---

Lia studied the man curiously as he went on to speak. Comrades? Them? Were they? That felt...wrong, to say right now, at least. He was quite the optimistic one, but perhaps that was what she needed. Baylock always told her to be more optimistic about things, but where was the point in that? Especially now, after he was...gone? Even so, the mans behavior and enthusiasm was, in part, seemingly mildly infectious.

"...I'll try to remember that," For the briefest of instants, a small smile seemed to appear on the lips of her face. The dozens of intricate pieces of metal that made her face plate making a facsimile of a smile. "Sir Pox." But it was gone in an instant as he went on to explain more of his House and origins. Blessed Isle? Thirteen Houses? Foreign, completely foreign. She had hoped that he was simply from across the seas, but no. Not even they had things named as such. Not that it mattered for now.

"Eh?" Lia recoiled slightly as he stepped forward, hands clasped together. His passionate, quick speaking was not unfamiliar to her, and if it was possible for a robot to blush at being called a 'marvel without compare', she'd be doing it. She might have been a custom model, but there were far prettier, or more functional out there than she was. She was just a servant, nothing less...nothing more.

"Aha...w-well," Lia's gaze turned away from Pox, a metal hand coyly running behind where her ears would have been had she been human. "That is quite alright. Master Baylock often told me I should be more curious myself." The automaton's expression returned to a neutral state as she continued in a mildly robotic and practiced tone. "I am indeed, an Automaton. Servitor Custom Model CH-71A. Designation Primalia. Repaired and returned to service by Master Baylock and his associates." A formal introduction. "I am unfamiliar with the terms you use. The Golden Lords...First age. Automaton were as numerous as humans were I am from." She paused, thinking for just a moment. "We are even worshiped as gods, as the Old Machines in certain parts of the world." Averting her gaze once more, she continued. "...but I am happy that you find me interesting."

Before any more jovial conversation could be had, however, they were interrupted by one of the other humans. A clattering of his sword on the table indicated mild annoyance? Impatience, perhaps. Uriel, did he say his name was? Certainly had a point.

"Uriel, was it?" Lia replied. "Shouting at our rescuer will get no results. Something seems to have happened to his words to prevent him from speaking. I'd say he'd have artificial vocal cords that were damaged...but after being introduced to magic here...perhaps a curse." A logical conclusion. "I also would like to know where we are though. This certainly isn't Ivorthain - magic like these creatures do not exist. Those bird...people do not exist, either. Only Humans and automatons such as myself."

River had sat herself down on one of the beds. She’d said it for Pox’s sake, but she still couldn’t seem to shake the heaviness within her mind. Almost unconsciously, she unfolded a wing and started preening, smoothing the coverts and trying to get some of the dirt out of her feathers. Two of their group had gone to investigate the other room. Hopefully they would find some useful supplies for when they made it out of here. She was only half listening to Primalia and Pox’s conversation.

The clattering of a sword made River look up from her work. Uriel had thrown his scavenged weapon on the table. Nothing he was saying was really wrong; it was abundantly clear by this point that they were from vastly different places. Shouting at each other would only make their situation worse, and Primalia had already told him off, but she still rose up from her seat, and put herself in between Uriel and the Little-One.

“Honestly,” she said, “He’s already explained that his speech has been hampered,” although he could be lying, but that was probably something that none of them wanted to even consider right now, “and I’m sure we all have the same questions.” These strange curses, the Corpse, River hadn’t even noticed until now that Primalia wasn’t a Human. “It’s frustrating being in the dark like this, but short of getting him some paper and ink, there’s only so much he can tell us right now.”

She listened on but she could hardly make out what the weird lizard man was saying. She just stood, smiling with a blank stare from the eyeless darkness in her sockets.

"Ooopss, Soorry." She apologized for nearly taking the accented fellow's nose of as he put it. Her attention was grabbed back by the lizard man when a worker yelled back regarding her anchor.

"Uuhh, Yeeaahh! It's liike a hoook but the ennds are cuurvved like thiiss." She slowly gestured with both her hands making a motion indicative of an upward facing crest shape.

"Iit's got a lotta ruusst onn it laasst I checked. It's maade to haanng off a booaat, keeeps themm from flooaatinng aawaayy." She leaned forward and sideways somewhat to try and get a better look at the workers in the back to see if she could see her anchor somewhere back there. It'd suck if they lost it, the thing was older than she was and had remained a constant feature of all her adventures since the day she drowned.

Being undead immunized her to a lot of things but homesickness wasn't one of them. Little things like her old anchor helped keep her, well, anchored.

The foreman seemed genuinely about to turn away upon the conclusion of their business with Jericho, once they'd taken the box. However, the question caught their attention in probably an unexpected manner as they abruptly stopped and looked over their shoulder at them in near confusion.
While the foreman stared, four newts emerged from the boxes to take notes on what Gangraena described, nodding to eachother and showing notes before one slapped their forehead and pulled the others close before drawing something. All of them gave a collective "Oooohhhh" besides the one who'd drawn the example, instead crossing all four of their arms and nodding broadly in admired triumph. They all scurried off in the same direction, slamming of metals and grinding noises rising from what was very quickly becoming their apparent workshop of sorts.

"Fek...it...oll..." The foreman started in disbelief before his hands raised from his hips and clapped before giving Jericho 'fingerguns'. "Neh-neh-neh-neh, fek y'll if y'wan mi ta'b-liev!" they chirped, their head lowering to look at Jericho from under their brow, their eyes visibly looking them over before they shook their head. "I thot ya-e'll a fek toll! Fek! Na way th'fek a fek fekin' about!" They coo'd and barked before turning back, "Aye, who free'd ya? I need a hand ta shake!"
Their demeanor shifting, wholly aware of the details without anything being said, the newt jived a bit before tossing a bit of their fuel into their pipe mid-drag and snapped back to Jericho with a point. "Thay told ye fek-about...OLL tha fek, ah? Ya need ta know!" they chirped, looking to them, expectantly. A glint behind their eyes immediately replaced their jaded stance not even a minute prior.

"And...With- yeah! That! Curves and...th-" A newt barked in the backround, slams of metal on metal and sparks flying across the floor accented the foreman's abrupt interest as work was no doubt being conducted in the back with disgusting efficiency. One of the salamanders was already lugging something across the floor, giving it a turn and pushing it back while clad in long, thick-looking gloves appropriate to the red-hot metal they handled.
The foreman spoke and a few blurs skirted dull red lights around until a loud HISS cut through the tension. Six salamanders carried out something in the shape of an anchor. One on each end of the arch at its base, one at each end of the cross, one at the 'bottom' to aid and one quickly giving the end after the 'top' ring a proper wrap as well as an equal bit after the cross to give it a more comfortable grip if the wielder wanted to choke-up on the...
Well, it was in the shape of an anchor, though after the grip and the handles it was tailored about as sharp as a splitting maul.

"Miss! Miss!" the salamander in the back chirped with determination, their scales bristling as they gave the blade which, in its pristine namesake that was justified only by the de-burring that they gave the freshly-crafted mooring nightmare. Their voice was guttural and wrought with determination as they so eagerly smoothed the contours of Gangraena's answer. The guttural tone was merely a layer of excitement and anticipation, dropping their end to run around to the front in order to personally hold up the handle for her to take. "Please...Slay many traitors with it!" they implored, dancing with enthuse. Even the other creatures who held the rest of the armament off of the floor watched, eager for the corpse-lady's approval for providing something that they thought was an 'anchor'.
It was! If...there ever was such a massive axe to be tailored in the shape of an anchor. It was not exactly the anchor she may have been looking for, but why would such heavy, rusty junk make its way into the storeroom to begin with? The workers overheard, and at the mention of rust, the crew replied. Before she could even take it, the two lizards at the bottom set the end down and began etching foreign writing along the end.

Pox nearly cut her off. He had his fists infront of him like he was about to cheer. "It's such a pleasure to meet you Primalia." She was adorable! Just like he thought such arcane technology would be able to mimic life so splendidly. Pox found it more than acceptable to treat her like a real person. She was. In his understanding of magical laws, the patterns of essence had developed their own personality and the body itself was just a machine. In her case it was more literal but Pox hardly noticed the difference. His only fear was whether she could be subject to his healing magic. He might need to learn some mechanics and clockwork artisanry to be able to maintain his oath.

He seemed to relax when she explained himself. He crossed his arms, resting one elbow in the opposite hand as he held it close to his face, stroking the length of his beak. Her words were unsettling. Surely even the farthest flung barbarians knew of the realm, and such a clockwork efficient society would have been reported. Indeed, it would have launched a thousand ships to make sure such a rich land would be interred into the Realm as part of their influence. He nodded. "Curious. I must say I am unfamiliar with your culture as well... in fact-"

Another outburst from another man demanding confusion and answers almost confirmed him. And while he spoke, Pox looked to the man in the mask who had trouble speaking, how another girl seemed to have no eyes, and when Pox realized it, he approached River past Primalia and couldn't believe what he was seeing. There was oddities, impossibilities, things that should be long dead, and Pox could detect that all of them seemed to be confused, all starving for answers.

"Comrades." Pox stated, directing his question to the room, looking to each, addressing them as he spoke. "I have a hypothesis. A simple guess." He tapped his beak. "Before arriving here, my last memory was a great battle, a battle in which I was a part, and should have died. I remember the pain of a dozen cuts before falling. Yet I feel not those sores now. We were in battle with an army that seemed to come from no where. Our savants could not determine where this force had come from, theorizing that they came from the chaos of the Wyld beyond Creation itself." He then remembered that proper nouns would only work in confusing those more.

"In any case, now we are here, and each of us seem to not know why, and speak of things we do not know. Something that would be common knowledge." He approached river, hands together. "For example, the People of the Air. Winged people. In Creation they were all considered extinct after the Usurption of the Gods and Creators. Yet here is one. A living relic." He visibly shoke with excitement, everyone could tell he was probably grinning ear to ear under the mask. "Primalia claims no such things exist. As do you." He points to Uriel.

"If I can make an assumption that there was also a force that may have attacked your homes, maybe this force can terrifyingly, and I know it sounds far-fetched. But maybe this force can cross worlds? Maybe. It would explain why each of us seem to have different facts. We were all taken here, and that might mean a completely foreign world awaits us above. But- but do not despair. If such an ability is had by the enemy, it is not impossible for us to find our way to our respective homes. Not exactly an answer, but it does explain things. And as big as that is, I encourage that we focus on the here and now, and prepare for impossible things. For instance, we can understand eachother. That is either a massive MASSIVE coincidence that our languages are all the same, or there is something that this world has that connects us at least in that way."

He looks towards the Stranger, who also seemed an oddity but could make no other conclusion. Still he spoke. "Regardless of the circumstance, we are all on the same side. So atleast we're not alone in this trying time." He approached the creature that had an issue speak. "You cannot speak? If it's an injury, I can try to alleviate it. Other than that... can you write? Any chunk of wood and a fire can make a sick of charcoal."

Nale wasn't really sure what to do with the creature, so he just greeted it as it passed by. Sighing in relief he followed the rest.

He listened for a while for Uriel's rant, before he went into thought as well. "Now that you mention it" He finally said, "What I've looked at everyone, things don't seem to be consistent with what I've grown used to. I mean, I have seen constructs, undead and the like, but there are small details that are wrong. That plus none of you seem to know the lands of each other, and yet most of us possess the same skin tone. I know there's at least one unknown continent, but you folks look like your came from the central lands like me. And this world is too... normal to be an Otherworld. Granted, this place looks a little like the Hellrealm, but if it was, where are the demons?"

He then listened to Primalia. "I have seen winged folk a few times, but these were vampires who pretended being fae. Of course, real fae look like whatever stories are told of them. Some angels have wings too, but they seem too mortal to be angels. Some beastfolk can resemble birds, but they can change between human form and winged form. River's form, on the other hand, appears to be permanent." Nale looked at River "That is you natural form, isn't it?"

It was then that it hit Nale. Uriel said that he hadn't seen magic like the locks. He needed to check. "How does the magic you know of work?" He asked, pointing at Uriel "What I know of it, there is no strength without weakness. Whatever abilities you gain makes you vulnerable to something, one way or another. Does the magic you know work like that? Do you need to bond with the world or outside forces to use magic on a high level? Can that magic turn against you? Damage your senses, turn you mad, even kill you if you cast something too powerful or disruptive. Does it get weaker on lands where that magic isn't commonly practiced?"

Nale then pointed at Primalia, "When you were built, did your creator warn you to avoid certain things, fire or water or anything? Do you get rebellious, violent, or even just angry when people treat you like an object? Does you body require constant maintenance?"

Nale took a few deep breaths, "Sorry about that," He apologized, "It's just that... I think I might have an idea what's going on, and I needed to know."

The Stranger hesitantly paced, having not expected River to step between themselves and a Uriel who required words.
"Sir Pox-" They began, taking a small step to a side and looking in their direction as they began to speak. While the small figure was seemingly about to attempt to formulate a question, they spoke about having a hypothesis. These very words silenced The Stranger who very intently watched the person, shamefully retreating behind River. However, they took a few steps away on the mention of their pain involved in being cut down, placing a hand briefly on River's shoulder as they passed, the face of their mask having never lost focus from the holes of Pox's.

"If I can make an assumption" The Stranger mimicked, stepping closer before stumbling a small step to the side to pause before gingerly descending a single step towards the table. "-this force can cross worlds- but do not despair- it's frustrating being in the dark like this" they spoke with Pox's recently provided words and a repurpose of River's defense as they lifted out a foot before losing the conviction behind planting it on the same level as the mess.
"Uriel- we should be closer to the exit- That is- a massive- coincidence that- this world- connects at least in that way" they managed to speak mostly in more of the doctor's recent vocalizations, finding the will to instead quickly skirt the mess in the direction of the bunks that Pox was. At the personal risk of others' ire, they approached the man and quickly dropped to a knee, holding both hands over where most would anatomically suspect their heart would be before they stood once more. Hesitating awkwardly with arms reached out towards them, they instead withdrew the gesture and curled their hands back to their chest, offering them another nod before turning back towards the table in the center of the room.

"I- can- write" they mused before taking a deep breath and gently stepping down with dull clicks of their boots against cobblestone even while they took deliberate steps around the mess on the floor to lean close to the table.
A metal-tipped finger hung poised, an audibly shaky breath being drawn from The Stranger before they drove their finger down into the mess.

A
H
N
C
I
E
L

|
V
*An arrow being drawn back to themselves*

Ahnciel recoiled, nearly about to wipe off their finger on their robe before catching themselves and instead clenched a fist with their other hand. They made a rather painful swallowing sound before putting metal back to blood and wood.
"FOR THE INTEREST OF TIME, IT SHOULD BE CONDUCTED THUSLY. IF I MAY QUICKLY APOLOGIZE: I AM SORRY. BLOOD IS NOT MY CHOSEN MEDIUM AND THE-" was about as far as they got before violently shuddering, shaking their hand in some primal need to free the gore from their metal fingertip before emitting a soft hissing sound. Discomfort permeated the local area while Ahnciel continued to clutch their other hand to an ever more tightening fist and held it across their chest, their other hand out as far as it could reach. They looked between local people before continuing. "MESSAGE SHOULD BE QUICKLY DESTROYED. REASONS. A GATE TO THE ELSE FLOOR OF NEXT IS NEAR. GROSS. GROSS. ELSE. WORDS THERE. ELSE. THERE" their message continued along what space they had before deteriorating into blatant hemophobia, reflected by how 'The Stranger' now introduced as 'Ahnciel' shook their hand and scrambled back a few steps and inelegantly tumbling up the steps they'd descended.
Desperately, they proceeded to try to scrape the mess on their fingertip off, onto the wall.

Jericho had quickly retrieved his pipe, relieved to have his lucky pipe, taking it out of the box and pocketed it in the meantime. Sure, he never had carried it in that nice of a case, but now that he had it in hand, he started checking his pockets, seeing if they had stolen his tobacco too. Then he would need a light as well then, but all one step at a time. Matches were easy to get a hold of, usually, and they had the torches still so he could carefully do something with one of those if he needed to. However, he quickly noticed the shift in the demeanor of the fellow in front of him, seeming to get more excited and less jaded than before while several others behind him seemed to figure out the concept of a anchor and fled to apparently work on those as well. He was asked after who had freed him, needing to shake their hand, and he kept an easy, relaxed expression and stance while he held his pipe as a matter of comfort and habit, since his tobacco was missing as well. At this rate, he should be relieved he woke up with his clothes on. "Ain' jus' the two o' us eit'er, handful o' us in the next room over. Our 'elper is recouping o'er t'ere. T'ey may be a touc' jumpy rig't now, given t'e trouble we ran int' gettin' t'is far."

Of course, given how fast the sodding anchor was built for the drowned lass, it did remind him that he was going to have to be armed as well, given the violent breakout. Returning his pipe to his pocket, and letting his hands rest there, he looked at the steady craftsmanship on the anchor, as the salamanders began writing strange, foreign symbols along the crest of the war anchor. He had to tack on war to the beginning of that, since it did not look like something you would put on a ship to use conventionally. Turning to look back at the foreman, leader fellow, he resumed talking. "Aye, t'e more we know, t'e better. An I reckon a'll need a sword an dagger t' get stuck in. E'en if s'e's got a sodding anc'or as a weapon..."

---

Lia listened quietly to everything, but mostly Pox. That was only a theory. Nothing proven. Multiple worlds existing and whatnot. Old religions stated the Machine Gods came from an entirely different place, but it was usually passed off as simple religious zeal. The point made by Pox however, was beginning to make sense...which meant...she was no longer in Ivorthain. Lia's shoulders visibly slumped, a crestfallen gaze overcoming her features as she turned to Nale.

"...No." She quietly replied to Nale. "Well...I don't remember who built me. Or anything from before the time Master Baylock found my barely functioning body and core and repaired it. Though, he told me never to go to the place I was found. He never gave a straight answer and I never pried." She gazed down at one of her hands. "And yes, much like a human body my own has its own needs and maintenance. I do not require food nor sleep, but I must do routine maintenance to make sure my gears are not worn or damaged. I am made from a highly magnetic cobalt alloy so I am not easy to damage...but repairs are annoying. Without proper machine making tools..." Her voice trailed off, falling silent once more.

The stranger that had rescued them taking to writing something on the table with blood. Well, desperate times and measures and all that. He seemed most uncomfortable, and Lia wanted to give him a hug, but from what she could gather it was something about a gate being present and the next floor was near, and he'd be able to talk more there.

"...oh dear." Lia held a hand to her face as he proceeded to rather comically make his way up some stairs. It was actually kind of cute. "Well it is a pleasure to meet you, Sir Ahnciel." The Automaton gave a brief nod to her companions. "Hm...I think most of us can agree as soon as those two are finished checking the store rooms we should get moving."

Why did people always find it so easy to trust others, even if experience told them it was unwise? Uriel didn’t trust this situation, or their apparent saviour, but judging by the way everyone felt the need to chastise him it seemed the others did. The lack of speech he could buy, even if it was a lie it was just being used as a convenient excuse not to give answers; but he wouldn’t so easily believe that this stranger had chosen to save them for entirely altruistic reasons. He was powerful enough to break into this prison as well as having the knowledge to do so, as well as having some means of resurrecting and controlling the abomination that continued to stalk the room. The how, the why and the where of their imprisonment was something Uriel wanted to get to the bottom of, no doubt, but the why of their rescue was perhaps a more pressing matter.

Nobody ever did anything for free. They always had a reason. No doubt when they finally got out of this hell hole this stranger would turn around and demand something of them.

People weren’t any different no matter where you went.

At least it seemed like others were starting to come around to the idea that they weren’t where they thought they were. The doctor had an idea and, crazy as it sounded, Uriel believed it. “A big black tower fell out of the sky and started pouring out monster like that thing over there into the capital. I don’t know where it came from or what happened after that; everyone died pretty quickly.” A power that could travel to other worlds, huh? Did that mean other worlds out there in the stars like the astronomers said or some other plane of existing like the Church and Ignis talked about?

The quiet guy, the one Uriel kept forgetting about, spoke up next, talking about his world and then bombarding a few of them with questions. Uriel grimaced at the probing nature of the conversation, especially him asking about how magic worked in Uriel’s world. His magic… what had happened to him wasn’t something he ever liked to think about if he could avoid it which he rarely could, given the presence of a certain annoying little prick that was still mysteriously absent. Even if it wasn’t a point of contention with him he wouldn’t have appreciated being asked to spill his secrets like that; he certainly wasn’t about to tell everyone about any weaknesses he had.

“You ask too many questions, too quickly.” Letting out a sigh, Uriel decided he might as well give some vague answers to appease the crowd. “There is no way for a person to cast magic in my world without giving something up, or having something taken away from them. Magic users are all the same, they made the same deal and gained the same weaknesses from it, but their magic is always unique to them. Magic can’t turn against you but it can… it can run out of control. And that deal… you’re beholden to it, you can’t reverse it… and you can’t escape it. Trying to break the deal is a very bad idea.”

Uriel went quiet. He’d said more than he’d intended and given away more than was wise. Hopefully the others wouldn’t notice his reaction to his own words; they’d brought up more memories than he’d thought they would.

Before he could linger on those memories too long the stranger spoke up again, apparently confirming the doctor’s theory with his broken way of speaking before urging them towards the exit again. Then he walked over to the table and began writing something in the blood on the table, despite his apparent discomfort at doing so. Despite his disgust at the gore the stranger, Ahnciel, was quite verbose with his writing; the gist of it was that there was a gate somewhere nearby.

When he was done writing, recoiling from the table and hurrying to shake the blood from his hands, Uriel quickly walked over to one of the nearby beds and pulled off one of the blood-stained sheets. Moving back to the table he threw the sheet over the message and scrubbed it away, the dirty sheet not so much removing the congealed blood as shifting it around, but it sufficed to erase the writing. “Someone go grab those two from the storeroom, we’ve wasted enough time. Let’s get moving.”

Her face lit up when they brought out what looked like an anchor. It felt so good to be reunited with... This?

Back to confusion. It was an anchor but it didn't look like hers. It was much less rusty and sharpened to boot. She craned her head to the side as she dwelt deeply upon the subject.

Aha! She arrived at a conclusion. This must be someone else's anchor! But then that means...

"I guueess my aanchoorr issnn't here thennn." She looked over this particular anchor. "Thiis is a nnice gifft thoouugh. I'll hoolld onnto this anchor unntill I finnd mmy oowwnn."

That being said she waited for the lizard fellows to complete their engravings, curious as to what they were doing.

"Thaannk yoouu foor this aannchoor thoouugh." The thanked them, resting a hand on the head of the anchor while they worked. She had yet to try it out. She hoped that it handled like her old one at least, she was well accustomed to how it was balanced. She was already winding the chain which connected to it's shackle around her right arm, the supporting arm to her dominant hand which would control the weapon from higher up on the shank.

Now all she needed to do was find some armor and she'd be set.

The foreman shook his head, "Neh, then fek 'em. Ne'fek'n about when y'got places ta be. Ain out th'woods yet, eh?" they spoke, preemptively declining the notion before it was even presented as an invitation for them to leave the storeroom. "Yeh, neh, all roads, so is said..." they seemed to muse, taking a contemplative puff before Jericho mentioned weapons for himself. "Atch! Finally finished fekin' around? Got a fek a'thought in ye fek?" they barked before appearing as though a thought occurred to them. "Yeeeehh...might just'a had a thing y'd be lookin' feh. One a tha new king's bois fek'd off with it" They answered with mild curiosity before turning back to the storeroom and simply barking, "Blades!" to the sound of scrambling, the workers already ahead of him as they wheeled a rack of arms out. Mostly shortswords and hand-axes with a few daggers at an end. "I'll get y'name eventally. Foreign feks usually get nick'd. Help y'self-" they started with a tone of annoyance, though, given the context, it was likely directed inwards. They had paused their invitation as the corpse lady staggered their way to a conclusion.

The foreman hobbled over to her side and give a few enthusiastic slaps on the arm, "It IS your...anchor! Now it is...suppose" they shrugged, looking down the length of the tool of destruction. "Aye, don' go fekn' it o'er ya shoulder f'th'first hunk-a fek ye find, ah!" they boisterously teased, giving her arm a bit of a shake before looking it at their hand and wiping it on their apron before continuing with a gesture as if wiping away a tear, "Tha bois put'n good work to tha iron, eh?"
With that, they gestured to the newts who blew away the filings after tapping in what looked like an angular depiction of the head of a rabbit set in a star emblazoned with wings on either side. A small inscription above it could be made out following the top arch, 'Timore Nocturno'.
"T'would break m'heart if ih'ended up at th'bottom ofa lagoon er some fekery like that" they warningly sighed to Gangreana, looking back up at them before stepping back to where he previously stood. "Now, this's the 'coalworks' of tha spire...or it was, until w'got fek'd n'take stock a'feks and aahhh-feks" they explained, waving their arms around in a dramatic manner while supposedly mentioning 'affects'. "Suppose y'd need kit n'supplies, s'well. Fek all d'ya come from an'need it" they commented, pointing to crated near the door. "Tents, bedrolls, tha like. W'don do food 'ere, but lighten tha load, if ye please" their voice came as they took a few more steps back, implying they were attempting to disengage. "Tha bois can 'elp y'out"

The hero sighed in relief after hearing Primalia's and Uriel's answers. "It seems that we are still in the same world. I have seen countless magic systems during my years as a hero, and a lot of different constructs, but one rule remains constant. No strength without weakness." Nale turned to Uriel "Since we are most likely still on the same world, I think that long ago some of my people travelled beyond the sea and colonized your home continent. Or wise versa, my ancestors arrived from your continent and settled mine. It doesn't really matter who travelled where, it's just a question of chickens and eggs, but the point is, since the same universal rule applies, we simply live in lands not yet discovered by others. This dungeon might be in another similarly distant land, perhaps even Kazzok's homeland."

Nale looked as the Stranger, no, Anchiel wrote his name down. He slapped himself on the head.

"Of course," He groaned, "Why didn't I think of asking if he can read and write?" Nale lokked at Anchiel apologetically. "I'm sorry I didn't realize that sooner, you wouldn't have had to... do that to write. We will procure proper writing equipment to you as soon as we can."

It was then that Uriel told to collect the two in the storeroom. "I can do that." Nale volunteered, "Wait just a minute, I'll be right back" he told and left for the storeroom. But as he entered, he heard the foreman tell how one of the object was the undead's anchor, or at least, that's what he thought the foreman said. Quickly Nale dived into the crate with blades, looking for his daggers. "So, are these weapons confiscated from the prisoners?" He asked while checking.

River took a step back from Pox, still trying to keep the Little-One behind her. Pox moved quickly from subject to subject, it seemed, and he brought up some good points. The fact that they were able to communicate at all would be nothing short of a miracle if they’d merely been brought from different countries. If they were from different worlds, then it wouldn’t be so far-fetched to believe that there would be such a difference in the types of people. Although if he were right, River pressed a hand to her forehead, then what had become of Ferriveil? Worse, what if he was wrong about them being able to go back, and worse still, what would be waiting for them if they could go back?

“Er, yes?” River said in response to Nale’s question before standing tall and showing her wings off a little. “I was born with wings, as were Mum and Dad, and Uncle Flint. Everyone in my family is one of the Winged-People. We’re not demons, or servants of the Almighty, or magical beings, or anything like that.” She didn’t know of anyone who could change their whole shape in the way he described. This man had dozens of questions for all them about their homelands.

Speaking of magic was something that River had little knowledge. She’d mostly be paraphrasing half-remembered snippets she’d heard from Thomas or Viscaria, something about affinities? All she knew was that Viscaria manipulated lightning for her dances.

The Little-One, Ahnciel, spoke up again, and managed to get out a hasty message between his fragmented speech and scratching words out in the blood splatter, a message which Uriel hastened to scrub away after they’d read it. Ahnciel was still visibly shaking, trying to clean the blood from his fingertip. Although River was at least somewhat used to being elbow-deep in viscera from butchering her own meat, she wasn’t without sympathy for the squeamish. She moved over to him and wrapped a wing around his shoulders.

“We should yell at those two in the storeroom to find you something decent to write on. A slate and chalk would make your situation a lot easier.”

The foreman raised a brow ridge from Nale bursting in and apparently locking eyes with one of the boxes on wheels another newt was pushing. With no introduction or word elsewise, they set upon the stock of refurbished blades. There was a long pause, the newt backing away and looking to the foreman who watched, expectantly before splaying their arms out in a greeting, slowly approaching Nale. "Why, welcome to tha fekin' Coalworks, mi'boy! Please! Hav'a sit ehn FEK! WEHTH! MEH! SHET!" they barked, having taken a hat from a newt on their way over and used it to swat at Nale in pace with their exclamations. "Tha fek'r you!? Neh! Confiscations are in the Fleshworks" the grizzled newt blatantly lied for all Jericho knew and if Gangarena was paying the slightest bit of attention. As far as Nale knew, he was probably barking up the wrong tree, though the various shortswords and daggers seemed of serviceable design. While not entirely unique in a side-by-side comparison with so many of similar make, they were well made and also well used. The contents of the box as well as the ones on the rack appeared to have been recently sharpened, and showed evidence of needing to be sharpened multiple times.

This wasn't just a storeroom, it was an armory.

"Fleshwork'll suit y'armor wants ehn oll tha fekery y'dragged in with yeh" The foreman explained, still glaring at Nale for their lack of respect for simply barging in. Tossing the hat over their shoulder for its owner to catch, they glanced between the rest of them before dipping a few fingers from three hands into a respective pocket to retrieve a pocketwatch with each hand. "If yer wer in tha coil, y'might neht wanna fek around, long. Th'blades'r feh the feks tha'dull'em. Certain y'll see tha feks wherev'a go" They commented, putting two of the pocketwatches away and briefly resting their hands on the edge of the box before swinging two free hands to the direction of the rack and the boxes they gestured to, before. "Y'take what y'need ehn fek off! Y'nevah wer here-" They started, already walking away before looking over their shoulder to conclude with, "-n'ye butcher tha feks, rough...eh?...eh..." not even waiting for a response before turning the corner into the implied workshop to the right.

One and Two still lingered, Two having been at the box Nale was going through as was presently fixing and adjusting their hat while One used a small crowbar to pry up the lid of a crate containing fabrications of mobile dwelling. "Here. Tha stairs for...you...will no doubt be rough ehn...Ah!" they started to explain, holding up tent kits and bedrolls before lifting hands in an excited manner. "Vee has! Eit iz...not what eit could be, b-but iz yours!" their voice came from behind an adjacent crate while they fished around in a smaller crate to retrieve what looked like a gray canvas backpack with leather trim and a symbol on the main flap appearing like two capitol 'H's crossing eachother in an 'X'. "Limited. Tailored by Handi Havaar, 'iz self...no, you do not need to know him" They explained, opening the flap and beginning to toss bedrolls and tent kits, bundles of wood, a couple crowbars, snowshoes, a few lengths of rope, pitons, a hammer or two, a pair of flint and steel...at which point it should have been apparent what was occurring as there was no way even two of the tent kits could have fit, let alone all four and the rest of the mess. The list went on with a few smaller boxes with foreign writing akin to what was on the end of Gangreana's new 'anchor'.
After about a minute of shoveling what had to be nearing a hundred or two pounds of kit, One closed the flap and buckled it, hoisting it with ease and presenting it to the three. "Iz a rarity, do not lose it, eh?" they chirped, the bag weighing at most 5lbs to whomever decided to take it.

All the While Two tapped their foot, nervously. "The sides have more space, just want it, the bag will find it. Handy, no?" They joked with an anxiously brief chuckle before 'hrm'-ing and crossing their arms, obviously worried about something, likely being discovered. In demonstration, they pulled a longbow and a shortbow and a quiver of arrows from a half-opened crated and slipped them into the side pocket before reaching into the other side and pulling out the top of a bow, letting it drop back in. "I-if you have what you can manage...please leave, now" They bluntly spoke, already starting to pull the boxes and rack on wheels off to sides to make it seem more natural.

Apparently that fancy runed, gilded war anchor wasn't hers? Well, far as Jericho was concerned, it was likely a straight upgrade so he would leave it at that. Once the weapons were put out, however, a rare open grin was present on his face as he stepped over to weigh the various arming swords and daggers in each hand, eventually settling on a pair that complimented each other nicely. Hooking the sheathes of both blades to his left hip, preferring to draw them as such, he was content enough when another offer to lighten the load on bedrolls, general camping supplies, and the like. "Ye lot are rig't proper c'aritable, aren' ye? But a' reckon we can ligt'en the load a touc'." He would grab a bedroll and some other utilities, flint and a striker, and the like. He wasn't one for tents, sneak under a overhanging building in the slums if he had to rough it outside. He recognized the attempts to disengage though, and wasted no further of the man's time, having kitted out as he saw fit and was indeed about to turn and leave when another from the adjoining room came over to check on them.

In all reality, Jericho was mostly surprised it had taken them this long to even bother checking up on the scoundrel and a drowned lass. He promptly went rooting and the foreman fellow went ranting off about some complete bullshit, shenanigans, or the like near as he could tell. Then again, lying came as easy as breathing far as Jericho was concerned, so he did not readily fault the newt fellow for his story being...flexible. Though when presented with a backpack that, apparently, seemed to have more room than something its size could possibly allow, he was immediately wary of it. Reeked of the work of Magicians, fiddling with things well and truly beyond what they should be. That being said, he warily took the bag, before tossing it over to the new fellow once he had gotten the lad's attention. "'ere lad, w'y don' ye carry t'is? Wouldn' want a disreputable fella like me carrin' it, aye?" The smirk hinted that he was joking, though whether or not it was a joke at his nature, or a joke at the fact he looked disreputable as all hell, remained to be seen. That, and he couldn't be arsed to carry everyone's stuff, so he palmed that duty off right quick.

---

@Chiro

"This is incredible."

Pox had been focusing on the cross communication and how Nale seemed to bring up a good point to confirm the theory. It pegged the shorter man as the curious intellectual sort, just like him, and under better circumstances he would have loved to discuss with him about magical theory. "To even think that the laws of Essence are different in different worlds. Such restrictions are not native to my Creation." Pox seemed to focus on the positives, seeing the score of knowledge in this desperate struggle then the others. His mood actually seemed to bright. His hair that cascaded from under his mask looked as stringy as broom straw. But now, the whitness seemed less cobwebs and more... thistle. It actually seemed to shake with a bit of life and even seemed to look fuller under his very eyes. "Since we are all sharing. My world has no such laws of balance. Those that have awakened their Essence, beg your pardon, the Magical Power that permeate my world. Usually it is only the realm of those with supernatural blood in their veins, as Essence is the stuff of gods and spirits. But, certain practices, procedures, even martial arts can awaken ones Essence. Then their only limitation is their own spiritual transcendence. We are limited by our Essence, but those of age and spiritual purity can command stronger powers for longer. Ooo..." He realized he was giving a lecture and took a step back from the group, putting a hand to his beak. "Pardon me, again."

@Lumiere

The creature named himself Ahnciel and by much will power, wrote the information and seemed to recoil from the blood. Pox had no such qualms, being bathed in the stuff repeatedly whilst in service. He made sure to catch up to the creature, a rag in his pocket, an old bandage he had discovered on his person whilst attempting to create his theories.

"A pleasure to meet you Ahnciel. And it is agreed. I get the fact that you might be our savior." He said corgially and happily to get the gore off his mind. He extended the kindness...

@Veradana

The winged person he wished so much to study and chat up a storm also seemed to be one with empathy in her heart. "And you as well. I apologize if I misunderstood your origins. The People of the Air from my world were not divine beings but they were quite brave if the stories were correct, and they are the heroes in many a tale that delights and teaches children. So forgive my awe." He stated before passing Ahnciel and River on the stairs.

@Rune_Alchemist

Giving Lady Primalia a look and hearing the noises and words and clammor of the store room, it appears that their party was quite a few in number. Pox gave a headcount, two were in the store house and Nale went to go grab them. Between a claw and a scale sized element. Good, cause they can watch eachother, but they had not ways to defend themselves. Well not in a normal sense. Pox's beak turned to each in front then up the stairs. The next leg on their journey. He looked inwards, his memories muddled but he recalled the breaths and movements of a few simpler spells. He was with the Stranger, he wished he had some quill and parchment to collect his thoughts.

"Speaking of magic as before, it might be worth scouting ahead whilst we regroup. We've been lucky so far, but nothing is known of this place or what it contains. I have a charm that should keep me from harm." He snickered cause it rhymed. "I don't intend to go far, just top the stairs. See if I find anything of interest. An exit, weapons." It was probably cause he was riding the high of his discovery, partially curious about this place in general. His darkened tattered robes should atleast allow him to stay in the shadows, though his white hair was a problem, and claiming his proposal, he was already stuffing it into his collar or back into his mask. Those nearby could see the ash black of his skin tone.

Once the littler lizard people were finished etching something onto this new anchor they gave her she finally hoisted the great nautical devastator onto her shoulder. Though the one that talked gave her arm a hearty pat and a shake she barely budged an inch. The feeling was dull like the limb was just starting to grow numb. With her sense of touch a punch would feel like a mild caress. She knew better of course, having learned these lessons in time.

"Doonn't woorrry miisterr lizzaard thingy! I'll use this neeww anchorr pleennty!" She reassured him before her attention was stolen away by another fellow from their group. She recalled seeing him but who or what he was escaped her. She watched him run in and get the ire of the lizard person thing that got them some stuff. Mild banter kinda lost her attention so she started wandering on out of the room to where the main group resided.

"Heeyy eeveerryoonne! Thiis stooraage roomm's got some goood stuuff! Annd somme ffuunnyy taallkinng lizzarrds tooo!" She excited bellowed to the whole group, her voice echoing off the walls as she cheered from the doorway while waving her free arm to them all. Striding towards the middle of the room she casually dropped the end of her anchor down on the blood stained table, the bill cracking into the wood a bit as the whole thing bent for a moment under the force of having an anchor land on it.

"Theeyy didn't have my annchoorr ssoo theeyy let me keep thiis oonne innsteeaad." With her off hand on her hip she stood and took in the craftsmanship of it, giving it a firm nod.

---

Everyone was still talking. About magic, their own realms and where they came from. It all just...defied her own understanding of things. Magic did not exist before the black tower fell, and the second fell from the sky. Even then, no one in Ivorthain could use it. Some had tried, obviously. Reverse engineering it, but they lacked the basic understanding of how it even worked and they eventually came to the conclusion - humans in Ivorthain, could not use it. Seeing humans and other creatures here use it, simply did not make sense.

"Sir Pox," Lia turned to the doctor as he quickly decided to scout ahead. "Allow me to assist you. I am not exactly stealthy, but I am durable."

The stranger who'd introduced themselves as 'Ahnciel' silently flinched from the contact of River's wing touching them. They sighed and graciously took the cloth from Pox to more efficiently relieve themselves of the slight marring of crimson on the metal. Making a gesture of a hand over their chest and a small bow to convey some measure of thanks, their head snapped to Gangraena and their boisterous poise caused such noise. Quickly, they threw their hands out in front of them towards the woman even as she bellowed into the halls. Waving arms pantomiming a request that she stop shouting, bringing a finger in front of the beak of its mask in frantic shushing motions in vain until only the distant echoes remained.

Ahnciel had not considered the idea of anyone in the middle of a jailbreak making so much noise. There was nothing to be done about it, now, and who could say what had overheard her. Ahnciel's intricately metal-clad arms jingled slightly as they feel to their sides. Their eyes seemed fixed on the anchor somewhat embedded in the table, though they had no interest in inspecting it as it was amidst the mess they'd just freed themselves from with the aid of the doctor who was leaving to scout ahead with the automaton, Primalia not far behind them.

Now more than ever, Ahnciel seemed anxious to leave, though they were conflicted about waiting for more of the party to exit the storeroom. Unfortunately, elaboration was made clear for the group by the sound of raised voices from down the hall. In a language foreign to the heroes, accusing tones and annoyed growls were issued before something came sailing down the hall, tumbling to a stop in the dim light appeared to be the gnawed remains of a severed human hand. Ahnciel's recomposed construct turned to the source, lowering itself into a ready stance was a collection of footsteps followed after the lone appendage.
Three figures standing around five feet tall stepped out. The one in front wore a helmet on what was at first mistaken to be its head before a single massive eyeball blinked behind the guard. They were shirtless, holding the supposed primary section of the arm up to a massive pair of lips on their belly which sucked on the stump for a moment before pulling it away to gurgle and messily sputter blood down the steps and over the table.
Two behind it looked like how one might describe a goblin, though the flesh around their exposed and decaying teeth was raggedly missing as if having been eaten off. Redding around puffy eyes and sores across their faces made them almost seem like the undead for a moment if it weren't for their audible ragged, diseased breaths. They were pushed aside by a fourth figure who emerged, almost seven feet tall and covered head to toe in an oily black mop of reeking patchy fur. They abstained from clothing though the fur suited enough of the purpose and appeared heavyset to a degree where conventional clothing probably wouldn't have been practical. They toted a cliché club fashioned out of a large broken hunk of wood with long nails having been driven through it to stick out one side.

"Loud! Group sixteen shuts up!" the tall one roared in a strained bubbling tone like phlegm being forced through thick piano wires. It pointed at the group, starting with Pox before panning to the others. "More disgusting every time. Stay on your side!" they chuckled before storming towards the two would-be scouts, making to shove them back.