---

"Brute force...?" Lia frowned, the metal making up her face. She couldn't realistically brute force anything. She was about as strong as the average human in terms of physical ability. Certainly she was tougher because she was made of metal and punching something fleshy with a metal fist would hurt, the creatures of Kazzok and the Second were not made of entirely flesh. Lia's unblinking eyes shifted to the others present. All seemed some form of capable, more so than she.

"...Pardon." Lia replied to River. "Beings like...you do not exist in my home. I find it hard to believe you non-humans are not demons. The only creatures similar to you were the creatures employed by the Second." A conversation for later. Before she could get another word in, there was the sound of metal other than hers clanging and loudly moving. A disturbing, obscene creature made of flesh and armor ran down the hallway, swinging and speaking madly. Lia recoiled back at its sight. Her first instinct was to run, but the others seemed to have different ideas.

The odd corpse lady grabbed it, pulling it nearly over her head and slamming it back into the ground while burning its neck-hole with the torch. Jericho made a similar move, and soon the creature was incapacitated, killed on the floor from its wounds. With one final, eerie saying it pointed to the stranger. Well, with that dead...the next option was clear.

"We should get moving." With that, Lia began walking.

Jericho danced back after plunging a torch into its neck cavity, the thrashing, sizzling, and oozing of black ichor, not wanting the foul smelling stuff on him if at all possible. He hadn't expected things to go so smoothly, then again, he never had a being capable of lifting and smashing down one of these things in his ranks. There was this one giant fellow, had carried an axe with a haft of thick oak and hammered, crude looking iron work for a head. Gods have mercy on whomever got in its way though, he recalled fondly, though he was already giving the one longsword an experimental lift, having kicked it clear of the thrashing corpse. Too unwieldy for his tastes, even if longswords were agile in the right hands, his were not the right hands. Arming swords, daggers, anything that didn't occupy both hands at once was his preference. "'ere, grab 'is kit 'fore we leave. Better some o' us are armed than none o' us."

Offering the longsword to whomever wished to take up the two handed blade, and if no one took it from him he would hang on to it since it was better to be armed than unarmed, he would look at the tin lass as she had questioned brute force, the curious gaze lingering just long enough. What, had her creator not given her due strength to protect her master and break them apart bare handed if needed? Gods damned waste, that, but he wasn't some creator of mechanical....things, so he instead turned his attention to the lifted spell, and the mimed action of a running stance by the thing that saved them. Accurate, it was time to go, even if they didn't precisely know where to go, so the one that sprung them from these cells would be the one leading the way, or they'd just be running blind. "'e's right, time t' get scarce. Find someplace t' 'unker down, we can sort t'ings out proper there."

Taking the proffered longsword from the other man’s hand, Uriel gave the weapon a few experimental swings with both hands. It was heavy compared to what it was used to, but it would do for now, at least until he could find something else. “We need to move away from this area, before more of those abominations show up; or worse.” What worse would constitute in this situation he didn’t elaborate, but he was sure everyone would be able to think of something that would light a fire under them. A shadowy figure emerged from the tower, the hulking beasts moving out of its path with a show of reverence… or fear.

Uriel jogged past the strangely attired girl until he reached the end of the corridor and peered around the corner. The hallway beyond was empty for now and he couldn’t hear anything approaching; if any more of those monstrosities were running this direction, they would likely hear the clanking of their feet long before they saw them. He turned back to the others, looking at the diminutive figure at their centre in particular. “You freed us, so I assume you know the way. Lead us.”

@Eisenhorn@Rune_Alchemist@Lumiere

People began moving and that seemed to be enough of a cue for The Stranger to proceed with the events they'd hoped the others could take care of. Being unable to really follow without dropping the spell, they did so. The serpentine spirits immediately snapped to attention, a few of them blinking out of sight while several others hovered with mouths agape, slowly nearing members of the group and shaking violently the closer they became. However, by whatever structure their snake-like spines held the head up by, it served as an anchor at the same moment, locking them to individual bricks in the arching ceiling. By their pace and this fact, running would not be such an implausible strategy by consideration.
Regardless, The Stranger seemed intent on both options as well as a curious third. Jogging after Uriel, they looked over their shoulder to gesture for the rest of the group to follow. At a point, they stopped and extended a hand in their direction, palm facing them before dropping their hand at the wrist for the fingers to face the floor. Arching their wrist as if their fingers were once more stuck, they made a trembling motion with their arm as if dragging something upwards.

The armor which had laid limply began to shudder, the spikes of fire retracting back into it and the darkness from inside of its...holes...coming alight like a furnace. Shakily, one of the arms reached into the air and planted a palm onto the ground, dragging itself toward The Stranger while other segments twisted and appeared to gain motility. It was soon walking like before and then running. However, The Stranger stomped a foot, clenching their outstretched hand to a fist before once again displaying a palm, causing the golem to screech to a halt. The Stranger snapped their fingers on their outstretched hand and pointed to the floor where the creature immediately crouched down to rest.
The Stranger clicked one of their heels and it once again stood, dominance made clear as they looked from their thrall to the group before chirping, "Guards"

The Stranger gave the creature a shove with their boot as they turned to walk down the hall to the left and it responded with a step back before following with a dull roar of air passing through the fire that now burned inside it.

Other cells in the hall the group had been picked from contained figures either standing or sitting, but lack of features due to a pervasive darkness that obfuscated distinction. None of them moved a single inch, though there was an eerie feeling of being watched.

To the right at the intersection was a hall of similar design, though its boundless length held a sense of vertigo from how it continued off to a single point on the horizon as if peering over the edge of a cliff. Small lights in the distance swayed to-and-fro, likely whatever it was that had come after the group before being...dealt with.
Conveniently to the left was maybe three more passageways to the left before reaching another T-intersection. Left lead to another row of cells while the right was another corner leading to the right as per The Stranger's earlier instruction. The way lead to what appeared to be a tall barracks, though currently abandoned and lack of the foodstuffs one might have found commonplace in the busted larder or on the curiously red-stained tables. Instead, a metallic scent of blood filled the room. Alcoves held bedding and bunk beds lined with ladders which may have reached maybe ten layers up and ten across in a semicircle from the central area which held the massive, presumably blood-stained table. An alcove across from the bunks seemed to be deeper, like a storeroom of sorts.

"The golems are ready, sir," Defender of the House Damion Dire spoke.

Magus Willow looked down at the kneeling man, her face stern and hard. "There is no need for such formalities anymore, Damion. This fight has brought us all to equals."

Damion stood. "To be honest, sir, I don't know how much longer I can do this. The other animators are doing their best, but it's taking a toll on them too."

It was true. Damion alone had animated at least a dozen golems in the past week, and the toll was showing. He looked weak, frail. Still, when one has magic, frailty of the body does not always mean weakness.

Magus Willow turned to the window, gazing outward towards the horizon, where at any moment the enemy might appear. "You may slow your pace, but we cannot stop. The golems are invaluable to the war effort." She sighed, her features losing their sharpness for a second. "This war is taking its toll on us all. On us is the burden of command. We take to the field with our mages, we risk our lives. You know what that's like." She looked back to Damion. "Where is Quinn in all of this?"

"Working under Magus Gaven, sir, in the medical wing," Damion responded. Quinn was his partner in metaphorical crime, at least since they solved the case of the Cult. Those days were so far away now, those days of dubiously legal service. Now everything was by the book, carefully recorded in the book, too. He was no longer a freelancer; he was a Defender. And he had never considered that one day he would have to defend the House on such a scale.

"I see," Magus Willow said. "Well, I'm sure he's doing well. Now, about the reemergence of the Cult."

The Cult had indeed resurfaced. The prison the surviving members had been kept in had been breached sometime near the beginning of the invasion. The members that did survive were the most powerful of the Cult; Craven, Dregg, and White. They had been troubling the Magus House by aiding the invaders, even though whether they were actually on the same side was a mystery. 

"Well, I've put them away once before, sir, I can do it again. I'll just need Quinn."

Willow stood in silence for a second. "Perhaps I can arrange you two to go out and solve them. For good, this time. We have nowhere to hold them."

That's when everything went bad.

Willow turned to look out the window again and began to speak. Before she could form a single word, a small dot, tiny but noticeable, began growing larger on the horizon. Willow closed her mouth, the words fading out of her mouth. The ball grew larger. By the time it was roughly the size of a basketball, Willow was turning to Damion. "Go! We're under attack!"

Damion turned and broke into a sprint without a word. He broke into the courtyard of the House - Why had they built it outside the city again? - and rang the alarm. Immediately the other mages began readying themselves, all of which became useless when the ball, the fireball, collided explosively with the side of the House. The part of the House which happened to contain the medical wing.

"NO!" Damion screamed. He immediately burst into a sprint for the now large hole in the House. Quinn couldn't possibly be dead. Not after all this. Not after all they had been through together.

By the time he reached there, a blue bubble had emerged from the rubble. Magus Gaven rose from the dust with a half dozen people inside his shield. As the shield collapsed, Magus Gaven fell to his knees and Damion ran up to him. A quick scan of the survivors revealed no Quinn.

"Where is Quinn?!" Damion nearly screamed at the Magus. "Why isn't he with you?"

"He was on the other side of the wing," Gaven panted. "I could only shield those near me." Gaven turned to outside the House. "This wasn't any ordinary magic. If I had to guess, this is White's doing, with the Outsider's help."

Damion wasn't listening. His mind was going completely blank. Quinn. Quinn. Quinn. Damion's eyes scanned the rubble, seeing only burnt corpses or people on their way to being burnt corpses. No Quinn in sight. "No..." Damion whispered.

But there was no time to mourn. On the horizon, a figure crested the hill. It was White, the cultist, but something about him was... different. He seemed to glow with an otherworldly energy, crackling with power and death. Even from a distance Damion heard his mad hyena cackle, tinged with a hint of madness. Even the Magi would have trouble forming such a formidable attack, and how he got past the shield dome would require even more power.

Damion couldn't grieve just yet. No, he had one thing on his mind. Kill White.

And so he marched forward, his anger so incandescent that his whole body seemed to burst into flames. As White too drew closer, Damion broke into a run, and the two mages met in the middle. And so it began.

--~--

Damion woke with a start, not even realizing he was awake until his head hit the ground hard. He let out a small sound of pain, clutching at his head. That's when the memories came back.

Magus Gaven. Dead. Magus Foyette. Dead. Magus Primwhile. Dead. Magus Venner. Dead. And Quinn. Dead.

And that was just the beginning.

At first he didn't bother getting up. Why bother? Everyone he cared about - everyone he knew, really - was dead. His world presumably under the reign of a tyrant. His home, destroyed.

Eventually, he got to his feet. Not because he got over everything; because he knew he had to win the war. That's what his mind was set on before his capture, so he reverted back to his previous mindset. Don't think about the dead. Think about the mission. Someone had set him free. Someone was first, powerful or stealthy enough to get in here, second, had chosen him to be set free, and third, was presumably not fond of the invaders. Which meant an ally.

He exited his cell and stumbled down the corridor. Quickly he ran into the other escaped prisoners.

"Hey," Damion said hoarsely. It seemed his voice hadn't quite recovered from his imprisonment. "Forgot me, huh. Mind if I tag along?"

So many blades...

So many swords...

So much blood...

Was it his...

Was it them...

Was it his patients...

It was hard to tell from the floor. Especially when the dark encircled him. He felt his press wet and cold on the ground. Cold. Pure black flesh open and in the dirt. It was cold. So cold. Where was it... where was his mask? Over there. Just out of reach. Get it back on... Its so cold...

He blinked, a long time... was it a blink or sleep?

He opened again, he had to get up, his patients needed- something felt strange. Something felt different. His face was cold, but it was on stone now, and it was dark. There wasn't pain, just soreness, like he was strung up for a long long time and finally was granted merciful freedom. The dark was a haze, but there was a light. The white beaked mask looking back at him. It was trying to will him to reach, reach and take it. Pox scampered to it like a starving man to bread. He slipped it over his head, and felt the calming effect of his breath condensing on the interior.

He was whole again. Back in his mask. It was time to work. He had to find his patient- where was he, a cell. Some forgotten cell? Did the enemy really imprison him?

He heard commotion and attempted to his feet, his frail gangling features barely giving him the strength to lift him to his legs. He saw blurs of individuals pass his cell. They spoke, getting their barings, moving on, their voices weak and concerned. Were they escaping? Pox reached for them, seconds after they passed his bars. "W-W-wait..." He pleased, leaning on his cell doors. They opened with a creak, much to his surprise. He used the bars, his legs limply providing just enough to keep him moving, adrenaline and desire for escape did the rest.

He used the walls, the bars of cells and whatever else he could to keep up, seeing them come to a T junction and then move towards a structure. The more Pox moved, the more he felt sure in his step, he was weazing in his mask, mouth so dry that his tongue felt like sand and from the outset he looked like an old man but still, he moved, coming from the back of the group, a man in red rags, and an oddly ornate bird mask.

He nearly doubled over, not caring for the blood around him as he was within a few feet of the group. "Let me come with you- please."

---

Lia for the most part, kept silent. It was difficult enough for her to be remotely...'stealthy' considering she generated some noise just by moving. Not enough to be incredibly loud, but enough to make stealth difficult. So in all, her being here during a jailbreak was not exactly optimal. She couldn't even fight right now, and she didn't want to test the limits of her abilities with her core seemingly damaged lest she cause it to overload and flatten everything within a fifteen feet radius.

The automaton couldn't decide what to make of this situation. Was she fortunate to be rescued? To be perfectly honest...she'd rather have not been. She glanced down at her hands, studying the small imperfections. Some paint chipped away here. A dent there. Lia could only frown. Wouldn't someone have been better than her? She glanced back at the stranger leading them. It was probably random. There was no reason for them to somehow choose her.

She only pulled herself out of these thoughts when the Stranger stopped, turning around and turned his palm towards the defeated monster. What happened next...'obscene' was the word she could use to describe it. She narrowed her eyes, shifting her gaze from the stranger to the others once more. Was she the only one who found this odd? What was the word for it...Necromancy? The Third often fiddled with such things in ancient history, though it was for far kinder purposes until it went mad. Lia however, still said nothing.

Coming to the intersection, Lia halted. This place was...creepy, to put lightly. Several other figures could be seen in sitting in the darkness, but she couldn't make anything out. It was then she became aware of two more people bringing up the rear. A human and...someone in something that vaguely resembled a doctors outfit? Wordlessly, Lia rushed over to the man who was obviously having trouble moving. She grabbed him, catching him by his shoulders to help him balance to make sure he didn't fall.

"Slow down, I've got you." Lia's voice was firm, but kind. "...I'm no medic but you're not doing to well." Was she being overly kind? Perhaps, but this man was the most familiar looking person in the entire group.

Before anyone else even had the chance to do anything, the fight was over. The Corpse just walked up to the monster and slammed it to the ground like it was nothing. Even after it had fallen, they just started looting the remains, not that there was much left. Right, most of these people looked like they could be soldiers, prisoners of war would at least be normal within an army, but that still didn’t account for all of them, like her, and Primalia looked to be a lady-in-waiting for some rich family.

River stared briefly at the stinking armour, wishing that she had some way to mask the smell. At the very least, they’d got moving quickly, following the Little-One’s directions. The serpentine spirits came close enough to bite, but they were stopped by way of being attached to the ceiling, and they were able the leave their block of the cells without them interfering. The Little-One followed at the rear, and River watched over her shoulder as he reanimated that mad-armour and kicked it off on its way. The blood drained from her face, and her wings and shoulders stiffened. Despite being their rescuer right now, she would have many questions for him once they were out of this prison. Although, without more words for him to mimic, it wasn’t like they’d be getting any useful answers out of him.

She followed close to the group, careful not to knock into any of them with her wings. At each cell they passed, she strained to see the captives inside; would she find the familiar sparkle of Viscaria’s eyes, or Poppy’s golden hair, or the bronzed barn-owl wings that Uncle Flint was simultaneously proud of and yet kept hidden. Yet even if any of them or anyone else she knew had been there, she wouldn’t have recognised them with the damnable shadows hiding them from her. Each figure was dull, lifeless, but she couldn’t help but keep looking.

“It’s impossible that they took just us, isn’t it?” She didn’t ask anyone in particular, still peering into cells, “How deep do these cells go? I couldn’t see much when I was captured, but if they took me then there might be other people from Ferriveil here too.” In fact, River looked over at the Little-One, why did he choose to rescue them out of everyone here?

Even still, as they arrived at some sort of barracks, there were people still catching up to them. Two more men, one in a bird’s mask, very different from the Little-One’s, who practically stumbled up to them. Thankfully, Primalia moved quick enough to catch him before he fell. River followed suit in approaching him, her questions about the amount of blood but lack of bodies within the barracks shoved aside.

“There are beds over here where you can rest a bit, until whatever spell they put on us wears off,” she said, “we can’t stay too long, but a moment to catch your breath should be okay, right?” she directed her question to the Little-One.

Finally, they were getting clear of their initial holding cells, though the fact their rescuer was capable of reanimating the abomination that they had so recently slain was disconcerting, at best. He kept an eye on the man who took the longsword though, at least he seemed better qualified to wield it than Jericho was. Now, Jericho could certainly have handled it, but he was better off with a hand free, or at least a separate weapon in each hand, instead of committing both hands to one weapon. Too easy for one arm to get crippled, and leave you less than capable in comparison to someone who needed only one hand for their weapon of choice. Then again, it had its strengths, so he left it to personal choice. They got moving though, eventually coming into a sort of bunk room of sorts, though it reeked of blood. Like a slaughterhouse, or some of the torture dens that certain groups had run back in Istvargrad. However, before he could give it more thought, two more former prisoners caught up with them, one complaining about being forgotten and the other, bird masked thing barely catching up under his own power, begging to be brought along. Tin lass jumped in to help the barely moving man, and the one bird woman suggested taking a moment to catch their breath and try to wait for whatever was suppressing their powers to wear off some. Well, if Jericho had any unnatural powers to lay claim to, maybe, but it did give them time to sniff around and figure things out.

The one winged lass wondered about them not being possibly the only ones taken, further curious if others from Ferrivell, assuming that was her home, were taken to. "Cells look deep 'nough bird lass, hold entire ways o' life down 'ere. Real question, why? E'en as trophies, lot o' work and resources in maintainin' a prison able to 'old folks like you lot..." That is what didn't add up, you kept prisoners for a variety of reasons. Leverage, mainly, though also information, intimidation, even trophies like he mentioned. But this Kazzok and his legions, at least in as much as Jericho had faced them, had never seemed terribly interested in claiming anything. Well, maybe they were, and the fact he and his own had torched anything they couldn't carry made this Kazzok want to inflict some sort of punishment? Hard to say, too little information, too many questions. Turning his attention back to the current surroundings, and the fact it seemed they would be pausing here for now, he found himself giving out, technically speaking, suggestions for what to do while they were here.

"W'oever's useful in stitchin' up a fella, might wan' t' give th' fellow a look over, see if 'e can get moving soon. We'll want someone on t'e watch, keepin' a' eye fer more trouble, aye?" Jericho was not fond of the idea of stopping for too long, he suspected that this whole place was cursed and it wasn't just them individually being affected, that was far too inefficient for a jail that could suppress unnatural beings powers. Looking at the deeper recess, which gave him the idea it could be some sort of storeroom, he glanced at those present, before turning his gaze back to the potential storeroom. "A few o' us should check tha' room, see if we can arm more o' of us, 'opefully. W'o's wit' me?"

Now THAT was satisfying!

Her attack went swimmingly. Having raised the multi-armed beast above her and smashed it into the floor she stood over the putrid pile, unaware of it's smell for the most part given that her sense of both taste and smell were quite thoroughly dead.

Reaching down she grabbed the mace it had pulled from it's back, prying the weapon from it's cold dead hand. The mace now in hand she held her new tool of destruction high up above, her other hand braced on her hip in a fist as she stood heroically.

"That's one guaarrd thing diissaarrmmed!" She quipped, giving the mace a couple good swings to test it's balance. It was clearly made for something larger than a human like this creature that laid dead before them. For her however it was a rather light armament compared to her usual fare. It made for a fine one-handed weapon but she'd want for a larger weapon should they be looking at a larger scale scuffle than this.

_
When she looked from her weapon she saw everyone was running down the hall while she was caught up with her new weapon.

"Heeyy, Wait up guuyyss!" She began running after them. She hadn't really paid much mind to what was happening with the suspended specters which were now loosed but she just didn't want to be left alone in such a vast place like this. It had been a while since the last time she had conversed with anyone who wasn't just yelling feverish prayers from an order she no longer recognized while attacking her. She wasn't going to let people who didn't immediately charge at her with broadswords scurry off that easy.

Catching up was quite easy for her. Given how the little masked fellow's legs were shorter she soon found she needed to slow down to a jog just so she didn't rush ahead of him and make a wrong turn. Given the tireless state of her body whatever pace she set herself was the pace she was running with at all times, something more than what could be said about these other stragglers that were trying to keep up with them.

_
They seemed to stop at what looked quite close to a barracks, something she was quite familiar with. It seemed some bloody business took place since the table was rife with the stuff. Several of the people were discussing things but her eyes were immediately drawn to what looked to be a store room. The one fellow with the odd accent was asking if any of them wanted to go check it out.

"Oh, I'll go! I'll go!" She quickly chimed, waving her free hand as she eagerly volunteered for the task. Without waiting for any sort of permission to go ahead she just marched right up to the door and threw it open with gusto.

"Rreeaadyy or not, Heerre wee coomme!" She announced to whatever laid on the other side in case there were folks waiting for them to come through the door.

Subtlety was not her strong suit.

Finally the group moved on. Nale gave one final look at the construct before joining the others. The hero moved from one hiding spot to the next, staying in a corner before rushing forward, beware of every step he made. This was not the first prison he had been in, but this dungeon was somehow... wrong. And he didn't mean in the way of its guards. The construct was strangely made. Usually alchemists preferred to keep some kind of human or similar natural form in their creations, but that armor was more like a mockery. Perhaps there was some kind of fear factor involved.

Nale stopped hiding when the group reached some other cells. The prisoners, unmoving in their shadows, unnerved him.

"Are these prisoners like this in their natural state?" He thought aloud. He had seen many strange species throughout his hero career, and this group wasn't exactly average, so they could be another race he hadn't seen before.

"Or are they what we would have become, had we stayed here?" This dungeon was obviously wrong, all these... monsters inside. And the prisoners seemed, well, empty. Perhaps the dark magic, which the Strange kept at bay, would turn those inside into these shadows.

Nale wanted to touch one of the prisoners, but managed to resist himself. It was best not to risk anything right now.

It was then that his attention was turned to two new arrivals. The men had apparently followed them from the cells.

"Hello" Nale greeted, "And I suppose you can join us, if that is okay with everyone else. It is a better fate than turning into one of these shadow prisoners, assuming of course they are what we could have become had the Stranger..." He pointed at the masked little one, "not released us. But we need to hurry. I don't know if you saw it, but there was a construct of some kind, made of armor and flesh, that might still be moving. And it is not alone."

The Stranger turned to the sound of more voices emerging from their cells. The reanimated creature of armor paced by them before snapping in the direction they were looking, hissing a soft, "Whhoo?" with an ambient rumble of bellows against coals. The tone of the beast was unable to be distinguished as far as motives were concerned, though it was considerably calmer than it was in its previous form. The Stranger lowered a hand to in front of them; a closed fist before extending a thumb and an index finger as if counting. After a brief pause, the fiery construct tilted to a side before rumbling, "Ooh...mooore!" The Stranger nodded to the creature, clapping lightly and gesturing eagerly with both hands for Damien and Pox to follow them.

It was the creature that seemed to perceive River's question about the cells. "Thhheey whhoo hooolldsss...ahh...tooowwer...taaall...and...deeeeeeep" it rumbled as if to impress upon her the indescribable dimensions with low fluttering tones, The Stranger having folded their arms and started off around the corner at the mention of this 'They Who Holds'. The creature seemed to take notice of this and 'looked' between River and then the others before sauntering off to keep pace with The Stranger Who gestured to them with a twirl of a finger and then a gesture of 'four'. In response, as it walked, its back end tilted up to Nale before saying, "Aaalll...hooolllow poteehhnnntiaall. Vooiids...tooo be fiiillled" This response did not seem to please The Stranger who made a sound akin to sighing. The closest thing to a voice from them so far, the sigh was less annoyed and more...sad. Like a disappointment in the explanation being a far cry from what sentiment they hoped to convey. They knew these people deserved answers for what they've been through to reach this point, but their own words and bare metaphors offered by a guard was hardly appropriate.

They would apologize, if they could.

Reaching the barracks The Stranger took the first two steps down to the lower region where the table sat below the beds, for obvious reasons as the stains painted the steps and floor before draining in through grates at either end. Though it all seemed dry...if not crusted...The Stranger recoiled, stumbling back at the sight and tripping on the top step before collapsing on the ground and scrambling to the wall on the other side of the hall. "A moment to catch your breath should be okay" The stranger seemed to agree in spite of their episode. They tapped their fingers on the ground and appeared to take a deep breath before standing and shuddering but remaining where they were, leaning against the wall and holding their mask with hands over their eyes.
The creature, meanwhile, strode over past Nale explaining the bit about a construct, pausing to lift a hand in greeting before continuing to pace the room around the room as if on patrol.
_____________________________________________________________

The door to the storeroom swung open, clattering off of the stone on the other side of its hinges. From deep in the recesses of the storeroom, a few voices chattered before one spoke up. "Fek y'oll want? Late?" the voice came with an dry croak. From an alcove waddled a newt-looking figure clad in leathers. Four eyes, two on each side of a broad head sporting a vertically-split mouth that puffed on a strangely familiar looking pipe for Jericho. This one, however, looked fresh, like a recreation newly made to exact dimensions. Comically, they bore an eyepatch covering one of the eyes on their left side. "Blegh! Close th'door, fek! Let'n fek'oll tha smell a fek'n about meh fek!" The old toad rambled, waving a hand before a third and fourth hand reached from around their back to unscrew a small ornate wooden box. Swiftly, the series of fingers tapped and packed the pipe before holding a flint and tinder to a wooden cup of wooden fibers. With a well-practice strike, it only took a second before they dumped a curled ember into the pipe. "Well? Need som'fin made or y'checkin out mi'tits?" The newt barked, a few heads poked out from around where they'd come. Similar faces with different patterns on their flesh, about four that hung back.

"Boss, eeh..." One chimed in, pointing to Jericho before Two added, "We...k-keep eit down?" Three glared at Jericho and his corpse-y entourage, "Neva seen 'em before..." They narrowed their eyes before withdrawing.

Neatly stacked boxes lined the shelves running across the walls. Shortly after Three disappeared, the sound of grinding could be heard from a ways back.
The main hall extended for nearly two-thirds of the storeroom's space, likely considering a mirrored setup from the neighboring barracks setup. It ended in a cross shape before extending into a second cross shape and ending. From the noise of the assumed foreman shouting, other small faces emerged from crates and farther down the hall around corners.

Upon entering the storeroom, or what had appeared to be a store room, he was quickly confronted with some short, newt looking abomination clad in leather, but he kept his face even upon sighting an all too familiar sight. His pipe, no, not his pipe, but a replica of it. Someone had either shown it to this thing, or it had seen his pipe closely enough to make a near flawless replica of it. Given how new it looked, either it had not been too long since it had been replicated, or it did not see that much wear and tear in the hands of this newt thing. Smirking faintly at the accented barks, using the back of his heel to push the door shut, better to stay on this things good side until he could get his hands back on that pipe. Besides, if things went south, that was what the drowned lass was for. Between her brute force and the two handed mace, he would barely be needed at all. Convenient she decided to come along then, and all the more reason he had made sure to bring an extra pair of hands just in case, no telling what these things could be capable of if they got violent.

"I'll save th' checkin' out of yer tits for another time, mate. Clever replica o' a pipe ye got t'ere, w'at happened t' the original? Just mig't be interested in gettin' my 'ands on it, aye?" While waiting for an answer, he could see others poking there heads out, muttering and otherwise watching the sudden shouting and the two newcomers to their area. This could get nasty if the foreman wanted it to be loud and nasty, but as far as Jericho was concerned, he was sure they could to some sort of arrangement. Business was business, wherever you went, and from the looks of things, this was just another one of those businesses. Sure, the face was different, but he could work with this. Wasn't foreign to seedy dives and sketchy dealers in artifice of unknown quality. For now, he would keep a sharp eye on his surroundings, and if things went south, hell, he could always take cover behind the drowned lass as she went rampaging. Or she was going to go rampaging anyways, and he would have to extract the answers out of any survivors he could get his hands on. Preferably that wouldn't be the case, at least not as a first resort.

"Ooo..." Gangraena gazed up at all the boxes around them. "Thaat's a lot of booxes."

The two of them seemed to be confronted with a sort of lizard person with a sideways mouth and four eyes. She found it rather neat, not anything she saw back home... At least nothing above the shoreline.

She wondered if she should fight the creature. On one hand it could be a decent time to try out her new mace in the heat of combat. On the other hand this thing wanted to talk. It was starting to get a little confusing at this point for her.

The last clear foe she had for fighting was that multi-armed suit monster and that was only because it had weapons, she didn't and it was leaping at the little fellow who she presumed let her out. Compared to that this lizard man looked very well like he'd belong standing amongst the crowd the little masked fellow seemed to have gathered. Looking over to the accented guy for guidance she saw him start discussing his pipe with it. That meant she should... Talk with it? Yeah, she'd err on that particular side of this equation of hers.

"Heelloo Theere!" She gave a big wave with her free hand. Her hand whizzed uncomfortably close by the accented guy's face since he was standing to her right at the time. After waving she let her arm return to her side as she stepped forward a couple feet.

"Soomebody toook our stuufff. Do yoouu know where they left my geeaar? I haad an aanchoor aabout er..." She raised her hand, holding it flat as to indicate it's height. She brought the hand roughly a foot over her head.

"Aabouut this hiigh. Weeiighs just a little leess than I doo. I aalso had aarmoor. It haad a lot of plates on it, soome of theem nailed onn. It haad a lot of dents tooo."

It wasn't the best description ever given but she doubted they had a lot of spare anchors laying around. It shouldn't be so hard to find her stuff, should it?

Pox took the kindness, feeling a pair of hands, cold through his robes. He must have looked an old man, lanky in his robes, raspy in his voice. He was supposed to personify the element of life and vibrancy, but considered he was sure he had died not minutes ago, he figured he was doing pretty well despite an impossibility. "Thank you." He said, his voice getting more strength as a front. He needed to not appear weak, not if he was going to keep up and dissway his rescuers.

But there was more generosity. One claiming bed rest, and indeed, this is where his beak lifted to see the carnage that had occurred. A bloodbath in a barracks. What in the name of Yu Shan? Others were showing impatience and uncertainty and Pox agreed with that settiment. If this was a prison break, there was no time for rest. He turned a peak towards the woman... immediately seeing how she held an uncanniness that mimic'd a true form and face. An automata? The realm had examples from the First Age but one as he lived and breathed?
What was going on? Pox would have to focus, there were so many questions but that could come later. "Ironic then, I happen to be a medic." He pushed off the girl gently so he could give his legs another chance. "I'll... be alright. I'll keep up. Just need will some life back into my limbs." He stood tall. "Hierphox of House Apothecary. Pox for short. My charms and skills are at your service. By the Maker, you will leave here alive and without a scratch." He made a gesture across his chest, one with a finger, one with a thumb, crossing his heart. An odd gesture of his homeland when making an oath.

He then addressed the man, he bowed his head to him. "Greetings." The man explained the situation. "Forgive me. You were my salvation, so you were my focus but..." Pox went to the splashes of red, eyeing the creature in the mask, unknowing that he was their savior. He nodded to him as well as he went to beds, he put his gloved hands on the bed and tried to determine how the occupants were killed. If they died in bed, and the beds were untouched, it meant the creature maybe this construct of armor and flesh had capabilities of stealth, but it might not be the only danger. Pox noticed the other creature in the room, another guardian... a golem, a creature of controlled magic.

"What happened here was atleast a day or so ago. The blood is dried and crusted. There is hope that whatever had was long gone. Though considering the company, maybe this dungeon is forgotten. I've heard of such haunted decrepit places." Believing himself still in creation. "There are so many questions." He said remembering what one of the warriors had said. The commotion in the store room broke his train of thought. "At any rate, if this is indeed the barracks for the guards, we should be closer to the exit. The guards would need a way from their homes to this accursed place."

---

As the man replied, her face lightened in hope. A doctor? So she was right! She let him go, but kept a close eye in case he needed more help. If he was, then perhaps - but his next words diminished her hopes in moments. Hierphox of House Apothecary? Foreign. Completely foreign. Perhaps a place across the vast Sea of Whispers, but she was almost certain such a thing or place didn't exist within Ivorthain or its surrounding lands.

"Well," Lia folded her hands in front of her with a small bow of her own. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir Pox." A doctor would be good, even if it was one unfamiliar to her. She could perhaps provide basic first aid - she wrapped a bandage or two in her time as Baylock's servant, but she wasn't going to be doing any major medical work.

As the doctor went on to make a few assessments, Lia remained silent, nothing to add to the situation. Still, she couldn't help but to be curious about the doctor.

"...Sir Pox, if you don't mind me asking." She began quietly, walking over to him. "'House Apothecary'...where would that be from?"

While Pox queried about some information, his rescuer, the woman he felt little life from approached. Her words while simple were invigorating. Indeed, he seemed to get more and more life from the exchanges between his current comrades and the focus on answers were more pressing than the soreness and problems of his body.

She got his attention again, and then he gave her more of a study, his odd mask revealing not much of his own expression, but his posture and movements seemed to pick up the slack. He seemed quite overly animated, like a scarecrow come alive. He put his hands together at his chest before standing straight with them behind his back. "Please kind madame. I consider you comrades at arms. Pox is fine among my peers." He spoke like a lord, but dripping with an a genuine obsequiousness for the concern of those around him. He recognized her behavior as something the house servants had done. Heck she even seemed to have the same attire.

"I'm an open book." She asked her question, getting him a little notch of his head like that of a dog. She was indeed so different, and she could see that he was trembling for the discovery he had made. He almost didn't register her question, instead, his eyes going to her unique features, his mind racing on how they function. He made sure not to stare too long. "Oh forgive me. House Apothecary isn't known too well outside of the Realm and Blessed Isle. We aren't one of the Thirteen Great Houses. We are a Minor House, but we get by."

He stepped forward, hands clasped together. "M-Might I ask the same my Lady? I could not detect the semblance of life as I am familiar. Please forgive me for being so bold, but- are you? Are you an Automaton?" He suddenly spoke then very fast, and rather nervously. But as it went it became more impassioned. "I mean please do not take the question the wrong way, I've only seen the remnants of relics and artifacts of the fabricated life forms from First Age Ruins. Only the Golden Lords could create such technological achievements at the Height of the First Age. And to see one, a functioning one in such a pristine state. You must be a marvel without compare! That's not to say you aren't if you aren't an automaton, I'm just trying to say I've never seen anyone like you before! And that to me is quite wonderful!" He seemed positively giddy at the prospect. Indeed, despite looks, the doctor itself seemed to be of a curious even childlike mind.

He took a step back and stood up straight. "Apologies, I get a little excited sometimes."

The longer Uriel was awake, the more things he saw and heard and the longer he had to think, the more he began to think that his situation was a lot direr than he had first realised. The last thing he remembered was standing outside the tower, as the black cloaked figure stepped out and approached them; after that he was awake in that cell, not even a feeling or darkness or a sense of time passing. It was like he’d blinked and suddenly he was somewhere else.

He had been taken captive, that much was obvious, but the question was where he was being held. The king’s dungeons under the castle should be as much rubble as the rest of the stronghold and he was fairly certain no prison in Averne had magic staves protecting their cells; unless the Church was secretly employing a Witch to secure their prisoners which was just hypocritical enough for him to consider it a possibility.

So maybe he was being held in the tower itself, that edifice of black rock that fell from the skies like judgement itself. It would explain the strange magic and the abomination that was now shambling around the room, but that didn’t explain his fellow prisoners. He turned around the room and examined them one by one; the man who had left to check the storeroom seemed normal enough as did the other men, even the newcomer in the bird mask. But the others…

Folks with bird wings didn’t exist where he came from, not even in stories; he’d been to the far reaches of the kingdom and even the most superstitious, those who spoke of monsters and impossible things in the woods and the swamps never said anything about people with wings. The metal girl was like a doll come to life, something that shouldn’t be possible without a Witches influence but he’d never seen one so intelligent or convincingly alive before. Then of course there was the walking corpse.

The metal girl and the masked doctor were talking by the beds and Uriel listened in to their conversation curiously while trying not to look like he was paying attention. Every other word the doctor said was another thing Uriel had never heard of. The Realm and the Blessed Isle? The Thirteen Great Houses? The Maker? The First Age and the Golden Lords? Granted the kingdom of Averne didn’t cover the entire world and it was possible these things existed and he just didn’t know about them, but that still raised some very worrying questions about just what had happened to him after that tower fell.

With a sigh Uriel walked over to one of the tables and threw his sword down on its surface with a clatter. “While we’re waiting for those two to get back is anyone else starting to wonder just where exactly we are? I don’t mean what this place is, but I’d like to know that as well. I mean the fact that I’ve travelled the width and breadth of my kingdom and I’ve never heard tell of people with wings, or automatons, or walking corpses. I’ve never heard of the Maker, the Second, the Body of Kazzok, or anything else you people have mentioned.” Turning to face the others as he spoke Uriel pointed at Pox, Lia and Nale in turn as he listed the things they had said. “I’ve never seen magic like those locks on our cells and I’d never seen an abomination like that thing until I saw a tower fall from the sky and everyone started dying.” Uriel paused here, seeming to lose some steam as he reached the end of what he had to say. After a moment of silence he turned to face the stranger, taking a couple of steps in his direction. “So, since you seem to know enough about this place to break us out of it; where the fuck are we?”

"I fek'd a care 'an snapped it over m'fekin knee!" The newt spat, its two lower arms resting their hands on its hips. "Yeh! Yeet it in the fekin sewer wi'ol the fek n'blegh bleh bleh..." They started before trailing off and snapping their fingers a few times. With that, One and Two withdrew and the sound of crates being opened and rummaging started up in their direction. "Y'luckeh fek. Yer girlfriend's made er mind up 'fore the feks got packed up n'fek'd off fer oll th'good ya lot are!" They continued before shouting up at the other newts on the shelves who grumbled to themselves, earning a dismissive wave from the foreman who turned their attention back to Jericho and Gangraena. Taking a long drag, they narrowed their eyes as they looked between them and listening to the request for the anchor. "Tha fek's an anchor?" they asked before shaking their head, "Na. Look, yeh know if the fek-head is done wi'is fek? Tha fek wi'this war n'oll tha crap 'is boys drag back" they grumbled before leaning back with a stretch, popping their spine with a groan before looking over their shoulder and tapping a foot, impatiently. "Th ol king, rest 'em n'bless 'em, e'd 'ave none of it...probably why- Ey! Any o'ye feks 'eard of a anchor!?" they barked after musing to themselves, the onlookers muttering between themselves before shrugging. "Iz eit like a big hook?" a worker called back and the foreman turned back to Gangraena with a shrug with their free hand and an emphasized expression of cluelessness with raised brow ridges, hoping she had an answer.

A worker briskly approached the foreman from behind, placing a wooden box in his shrugging hand. "Oh. Well fek me..." he lightly chuckled, chomping on the pipe to use the hand and take the top off to reveal Jericho's pipe set into a red fabric. "Shwat y'lookin foh?" he asked, pipe hanging from its sideways mouth.
_________________________________________________________________

The Stranger had sunk against the wall while the group rested and rummaged, getting acquainted. Quietly, they watched while sitting on the floor, arms around their knees and appearing to be paying attention to the conversations taking place. The clattering of Uriel's sword made them jump a bit and they stood, taking a step closer, curious what the commotion was before Uriel's rant. Their approach made them nervously retract that step, uncertain how to give them an answer they'd be satisfied with. "Apologies... I- need words. I am unsure how useful I- can- be- right- now" they replied with a myriad of voices, their arms defensively curling up to their chest.

Jericho cocked an eyebrow at the remark of cracking it over a knee and tossing it into the sewer, though he kept his temper since that, despite wanting to jump to conclusions, was unlikely. He also made damn sure that he didn't make a remark on the girlfriend bit, as he did not even want to begin to imagine the logistics behind how that would even work. Given she was a good several inches taller, and had nearly slapped his face clean off already, that would be a very strange relationship indeed. Of course, the lack of a pulse might complicate things, but devil was always in the details. When she asked over her own equipment, an anchor and armor, he couldn't help but glance over at her, cocking an eyebrow. A sodding anchor? Thing used to hold ships in place? Given the manner she had fought so far, well, he couldn't say it was a complete surprise, but he still was not expecting her to just pick up a sodding anchor when she had a perfectly serviceable mace. "A soddin' anchor, lass? T' each t'eir own, a' s'pose. Also watc' t'em 'ands, savvy? Near took my nose clean off." Though the questioning of whether the war was done or not, what with all the bastard was dragging back, probably alluded to Kazzok, though he didn't speak the name out loud. "Can't say, mate, far as a' know,'e's still at it all t'e same. Mentioned somet'in' 'bout an ol' king, bless 'is soul?" Might as well gather information while he was here, not like he was going to likely get answers from much else right now. Their rescuer could barely speak, having to use stolen words to try to communicate, so that left a lot to be desired in terms of information.

A crooked grin appeared on Jericho's face when his old pipe was revealed to him, settled in a nice wooden box in red velvet. Someone thought it was bloody important, and given the faded niceties and engravings, one might even think it was an old item of some import. Shame it was just a lucky hand me down, but he had been rather ticked his pipe was missing up until now. Who steals a mans pipe? "Aye, t'at would be it. Good t'ing we stopped on by 'fore it got packed away, e'?" That latter bit was a general remark, though one could understandably see it directed at whoever wanted to take it as such.