stolen. The conclusion of the thought, however, was lack of immediate context.

Nale watched as the Stranger spoke by mimicking the voices of him and the others. In the Hero Academy he had learned to observe situations and adapt to them accordingly. It was then that it hit him.

"Words," He quietly exclaimed, pointing at the stranger with both fingers. "You need words."

He held his hand on his forehead, mumbling as he wondered what words he should say. He couldn't give too much, because otherwise they would run out of time. Nale didn't know exactly why the guards were silent now, but it certainly had something to do with the Stranger, and it would end eventually.

"Let's start with replies. Yes, no, maybe. And we need to get out of here, so some movements are needed. Hmm... up, down, left, right, forward, back, stop, move, fight, flee..."

Nale was quiet again, it was so difficult to come up with good words. The Stranger obviously wanted to say more than what the hero could come up with.

"If there is time" He said to the stranger, "I can say the alphabet and numbers from 0 to 9. You can then spell any words you wish to say and we'll say them for you so you can mimic them. Or we can do it later once we are out of here."

---

Lia, was at a loss.

Who were these people? These creatures? They spoke in odd manners, and the one who recused them seemed not to be able to speak at all? Lia's gaze didn't leave them as more...creatures made themselves known. Along with one human. Lia's gears began humming, starting to move and spin faster as she entered a state what a human might call a 'fight or flight' response. She understood, on some level they weren't immediately hostile and quite likely allies, but being in an unknown place filled with demons with a possibly damaged core was not good.

The human mentioned something about the 'body of Kazzok'. The name was familiar. The Second referred to it sometimes, though she merely assumed it was the mad raving of a deranged mind. Lia found herself moving closer to something at least somewhat familiar to her. A human. She didn't know what this body of Kazzok was, but perhaps he was from a different part of the world and this 'Kazzok' and the second were working together? It was the only way she could logic this out.

One of the winged humanoids mentioned moving faster. They did have a point. Lingering here was likely a bad idea. She noticed the spirits lingering above. Malevolent specters of ill intent. The only question she had, why had they done nothing yet. Some sort of...stasis? She couldn't say. Time fractures were only something the Machine Gods did in legend, but she doubted whoever this stranger was, was an Old Machine.

The human with them said something about this stranger needing words? Odd. Like a recorder? Could he only repeat what he had heard? A thought for another time.

"That bird-demon is right." Lia replied stiffly. "We should get moving before whatever is holding those spirits at bay fades. If it helps, I am Primalia." A pause. "...as a servant model I am unsure how useful I shall be in this jail breaking endeavor, but I will provide assistance where I can."

"Get th' last of the women an' children inside! You, you, and you, get th' last o' th' barricades up." Jericho Cross was on the bridge, overlooking as the last surviving wives, daughters, and sons too young to hold weapons shuffled inside. Well, the survivors of those groups that hadn't taken up arms already. Once they were inside, the grand double doors, solid oak with gilding, swung shut again and, if listening closely, one could hear the sounds of barricades and debris being piled up against the door. A handful of the men under his command were getting barricades set up, hastily as one could see the oncoming tide, marching at its own pace. That was ignoring the flying monstrosities, which were lurking outside of archer range, groups of dedicated archers milling about along the windows and openings where they could take cover between volleys of arrows. They had learned, the hard way early on, that the flying beasts could fire back, or whatever rode them into battle.

They were ignoring the fact that most of Istvargrad was burning, or already burnt out for that matter. The smell was, thankfully, rather tame this far from the more recent skirmish sites, considering they had been fighting last ditch stalling efforts up until this point. The makeshift barricades, mostly barriers to huddle behind with pikes and logs cut to sharpened points set up and braced against charges to at least slow and, in theory, funnel the enemy forces into a narrower position. In practice, of course, the larger war beasts could just smash apart the barricades without too much injury, but they did not fit too well on the narrow pathway, thankfully enough for now. No one had much time to complain, or dread their impending doom, as the forces of Kazzok marched ever forward. "Steady yerself lads, and lasses don't give me t'at look. We 'old long enough t' let the rest flee into t' underground. Better t'an burnin with the mansion, eh? Give these things somethin' t' remember of us."

At this point the oncoming tide of enemies reached range of the archers that weren't on the windows and walls, who were already firing in defiance against the tide of flying creatures that darkened the sky, and blotted out the pale moonlight, leaving only fire and torchlight to guide the last standing defenders. Of course, the dedicated archers were busy, but that did not prevent the survivors holding the barricades from unleashing their own, fired at will volleys of arrows. No magicians, though, they had gone down in their own district instead of linking up with the remaining defenders. Last scout reports indicated that there wasn't even burnt out buildings left, reality apparently having collapsed, at least that was what they could gather before the poor sod had drank himself into a coma. Peppering the lighter, fodder troops with arrows and bolts, before long the beleaguered defenders were being swamped in melee, and a proper brawl was not where they excelled. Even the few remaining soldiers, proper soldiers and not the enforcers and thugs of the criminal underground that weren't just color or honor guards for fat, long since dead nobles, were struggling to hold the barricades now.

Jericho was holding his tell tale sword in one hand, a salvaged dagger in his off hand, lashing out in each direction as he slowly found himself getting surrounded, though they stayed out of blades reach. He was quickly cut off as the barricades were destroyed and shoved out of the way and the survivors butchered or pushed back against the gate. A creeping, lingering darkness seemed to seep forward, and he braced himself, blades at the ready. "What, yer resonsible for this?" Nothing, just creeping forward and surrounding him ever more tightly, and despite his lashing out, he could not find his blows connecting with anything, and darkness completely claimed him, despite his better efforts.

---

Being trapped in a loop of his own memories, the last waking moments before his apparent demise did not do Jericho's temper well when he was brought back to the waking realm. The first thing his body did was collapse forward, having been restrained for gods knows how long, bracing himself and coughing up a lung. He had been restrained within his cell, unpleasant as that might have normally been for long duration, though his mind had been kept occupied elsewhere. It took him a minute to gather himself, mentally at least, which any other time back home might have meant a death sentence. Which meant this prison was most certainly not in Istvangrad, and he hadn't been in some drug induced hallucinogenic nightmare trip. Shame about that, he was almost hoping that he had been drugged and bagged by the Church instead of...well, best not think on it too much. Picking himself up, he heard talking and, oddly enough, mimics of the same voices speaking.

Stepping out of his cell, Jericho deliberately made as little noise as possible as he gauged the situation at hand. Masked thing, mimicking the source of the others voices, likely the reason he, and by proxy, the others were free. Robbed of its voice, maybe? Strange curse, reeked of Magician's work, it did. Next to catch his attention was some winged, woman, thing. No such beings existed back in Istvangrad, so he really had no basis on what to think about this woman. Church spiels about their vengeful angels and the like matched her to a vague degree, and he really, really hoped she wasn't there to be some judging force. He'd hate to try and shank an angel over what he did in life. She seemed, at least in tone of voice, to be the more merciful and kind sort, though appearances were far too deceiving for him to trust that from the basis of things, and he turned his attention to the next one.

Another female looking thing, and Jericho said thing because it had some gear sticking out of its back. He settled on she, for now, mainly due to her choice of attire. Mechanical constructs were the domain of some Magicians, so not only was that outside his boundaries of understanding, he automatically distrusted her very presence. Coupled with the potential hostile stance and gaze he could tell from his position and, well, he would be keeping a very close eye on her until he had a reason to look elsewhere. There was little else for him to consider in regards to the key wound woman, so he turned his attention to the next person who was talking, or at least present.

If he was armed, Jericho would have drawn steel at the sight of the next 'woman', if he could call her that. Some drowned corpse given animate life, more bastarding Magician work if he had to reckon. Given her stance, she was also needlessly proud of her condition, or general state of self, and it showed for someone with an eye for people and their attitude. He caught the tail end of her question, however, asking where her stuff was. Stuff, equipment, and he patted his pockets down and frowned. Some thieving bastard swiped his pipe! No, he was not concerned with the loss of sword or bow, at least not nearly as much, as he was with the pipe. That actually held proper sentimental value, damn it, so he would be keeping a sharp eye out for that. Sidetracking thoughts put aside, he would give due thought to the next person he set eyes on.

Young kid, human for all intents and purposes as far as appearances go, though his lack of muscle or even any sort of redeeming physical form meant that one would be inclined to underestimate them. Jericho had no intent of doing so, it was possible this kid was either no show and all results, or had something else up his sleeve to get him stuck with capture instead of death. Common running trend, most likely, since they were all alive and, for the most part so far, literal sodding angels, mechanical oddities, and outright abominations. And some scrawny punk who he expected to be some demi god of some sort, or another, given the current trend of appearances and stature so far.

Next was another winged person, though lacking the stature or grandiose nature of the sodding angel, at least he kept assuming angel of some sort, who was at least pragmatic enough to react appropriately. Jailbreak, time to get the hell out, and he had to agree with that fully. Getting out of one's cell was only one step of, often times, many to get the hell out of custody. Again. Jails were a pain in his arse, mainly since often times he was there for reasons that weren't related to the crimes he committed, which were plenty enough to warrant life sentences in most civilized places. So he would keep his bragging to a minimum, since most likely would be among 'good' company and didn't need their shenanigans. Well, mostly, the undead abomination probably didn't care, being an abomination.

At this point, further discussion was being apparent, and Jericho finally had a chance to chime in, having taken up a leaning position against the wall. The mechanical woman, thing, whatever mentioned not being sure what use she would be in a jailbreak, and it gave him a chance to make a comment. "Brute force, tin girl. You and th'... drowned lass ain' got t' worry 'bout the body givin' out near as soon as some. Speakin' of, where th' 'ell is the exit? Appreciate yer 'elp and all, but the sooner we get out, sooner we ain' sitting 'ere waitin' for the guards to come knockin', aye?"

She looked down at the masked fellow, standing in a power stance because why not. She looked pretty much just confused in regards to the little charades act this stranger tried to put on. When he strung together his response she felt bad for the little guy so she strode over and set a firm hand on his shoulder, her flesh the same temperature as the dungeon's air.

"Whoo's this Kazzzok guy? Why'd he hurt yoouur taalkiinng?" She asked the little fellow. Having been dismembered herself she felt it wasn't just that whoever this guy was would just up and pull out this guy's vocal cords.

All in all getting stuck in a box as a pile of disassembled pieces was a bummer but at the very least her comeback was already showing promise. Already there were heads in need of smashing, all she needed was the where and how. She'd do with just her fists in a pinch but she was far more comfortable using a weapon, even if it was just a tavern door or some unfortunate paladin's torn off leg.

It was only then that she started taking notice of the fact there were other people there too. They even had stuff of their own to say, even if it was all more of the same. They wanted a way out and nobody knew the directions save for possibly the bird masked man. Taking her hand off of him she started to look at her surroundings.

_
Taking a quick scan of the area she looked around to see if there was anything to repurpose into a weapon of some sort. All she saw were torches stuck in some sort of stasis and that weird metal thing on one of the ladies's back. She resisted her impulse to take the metal thing since she figured the other lady might want to use that as her weapon so the next best thing were the torches.

In a nonchalant manner she strode up and grabbed the still torch firm, yanking it from it's sconce with one easy pull. The very moment she had touched the thing it suddenly came alive, the fire resuming it's function of burning at the end of the stick.

"Woaah! Coooll!" She exclaimed with excited amazement. She hadn't seen magic like that before.

"Heeyy guyyss! Check thiiss oouutt! This toorrch iiss maagicaall~!" She proclaimed with great pride towards this great discovery of hers, waving the torch up in the air like a banner. Looking up at her torch she only now notices the weird looking specters all frozen in place. It was like they were gargoyles or something.

"Whaat're those?" She asked, her mood shifting back to confused once again as she pointed up at the still creatures with her free hand.

The king’s stronghold crumbled like a sandcastle against the tide when the tower fell on it, the fortress making a sound not unlike a large egg being cracked as the black structure was driven through it like a stake. For long moments the only sounds in the capital’s streets were the lingering sounds of rubble falling as everyone on both sides of the war stopped fighting to gaze in shock at the foreign object cast like an arrow from heaven.

When… things started spewing out of it, winged horrors filling the sky as monstrous creatures flooded the streets out of the ruins, those who didn’t react fast enough died in droves while those who managed to get their bearings died fighting. The soldiers and Knights of the Holy Order, those unfortunate enough to be closest to the castle, were the first to die, leaving only the resistance members and those few who managed to flee to try and mount a more solid defence against the horde.

Having Witches on their side helped, for a moment anyway; lighting and ice and distorted space tore creatures from the sky while pikes and shields and arrows held back those on the ground. Uriel helped as well, flaming falcons pursuing the foul creatures and consuming any they caught; he killed dozens by himself while hundred more fells to those around him, but in the end it was pointless. The tide of monsters seemed endless while their numbers were decidedly not. Large, brutish beasts of war pushed through their shield wall like it was nothing and began cutting down anyone within reach while the winged monstrosities plucked people from the crowd, focusing on taking out the biggest threats first, the Witches. As the fight wore on Uriel noticed fewer and fewer creatures falling to magic and he began glancing around to see who remained; what he saw was not promising.

Jarkon was dead, his volleys of obsidian spears having stopped a while ago; so were Hanley and Arkher, he could see their bodies from here. The brat was probably on the front lines as usual and probably still alive judging by the crashes in that direction. If only the old hag was still here; a storm raging over their heads would at least keep these bastards out of the sky. In the middle of it all he saw Miria, and it was then that any glimmer of hope he had left was crushed; cocky, conniving, deceitful, all-knowing Miria had dropped to her knees with a look of shock on her face, for once looking at a complete loss. It wasn’t a look you ever wanted a seer to have.

It took the creatures, too foul to even be called demons, maybe twenty minutes to eradicate both sides of the war; the castle, the kingdoms last bastion was reduced to rubble, the Holy Order’s remaining knights were dead and so were most of the Witches. Those who survived were rounded up by monsters that did not look like they should have been intelligent enough for such an action; somehow Uriel was one of those remaining and from the looks of things, the only Witch left. They were stripped of their weapons, dragged into the square in front of what was left of the castle and made to wait.

The creatures slowly began moving the rubble of the castle away, large chunks of rock that should have been impossibly to shift being tossed aside with ease. Eventually, when the sleek black rock of the tower was exposed, someone or something, stepped out to greet them.

----

He awoke in a cell.

It wasn’t the first time and at least this one was large enough for him to stand up in. He sat against the base of one wall, opposite the door, slowly returning to his senses as he began to realise that something was amiss; Ignis should have said something by now. He opened one hand and turned it palm up, watching as a slow trickle of smoke began to unfurl from the centre of it before a small and fitful flame burst to life. It was rather less impressive than the flame he was trying to summon and only confirmed his suspicions; his magic was weakened.

This was different from the effects of holy water, which felt like a wall had been placed around him which prevented any power from escaping, not to mention burning like hell against his skin. This felt more like something had been lost, like his power had been taken away, not just blocked. Uriel… felt a little conflicted about that.

Before he could dwell on things any longer he began to hear voices outside of his cell, mostly female and one that seemed to only repeat the words of others including their voices. Cautiously Uriel pushed himself upright and quietly moved to the door of this cell. Without his magic or any weapons he was feeling a little vulnerable and he still didn’t know where he was or how he had gotten here; it paid to be careful.

When he reached the cell door his stopped, not opening it but instead pressing himself against the bars and leaning to the side until he could catch a glimpse of who was talking. What he saw didn’t make a lot of sense to him; two winged humans, a person made of metal and one who had the appearance of a walking corpse. He wasn’t sure which one he found more impossible, but nonetheless there they all were. From the sounds of it they were prisoners to, from where he didn’t know, and just as confused by all this as he.

Whatever was going on, leaving whatever dungeon this was should be his first priority. And strange though these people might be it seemed they were in the same boat as him. He could ignore what they were for now if it meant getting out of here and find out if they were a threat later. Pushing open the door to his cell he stepped out into the central corridor with the rest of them; he glanced in their direction, getting a better, unobstructed view of them, before pulling another torch from its sconce. “Leave first, figure out the rest later.”

The Stranger appeared to listen closely to Nale before putting their hand over their chest and bowing their head in an apparent expression of gratitude. "Maybe- no" They replied before looking down the hall in the direction of more faint lights, back out to the connecting hall which no doubt would lead to another cell block. "Forward, left, forward, forward, forward, right, right, forward, left, forward...up" they mimic'd back before another curious reverberation of an echo almost sounded as if it added, "Iz down...iz up...iz down..."
The voice was androgynously light and made The Stranger looked up and as if having just noticed it, and not expecting it.

Their attention was drawn back to the group as the towering corpse of a woman then approached. The questions earned only a blank stare from the cat-like slit eyes behind the mask. A knowing, hesitant look. One that had no words or want for answers to give.
The Stranger's affliction was convenient in this instance along with the revenant's attention span as they made to retrieve a torch from the wall, abandoning the question in favor of another. "Guards" they simply replied with Jericho's voice whom they'd seemed not the least bit surprised by their announcement.

Distant echoing clunks of heavy metal scraping along cobblestone directed The Stranger's attention down the hall to the T-intersection they'd said to turn left at. From the right came what looked like a suit of armor...or more like two suits of armor. The arms and legs joined to form four long bulky legs running from two cuirasses fused together at the waist. Wax dribbled down its form from a series of candles in various states of use on its back, though as the substance dripped onto the floor, it evaporated into audible sizzles of steam.
It lumbered down the hall before stopping at the intersection and shifting to face the group as if it were casually patrolling until very clearly noticing the group. It let out a sound akin to a low bark mashed up with a tortured scream before the opening that should have once held a neck sprouted a series of clawed hands and arms with enough force to bend the metal around it. They gripped and rent at the air before charging in a gallop, grunting and giggling with malicious excitement until leaping for The Stranger, still stuck in their maintenance of their spell.

The armored hands stopped first, the grayscale washing from the tips of the long appendages before overtaking the sprouted arms. All the while, its momentum sharply cut down until there came a noise of cracking and grinding metal from its front half being frozen by the same spell that bound the spirits. "Found! Found it! It! Kazzok! Found!" it madly barked in a guttural bass, even the sound slightly dampened by whatever it had become stuck in. Well, half stuck, as one of its back arms reached into the neck-section of the other piece of armor, drawing a mace and swinging it into the grayscale as if testing, careful to keep its hands out. The other hand repeated the movement, drawing a longsword for more reach as it swung at the air in the direction of the rest of the group though falling short by at least five to seven feet.

The stranger quickly looked between the present 'heroes' and then back to the other open cells before nodding. "First- Leave... Appreciate yer 'elp- all- guards to come knockin', aye?" They echoed Uriel and then Jericho in cut up fragments, the pace of speech quickened with alarm.

River wasn’t entirely convinced that the little-one would be all right, but she wasn’t going to press the issue, and she was more concerned about what he said after. Hearing the mishmash of voice, including her own, coming from behind his mask, as well the Human man’s conclusions made it easier to understand the plight of their rescuer, at least. She rose to her feet as he rattled off words that would hopefully be helpful to the little-one. Unfortunately, they wouldn’t be able to just guess at everything needed, and it was doubtful he’s be able to answer most of their questions without the right words. It, and the frozen spirits, was the sort of magic that River had never heard of, or read about. Just where had they been taken?

As she was thinking, River listened to the other’s conversations. They, including another two men who must have just woken up, were at least coming around to her idea that a jail-break ought to happen quickly, but if there were more people locked up and drugged, or whatever had happened to them, it would be horrible if they were left behind. The Corpse was just making itself loud, messing around with the torches. Fire magic was normal; it, at least, made sense in River’s mind.

“Um, I’m not a demon,” River said, looking at Primelia. It just brought back into question about where they’d been taken and how far reaching that strange army’s conquests had been if there were no Winged-People in Primelia’s country. Would Eryllan be seeing more war after the creatures were through with Feriveil despite all that had already happened to the Animal-People’s kingdom?

“My name is River Fein,” she said, hoping that would be enough for now, “well, anything more formal can wait, I guess.” She cut herself off at the little-one’s mention of “guards”.

From down the hallway, blocking their escape came a bizarre amalgamation of armour, cobbled together from multiple suits. Thankfully, before it could reach them, it got caught-up in the little-one’s spell and remained half-frozen in midair. Unfortunately, it was only half frozen. The remaining half was able to move well enough that it could retrieve its weapons. A dead-end blocked their way from behind, and there was no way forward without risking the armour’s attack. How in all of Hell were they supposed to get past this? Their escape was ending before it had even begun. She glanced around for something, anything she could use as a weapon. Even if she could barely fight, it would be better than getting recaptured without any effort on her enemy’s part again. The only thing that she could see was the magical torches.

“better than nothing,” she mumbled, pulling one out if place. Like when the Corpse did so, hers immediately lit up with flame. She still wasn’t sure what she’d be able to do with it, but just holding it in her hands made her feel a little more ready.

Upon hearing the little stranger's alarmed warnings she turned to see what they were confronted with. It appeared to be a weird torso thing with a bunch of arms instead of limbs proper. From it's behavior it seemed none too friendly. It spoke kinda strange and tried to charge their new friend but it got stuck on... Something? She really couldn't make heads or tails of what happened with it but she wasn't going to argue with results.

If she still had eyes left they'd of widened with excitement upon seeing it draw a sword and a mace. Not only did it want to fight but it also brought weapons into the mix! All she needed to do now was kill the thing dead and take it's stuff. She held her torch high as she steeled her intent.

"Aallright youu!" With that the strode with gusto at the violent arm thing. Her movements were steady and deliberate as she started by stuffing the torch in her hand right down the middle of where the hands were coming out. Since the whole thing seemed stuck and motionless she paid little head to the unarmed arms. Overall she didn't have much of a plan going at this thing but that never stopped her from throwing one together ad hoc in the past.

With the torch stuck in there she turned and grabbed ahold of the leg-arm that was frozen there. Yanking it up she held it over her head before turning around and pulling back down, attempting to swing the main mass of the creature over her head like it was a big meaty hammer. All the while she wore a cheerful grin. She was just happy to get back into the swing of things, in this case quite literally.

Like riding a bike it was something that never went away no matter how long ago it all seemed.

Two new individuals appeared from the cells, both men. Both of them looked like beggars or thieves. But then again, no one here weren't exactly in their best looks. Nale's outfit wasn't what he usually wore either. He assumed the uniform was confiscated along with his weapons and equipment.

The Stranger was right. Now it was not the right time for spelling. Nale nodded and turned to the others.

"Hello River" He greeted one of the winged women. "You can call me Nale. Now, before we leave I think there is one thing about me you all need to know. I am good at hiding, and I mean really good. So, umm, if it is fine with others, I could act as a scout for us, go ahead and-"

His speech was interrupted by the sound of metal clanging. An armored construct appeared in front of them. Thanks to Stranger's... power, it stopped, at least partially, but it still moved. Some of the group prepared to fight, But Nale wasn't rule if it was the right call.

"Wait!" He exclaimed to the the winged woman, River apparently, preparing to fight. "The masked one said 'Leave', not 'Fight'. I think they wished for us to move out before the construct's comrades come running. Look, I hate the idea of running away as much as the..."

But then the Undead began crappling with the construct.

"Uhh... nevermind. Just spread out. It can't attack more than two at once, and it moves slowly."

Nale hated fighting like this. Usually he would find a good hiding spot and strike from there when the opportunity presented itself. In an open combat he was next to useless.

Jericho noted the drowned corpse having figured out that the torches in the wall sconces lit themselves upon being held, and while he kept his expression neutral, his gut was not fond of being so casually surrounded by Magician tricks. Of course, he had to conceded that these may very well not be the tricks of Magicians of his home, as he was presented with too many varied, disparate beings and people to even remotely stand a chance of still being locked up in some prison in Istvargrad. Hell, any ring leader worth his name knew the prisons of Istvargrad, usually through personal experience in breaking themselves out or being broken out by their associates. This....this was not a prison of Istvargrad, the magic alone showed that, which meant he was not in Istvargrad anymore. Which begged the question, where in the eleven hells did he end up this time? Disrupting his train of thought was the curse, brief remark by another person to walk out of there cell, and despite the grime and less than sterling state of his equipment, there was a steel and focus to his stance and movements. This man was more than he seemed at first glance, and while Jericho couldn't place a finger on it yet, he would keep an eye out.

Of course, any jailbreak that spent this long just lingering ran into a guard doing its rounds. He mentioned it, since the amalgamation of flesh, armor, and weaponry that lumbered into their lives was, well, he'd only seen things like it when Kazzok invaded his home. Looked like it was repurposed from line breaking abominations, four 'legged' things flailing about with two handed weapons, using mass and sheer violence to shatter through organized defensive formations. Least that is what the damn thing reminded him of, but its charge was brought short by their rescuer's....spell? Whatever field the thing was maintaining, had frozen part of the abomination in place, and then it proved itself capable of speech, gurgling on about finding and barking for its master. A quick glance at the state of the group pretty much said for itself their odds if this thing's master heard and came running. Of course, hearing his own voice flawlessly spoken back to him, asking for help with the abomination, was disconcerting, but he would have time for nervous break downs or freaking out later.

The one winged woman introduced herself, armed herself with a torch, but other then that, stood around rather uselessly while composing herself or whatever. Great, that helps, Jericho considered while grabbing one of the self lighting torches for himself. Then the drowned lass promptly charged the thing and, after jamming a torch into the base of where those arms came from, did her damndest to pick the thing up and slam it down behind her. Figured the dead wouldn't be restricted in strength, and he barked out plain enough orders to the rest that were still sort of just milling about, especially the one looking to flee. "Ain' no runnin' with that thing on our 'eels. Watch th' weapons an' arms, surround it, an' stick it with fire wherever ye' can, openings, gaps, anywhere. Disarm it if th' chance arises!" Jericho lunged forward, a practiced fener's thrust, just with a torch instead of a sword, aiming for that hole where the thing had drawn weapons from. Kept him clear of flailing arms, best it could at any rate, but still he had to stay light on his feet depending on how the thing responded.

Auriel watched the proceedings from next to The Stranger, by this point several more people had shown up from their respective cells and had their own turns to be confused and scared. Auriel wished she could have comforted them, but even she was on edge and she suspected that with the current mood her approach would be seen as agressive. " Once again, it is important we start moving, if these foes we are trying to avoid are anything like I had previously encountered then.... well let's just say we may not last too long. " Auriel was slowly starting to peice things together, one does not simply pass out in the middle of a battle with your foe and wake up safe and sound at home. She only hoped that he would not find her, at least not until she regained her strength.

Auriel smirked at the sheer lack of an attention span displayed by the walking corpse, at least they seemed to be able to think for themselves. " I suspect a torch might not do too much. But it is better than nothing. " Auriel mumbled to herself with a grin. As a fair few others found their way out of their cells Auriel took a quick look around. A creature she could only describe as a Golem, a person in a bird mask, another humanoid with wings, a human, a walking corpse. Their little group was shaping up to be interesting.

It was only moments later, after The Stranger had spoken to the undead with a short attention span, that the sound of metal against stone could be heard. Farther down the hall, an abomination of steel made it's way for them, the name of it's master echoing off it as it was suddenly caught in what Auriel could only guess was the spell that had previously prevented the alert of the guards. As if a horrifying amalgamation of steel was not enough, arms had already sprouted from the headless hole and drawn weapons. Auriel watched nurvously as the undead almost immediately latched herself to the beast, waiting close to the stranger as she fiddled with her fingers. Auriel cursed her lack of energy, spark-like bolts of light leaping between her fingers and refusing to take shape. " Ahh, though there are more of us at the moment, and ideally we could handle only one of these creatures if we work together, I think that others may have heard it's cries, why else would it scream if none of it's allies were nearby? My entire point is that I think that we should either work quickly or simply run.

"You! You!" The amalgam greeted the corpse-lady in an almost friendly manner, weapons raised in a more focused stance, eager for her to draw close enough to be made an example of. Surprisingly, snuffing the fire out on the mass of protruding arms managed little more than a few twitches of fingers and a muffled roar of enthuse turning to anger as it brought the weapons to bear. Unfortunately, as soon as it had tilted back for the momentum to 'give her the grease', it was instead bound up in powerful undead arms that dragged it forward and up. Its weapons clattered to the ground as the grayscale washed over its hands, seeming to drain the strength even from its grip. Corpse-lady, however, felt little resistance as she brought the thing down to crunch against the stone floor.

The Stranger intently watched even as Jericho sank their own torch into the vacant neckline of the creature's back, though it was not the action they paid such attention to. The creature twitched in a pool of smashed wax and a viscous black ichor, a sizzling arising from its form before glowing orange and yellow spikes erupted from the gaps in its armor, similar to the fire from the torches before being pulled from their sconces. "F-found..." It started, its voice a quiet groan while a hand tilted in the direction of The Stranger, "...yoouuu"
The protruding arms went limp and rapidly began to putrefy.

"I think that others may have heard it's cries, why else would it scream if none of it's allies were nearby?" The Stranger mimicked, still seemingly transfixed on the shambled armor which had quickly began to give of an unpleasant stink of rotting flesh to rival the corpse-lady's. The Stranger somewhat stood, lifting their other hand and clinking their index and middle finger together twice before releasing their first hand and promptly striking a third chime.
In the brief second of color snapping back into the world, the skeletal snake spirits arched back towards the party with burning lights in the hollows of their eye sockets. Whispers pervaded the air, bouncing off of the walls in a similar voice to the thing that laid presumably dead. A mess of words spoken by the same light echoes that accompanied The Stranger's mimicry all fought to speak at once, becoming instantly jumbled and nonsensical. They looked between the members of the party before taking a running stance as if hinting to their next course of action upon popular suggestion.