Closed Dark red, aged in a cask...

[Daegron]

WARNINGThis thread contains an insane amount of violence and vulgar, obscene or foul language. If you are easily offended or squeamish, please avoid reading. Thank you

Summer 10th, 514AV
early morning

"Ugh.."
It was an awful thud, the sound of his own limp body hitting the hardwood floor that forcefully dragged him off oblivion. Until that very moment, everything was hazy; a mixture of sensations, sounds, images and words. In his stupor he desperately tried to make sense of them all, to force himself to wake up. His instincts were screaming of the imminent danger, the necessity of action, the need for clear thought.. Once more he struggled to open his eyes, until finally his burdened eyelids were raised, revealing a dim-lighted and unfamiliar room. His vision was blurry and a numbing pain that covered almost all of his face, welcomed him into consciousness.
"This can't be good.... this is not my room, where the petch am I ?" was the first thought that slapped him forcefully awake. Somnolent, he mustered all those hazy fragmented memories, and his mind started to stir...

It had started with wine. Dark red, aged in a cask. What exquisite taste, what fine aroma, it's intoxicating texture just kept flowing down his parched throat. And he, not used to such fine luxuries, could not help but indulge. A few bottles of that sweet yet powerful nectar were offered to him, and what a fool he was to not question the source or the motive. Why ? Because her succulent red lips had said it's alright and well deserved. It was in the Silver Sliver he'd met her, and driven by his lust he'd chased off a rather annoying suitor who pestered her. A surprisingly short brawl, and a rather large opponent who was quick to run away. He'd brought her into his room, and it only took a few sips of that red liquid to forget all about his usual paranoia. How could he be such a fool ?

Anyone would fall for those delicious curves, her perfect skin, the way she moved, her playful gaze. She was the promise of all that is sinful and wild. A beauty that just begged to be tasted, that called out to be tamed. A seductive scent that no man would resist. And she was his for the night. He remembered his own hands running down her figure, embracing her naked body, the sweet murmur of carnal delight and a soft sigh. And then there was noise. Did someone just break in ? The throbbing pain that spread throughout his body told the tale of a beating. He remembered being thrown from one side of the room to the other, from a pair of hammering fists, to a pair of clenching hands, to a boot shoved up his groin. The whore ! She brought them in but he'd already drunk enough of that wonderful vintage to be unable to stand on his own. Let alone fight back..

Then there was darkness, and the feeling of cheap linen on his bruised face. his feet were dragged for what seemed like ages. And when whatever covered his face was removed to reveal a scene grotesque, as if it was a part of a nightmare. The sweet smell of that wonderful wine, mixed with something vile. The acrid smell of blood, of flesh that slowly rotted, the stale air and cheap liquor. There were screams and begs and cries of agony. And the clear sound of steel, cutting, slashing, chopping. A butcher was at work and his victims were mostly alive. Mostly. Daegron almost gagged with his own vomit while his stomach emptied violently as he caught a blurry glimpse of an unidentified body part being thrown in a barrel. A cask of dark red. Aged and sweet.

Then between laughs and curses he was thrown in that room. Thud ! The train of delusions was abruptly stopped and shaped into memories. A damp room lighted by a dim lamp, hosting a flickering flame that slowly died. He struggled to get himself to a sitting position, only to find out that he was manacled and chained; his arms wrapped around his own body and shackled on his back, an awkward position. But WHERE was he brought ? It looked like a warehouse, crates everywhere. The room wasn't more that a few feet wide. There would be rats too. Hungry petching little buggers. He hated them.
But lo, in that corner, there was another one.
A young man,
A familiar face ? "Where have I seen you before ?" he thought as his vision turned clearer.
Did it really matter ? Survival was more important, his instincts growled.
They'd soon be dead. The Morpher shuddered at the thought of steel piercing his precious flesh, at his limps hacked off his core and essence. How dreadfully painful would it be ? He had to shake these thoughts off and gather his wits. So he spoke in a questioning tone, his raspy voice but a weak whisper.
"Just who the petch are you ?"

[Elias Caldera]

His tooth was loose, he was sure of it. Another inquisitive wiggle of his tongue against the stinging bone and he became certain. They had knocked his tooth loose, those inconsiderate, shyke eating, whore-sons! Being as exploring his unstable denture had been the only semblance of consciousness Elias had manged to retain after waking up on the floor, the sudden realization that dawned after the brewing suspicion he had been amounting to over the last few chimes was perhaps more important than it should have been right then and there. The Caldera knew he had more important things to figure out besides his bloody tooth: Like who had caused it, why, and how exactly was he going to deal with them once he managed to finally pick himself off this unswept floor. He groaned, calling upon his precariously foggy thoughts to coalesce into something even remotely like a thought -and not one about his damn tooth this time. With a heave he made to sit up upon his rear end, a first and proud step on a long road, for sure.

Blinking, the young mage tried to sweep the dust from his eyes with his hand, the sound of rattling chains and the cruel bite of irons against his wrist the only response he could muster. He tried again, and again his insistence was met with defiance. That's right, they've chained me, he thought, spitting out a globule of blood and wincing at the prickle of pain that had earned him. That's right... he woozily remembered. This wasn't the first time he had tried. He looked over towards the door, eyelids heavy and laden with realization. He found his stain exactly where it had fallen near the rusty steel hinges. He had madly tried to ram through them earlier when it opened, frightened and petching angry like he was growing anew now. A curse and a blur of movement was all he remembered after that, now he was here, tossed to the corner and left to ponder over the intricacies of his god's damned teeth like a drooling idiot. Those petching- He didn't have the words. Fury and confusion had blended into a nauseating concoction long ago, and it was a cup he was now freely sipping from as focus and clarity became less of a fading dream at the back of his mind.

His eyes had never left the door, a thing of true nightmares with its countless, desperate scratch marks and vile, cracking stains of substances Elias had no intention of discovering the nature of. He suspected, however, they were likely similar to his own little addition to the tapestry; blood and bile and all things that found their way up and out when one found themselves locked in a room meant only for the dead. He heard a scream from outside, loud and sudden. It ended in a sickeningly wet snap just as quickly. "Oh petch..." He wheezed pathetically, the threat of tears brimming upon his muddy eyes as he struggled to rise. He wasn't sure how many times he had gone through the cycle by then. First had come the fear, then the confusion, then frustration and rage unfocused. It was the smell he strongly suspected, that pungent stink of bone being hacked and skin being torn, it must have been making his eyes water was all.

Now Elias thought he and Dira had a tentative understanding between them, each having stared the other in the eye on more than a few vivid occasions in the past, but usually the bitch had given him the courtesy of making the brutal moments before his fatal tests a great deal more tolerable. The old apprentice was, at the very least, usually granted a face for which he could place upon his killer, giving him something to swing his sword at or focus his purpose on. Here, he had nothing, just reeking blood and wine so thick in the air he was practically swimming in it. Here he just had the wordless screams and the imminent unknown waiting for him beyond that gods damned door. "Oh petch!" He hissed again, rocking back and forth. His legs had faltered and failed him before, but now he willed them to stand, an anguished groan escaping his bleeding lips as his body bent and twisted in a manner most unpetchingfavorable.

When he finally found his feet, hands and arms still wrapped in chains behind his back, the sound of something caught his attention and ushered instant silence from all but his aches and bruises. Footsteps! He realized with a wide eyed start. There wasn't even a second thought. The door swung ajar a moment later, a fresh, wafting breeze of horror flowing into the cramped room just as Elias flowed out, wordlessly ramming himself hard into the first soft thing he could find.

They cursed, they laughed, and a pain cruel and all too familiar slammed Elias back to the filthy floor. They dragged him coughing and bleeding back to his corner and left him there to mull over his bad decisions once more in a dull haze. He spat, raising his gaze to the two massive men now hauling a third into the room. The dumped him hard with an unceremonious thud, right where they had dropped the young mage just a moment ago. Grizzled and stocky of build, the tan skinned stranger stirred almost immediately as his unshaven face met the floor. Lazily, Elias considered him for a moment, his attention distracted by the small pool of blood that had drained from his now ruined mouth. He found himself staring at the thing swimming at its very center for a long time. It wasn't until he heard the other man murmur in his general direction that the Ravokian realized he was up. Elias's glare never left the floor, nor the tiny crimson pond upon it.

"Just who the petch are you?"

He stared at the broken tooth, unblinking. When he finally looked up and found the stranger's green eyes, his own were aflame with anger.

"Someone just as petched as you, I think." He sputtered

[Daegron]

The youngster was so right. In that short phrase that escaped his bloody lips he'd managed to capture and accurately describe the gravity of their condition. They were seriously, utterly petched. This wasn't one of the countless times Daegron had taken a tough beating or gotten himself jailed. There was no easy way out of this. A terrible death awaited behind the door. Amidst their gory work, those sick bastards, whoever the petch they were, had the nerve to start singing. Indeed, it was a song he'd heard the sailors shout merrily back at the docks in Zeltiva. Those people had themselves a ball during their gruesome deeds. And tragic as the situation seemed, there were some good news; he wasn't alone.

The Morpher knew better than to ignore his newest acquaintance. Beaten to a pulp, but young, seemingly strong and lithe, this young man was the only thing he had to an ally. Their lives were clinging on their sanity, on their grit and tenacity. His own, were trying to hopelessly flutter away; he could barely contain a moan of desperation, a cry of fear. He took a few deep breaths, taking in the corrupted air and letting it out slowly. It took him a while to ignore his aching body and shock, and to do that he needed to focus. And there was nothing better to focus on, but seething thoughts of hate for their captors. And so he did, until the cry was contained, till in his mind, there was no fear, no doubt nor pain; just a deep hatred steadily pulsating, coming alive and slowing spreading throughout his essence. From then on, everything was easier. He wasn't going down like this. He'd adapt, overcome, and send those shyke-eating bastards a bit of their own medicine. Or die trying. He'd make that singing blood-spattered fiesta of theirs turn into a petching nightmare. They probably didn't know about his Art. It would be his edge. That, and the beat up kid across the room. He had to get his attention from that damned remnant of a tooth which had mesmerized him.

A sinister grin, the mockery of a friendly smile that said "Everything is going to be alright" when they both knew that wasn't the case, appeared on his bruised lips as he spoke.
"I won't tell you something that you don't already know. Look at me lad ! Focus ! Next time this door opens, one of us is going to end up butchered. Stone dead meat in the bottom of the Lake. And then, the other is next..."
A series of cries, screams and endless squeals for help covered the stupid song. It was pure mental violence; the place, the sounds, the smell. But Daegron had already crossed beyond despair and all feelings were drowned in that black pool of hatred that grew inside him with every passing moment. Cold, and calculating."Just peachy... a squealer... was his his first thought. "they won't hear the noise in here..." was his second.
"Hell, they may as well do us together, for a grand finale" he added chuckling angrily.

His next words flowed like hot magma from the depths of his blackened soul. Where the flames of rage had already started roaring.
"But we are not going to die like this, lad, this I promise. They are not walking away like that. We are not those squealing little chickens they're having fun with... I'm talking vengeance here, punishment. Even if it's our last deed, we're going to make them wish they could run back to the whores they call mothers, and shove themselves up the worm infested shyke-hole they crawled out from..."
There was something in that youngster's frown; a grim gaze that wouldn't fade. He needed that attitude.
" You with me ?"

[Elias Caldera]

"I already knew that..." Elias mumbled under breath, nodding his head shakily at the stranger as he recounted the shear horror that no doubt awaited them beyond that peeling and blistered door. His breathing had been coming in shallow, sour heaves that nearly had him gagging with each panicked intake. He should have been stronger than this. He had been trained to be stronger than this! Yet here he was, freaking the petch out like a first year petitioner at the black gates. He took one last breath, forcing down the cattail lunch that was desperately trying to make a break for freedom. He tried to take his next breath through his nose and regretted it immediately. "I hate Zeltivan songs." He hissed with a gut wrenching lunge from his stomach. As he did so, a sting of pain slashed at his lips as his actions pulled apart his freshly scabbed wound. His tongue darted out instinctively along the cut that stretched across the right side of his mouth, its pain soothed only a little before flaring back again under the sickly damp air. They had struck him, he remembered, tasting the iron of his own blood. They had struck him hard and far faster than he had expected.

He had seen them following him for bells, watching him with dainty eyes from across the plaza or through skeletal remains of the boatyard hulls. Elias should have known to react faster, smarter. From the docks to the temple, the same two men had stuck to his heel like a pile of shyke he had stepped in. At first he thought them his father's men, a repercussion of being seen spying on the man as he was want to do from time to time. It was an assumption he had quickly done away with when the brazenness of their pursuit became too apparent and insulting to ignore. There would be no way men so pathetic at staying subtle would be sent for him. He deserved better than that... By the time he had noticed the tattoos on one, and a missing petching ear on the other, he was relatively confident something else was a foot. So it was then the young mage had decided to wait for them, sliding into the narrow paths between canals so as to cripple their advantage while he plotted to turn the arrogant hunters into the hunted. They were bigger, uglier and outnumbered him two to one, and when they saw him waiting there, ready and defiantly eager, they quickly shook of their surprise and foolishly attacked. It had taken them only a few seconds into the flurry to realize what a mistake that had been, the first in letting them see him, the second in thinking they could beat him. Well... it had been a mistake two of them made at least. The third proved as cunning as he was bloody sneaky.

They had beat him badly after that. So bad it all went black and bloody for a while, right up until he woke up here in his new dungeon. He almost growled. The stranger was right to be mad, right to be furious! His ears became more inclined on the burly prisoner's words, the sparking flames of rage in his emerald eyes spilling over into Elias's as his angry tirade bloomed. There would be hell to pay when he found his way to freedom, screams and blood curdling odors be damned, he would have his revenge. "I'm with you!" He snarled, letting the rage replace the confusion and weariness. I need a way out of here! He huffed, restless within the metal grasp of his chains. Think! Think! The sound of iron links anxiously bouncing off one another reverberated across the cramped walls of their cage. As he paced, his mind whirling with fantasies of fury brought about by his fellow captor, and plans of escape by his own fevered thoughts, Elias tried to call upon his djed, summoning it to his will and out into the real world where he could put it to good, violent use. But where there should have been a torrent, hungry and powerful, instead he felt the a slippery trickle seeping through his clutches. Oh no... He moaned, trying again to dive into his core and rip out the arcane power he knew to be hiding within. His hands simply slipped loose of their prize, empty and desolate.

What have they done to me! He wailed, dismay surging crisply back into place. Had they dosed him with some kind of poison? Was is the throbbing knot on his head? What!? No! Calm yourself, Elias! Calm! The young man must have seemed a strange sight to his cellmate, so livid and sprightly a moment ago, even with his swollen face and bruised ribs, then all of a sudden rigid and wide eyed like a deer realizing it was caught in a hunter's line of sight. Trembling tendrils tested the waters again, fumbling at their intended target like a baby with its new toy. As he did so, he tried to shake the look of utter and abrupt shock from his face, turning to the as of yet unnamed fellow he was destined to die right before, or right after. "Why are we here?" He wondered out loud. "Why are you here?"

For Elias, he wasn't completely persuaded this wasn't his father's doing. The righteous bastard was ashamed of him, despised his very existence as if Elias were nothing but a disgraceful wart on his veritable rear end. Perhaps he simply felt it prudent that his worthless excuse for a son find his cowardly end at the bottom of the lake, company and food for the fish dwelling below. Well petch him, Elias snapped, looking about his surroundings for a second time as he frantically searched for the avenue of escape. All there was was the door, the other man, and the lamp. The flame was dim and fickle, playing havoc with the shadows as it sputtered for its life. Soon it will die out, he thought sullenly, just like we wi-

A moment of glorious hope shot through the drowning disparity. He felt a spark within him, a glimmer of something familiar and great. With all he had, Elias took hold with as tight a grip as he could muster, ripping free the sliver of djed his inquisitive searching had unearthed. He let loose a little 'thank you' to Rhysol, followed promptly by a curse or three for putting him here in the first place. Of course, considering that was the way he now addressed his true lord, it was no wonder he was about to be turned into chum by some blood soaked singing murderer. "I have an idea." He said, hobbling over to the door with a loud racket announcing his new enthusiasm. As he reached the sinister thing, his hands still tied behind him, he spat, spraying the reinforced entrance way with his own saliva and blood. He did so once, twice three times before he seemed satisfied.

He turned then, hefting himself unto his toes as he used his bound hands to begin painting with his own crimson. "Elias." He spoke, awkwardly halving his attention between his dirty fingers and the man he had just introduced himself to. It took a while of uncomfortable fidgeting, but after a while the Ravokian came a to a halt, fixing his still good eye on fire floundering upon the wall. As if on command the thing began to shudder and quiver with a new intensity, its wispy tip angled unnaturally towards Elias. Something blue and hazy poured out of his hand then, but as it did, the sound of footsteps falling heavy and fast grew louder. It might as well have been the sound of thunder to the two men within that room. "Its a trap." He hastily tried to explain as the fire snapped free of the wick and raced towards the res that hovered weakly at the young man's thigh.

"They'll be expecting us..." Elias continued, a wave of wariness washing over him as the the fire under his control suddenly flared into a small inferno. "But not this..." With a wave of his finger, the small ball of fire flowed into the bloody glyph he had scribed unto the frame of the doorway. Not all of it, however, was on the frame. Part of the small circle, the barrier, swerved off the flat surface and unto the adjoining door. While the lopsided swirl shaped focus at the center would hold the magic, it would only do so as long as the barrier remained intact. Something it could not do when the door opened and the blood seal was cracked. The thing was shoddy and hastily made, the last thing one wanted in the formation of their glyphs, but time was of the essence. None the less, Elias took a few shuffling steps back. The focus's shield would unleash the fire it had at that moment completely engulfed, pitching the room into utter darkness. The next man to take a step through that archway would be doing them a kindness, Elias mused. He would be showing them the light again.

"Get ready."

[Daegron]

"I'm with you !"
That snarling answer was spat out swiftly, and its words rang like chimes in the Morpher's mind. A sweet symphony of impending violence, an acid-dripping war cry that reminded of his own. Nothing more was needed. He felt a wave of inspiration washing over him, lifting him up, taking away the years, rejuvenating his aching body. With a few deep breaths and eyes shut, he reached into himself, to the roots of his own existence. Just a few moments ago, everything looked crumbled, his connection was severed, his self was drowned into despair. But just now, in the depths of his soul he could feel a flicker of hate, a seething flame that expanded rapidly, setting his very core ablaze. His essence, his Djed was slowly bubling, flowing outwards, swelling. It was a wonderful sensation, an unexpected moment of euphoria that pushed him to ignore his sorry state. Soon his ailments were slowly forgotten. There was no more throbbing pain, no stings from the cuts all over his face, no exhaustion. He was proud enough to resist, he was strong enough to fight, furious enough to win. He felt... immaculate.

When his eyes opened, he could read the confusion on the lad's bloody face. There was a moan and a few tantalizing moments of silence. What was he trying to do ? What the petch happened ?
"Don't leave me now, boy, focus !" he thought but before the thought reached his lips, it was interrupted by questions.
"Why are we here?"
"Why are you here?"
"Someone hates us both, and is paying us back..." he said looking straight into his cellmate's eyes."I know I've petched a few people and deserve hell. They beat us, they break us ,they bleed us but now it's our turn..." he growled and laughed adding..
"We'll ask questions later.."

That confusion didn't last long. The boy seemed to had found it's focus... an idea ? Daegron watched him with interest, wondering what went trough his mind. There was only one thing that could be so unusual or sick as to go around and paint with bloody spit. The Morpher's eyes shone with pleasant surprise... Magic ?
"What is that drawing Elias ? " he thought and watching the flame dance under the influence of the mage's fixed gaze he inhaled and sunk deep into himself. His lips moved, forming the non-existent words of his whispered focusing chant. Like a stream of angry curses and incantations those disturbing phrases filled the air around him, as he prepared for the imminent shift.

His fists were clenched tightly, and then opened, with fingers spread out. Awareness. His hands were not damaged. His nerves were paths of energy, his flesh was elastic material, his bones were clay. And with a sinister smile he begun to draw a portion of his Djed as it swirled and stirred inside him. A strand was extended; like a tendril it danced through his bones, along his right arm and spread through the millions of nerves and blood vessels all the way to his fingertips. His clenched fist shrunk, his whole bone structure changed into what reminded a spine. Bones were separated and elastic sinew held the fragments close while tendons and muscles strengthened and wrapped around them. And while his arm became longer and thinner, his skin was stretched; the shackle just slipped. His hand fell free to his side; like an unnatural fleshy tentacle it grew even longer until it reached the floor and kept on. As it started to coil around itself, a viciously sharp claw seemed to grow from the small lump that used to be his fist.
But it was not enough to sate his need to shape... he wanted more !
He brought his other hand in front of him and looked at it intensely. He drew another little bit of his essence, a small sphere which was led straight into his clenched fist. His bones melded into a single solid mass, compressed and expanded, getting denser and stronger with every cycle. His skin was now dried and flaky, but hard as the surface of the door that held them locked. His knuckles grew outwards and they tore through the dry skin, exposing a series of white spikes, dense enough to crush. As his wrist grew thicker and stronger, enough to support the impact that would follow, there was a slight cracking sound. The shackles fell to the ground, their left hand ring now broken.

He waved and flailed his new limb, trying awkwardly to gain control over it. His chant went on, turning into a deep murmur as deep vowels escorted the throaty consonants of his song. There was a strange tingling sensation as he coiled and unwound his hideous appendage. His shaped flesh was desperately trying to return to its normal form. But the Morpher's focus, will and determination, fuelled by his odium, were dominating. The overwhelming sensation of power filled him.
"I'm Daegron" he proudly declared , a moment before the inferno that moved with Elias' will was engulfed in that strange drawing..

"I am.." he hissed while the blackness swallowed them. He took a couple short steps back, gained a good footing and hunched his back in wicked anticipation. He closed his eyes, to shield his sight from the terrible blaze that would follow.

And the door opened...


fair dealfirst one's yours, second one is all mine !

[Elias Caldera]

It was all he could do to keep himself from screaming. He watched in shuddering horror as Daegron -the man's name as it turned out- transformed his arm into... into- "What in Rhysol's name?!" He hissed in fright, slamming his back against the other side of the wall and as far away as he could manage. Elias had seen morphing before, don't get it wrong, he had seen it all, but what the stranger had done to himself was just... disconcerting to say the least. The young mage wasn't even sure if that was indeed morphing in all honesty. He had never seen someone create something so grotesque from their own flesh and bone. The nightmares he would surely have about the damnable thing were sure to be vivid ones, and it didn't help matters any when the light was suddenly and quietly snuffed out by his glyph, leaving him alone and blind to this to new dread.

Plunged into darkness with a man he now realized he knew absolutely nothing about, and with more men on the way that he knew enough of to know they were going to enjoy butchering him while he begged for mercy, Elias could hardly be blamed if he confessed his confidence was slipping again. "Bravery, Elias." He whispered to himself, using what little djed he could summon to force disillusioned thoughts of calm and courageousness into his own mind. It didn't work.

The thunder of steps slowly approaching were matched only by that of his heart, drumming in his ears. He wished he had brought Redd along with him, the wolf would have easily made short work of any fool who had the gall to do this to him. She had a way about tearing throats that could have almost made him envious, but she wasn't here, and he was alone with a stranger, unable to properly control his djed or even walk straight for that matter. How the hell was he going to do this again?

The door opened...

There was a hiss, then a splash of flame erupted from the broken glyph, singing nothing but the wall it was scribbled upon. Elias looked on in exasperated disbelief as the glyph spectacularly failed. The burly man who had entered first, a good head taller than both the mage or the morpher, jumped in surprise at the unexpected spark. Angrily, he shoved the door open wider, allowing the dim rays of light from the outside corridor to come cascading in. The illumination immediately revealed Daegron and his misshapen appendage, like opening eyes would a monster hovering over one's bed as they slept. If either of them were shocked at the sight, neither man had much time to show it. Without warning, there was another hiss from the hastily assembled blood drawing, but this time, when it snapped, more than just a puff of foul smelling smoke and sparks came out. Like a geyser, the drawing spewed forth fire upon the first man just as he was taking a hesitant step back outside. The prisoner seemed just as stunned as both the goons were, but unlike them, he didn't have to worry about what was coming next. With a cry, Elias lunged forward, driving himself hard into the screaming oaf as he whirled and flailed, flames licking at his back where they had latched on. With no hands, the mage was left to only his shoulder and testicular fortitude to see this attack work the way it was meant to. It had to, his life depended on it.

Ramming into the butcher with all he had, both men went sprawling outside into the corridor. The third man, the lucky one, had managed to avoid the flames for the most part, but was not so fortunate to sidestep the collapsing mountain of muscle and frenzied flesh that was suddenly falling upon him. Trapped in a pile of angry, flaming murderers, Elias worked as quickly as he could to disentangle himself from the melee, rolling and squirming with all his might while at the same time desperately praying Daegron knew what he was doing. He just hoped he had played his own part adequately enough to see this day end without them inside a barrel.

[Daegron]

Daegron's eyes opened just in time to see the strange drawing shine; startled momentarily by this unexpected second eruption, he watched in awe as the jet of flame flew to the first of the thugs who were coming for them. It was a marvel how quickly the weak flicker that was stolen from that oil lamp a few moments ago, grew into the geyser that was shot upon this monster of a man. And as he watched in disbelief, Elias, with an impressive display of guts, lunged head-on to meet him with his shoulder raised causing a desperate, yet effective trample that brought all three of them on the floor just outside the room they were held.

The path was clear, and the boy had done so much more than expected. Both their enemies were just served in a platter. A treat that the Morpher would not deny. His chant was growled angrily, his nonsensical curses hissed under gritting teeth as he walked forward; his spiked fist ready to strike and his tentacle awkwardly coiled, ready to be hurled on command. Elias had just managed to break free from a grapple that would prove fatal. The bigger one, whose screams and whimpers now silenced to a moaning wheezing semblance of a breath was effectively incapacitated by an unnatural flame that slowly spread over his torso, leaving behind scorched bubbling flesh. The smell was unbearable and the sight horrible to behold, but there was no time to falter. The second one was just scalded, and was trying to rise; his will to fight or butcher now gone, reduced to nothing before the terrible realization of the prisoners' talents.

Daegron's terrible extremity was hurled against the staggering thug. Yet, in his eagerness to kill, the Morpher had done a poor calculation. The damn thing was not heavier than his own natural hand, but it was far slower and a lot harder to control. If he'd used his fist, his aim would be true, but instead, the distance was a couple of inches longer than his new limb and his target a little more to the left. The tentacle missed it's target, the claw whipped on empty air with a cracking sound that send shivers of pain up his arm.
"Shyke !" he muttered, but the rage inside him craved for blood and he wouldn't just stop now.
The goon had just stood up, yet a wave of terror had swallowed his very being. His legs refused to move, his eyes were opened wide at the sight of this monstrous appendage and his thin face was sickly white. With a wave of what used to be his hand and a couple of short yet determined steps, Daegron found his mark. The tentacle was swiftly wrapped around it's victim's throat, covered his mouth just in time to stifle a scream; the claw scratched it's way as if it had a will of it's own, along the face as Daegron approached with slow steps, completely focused at his work. And when he was close enough, the claw was plunged into the thug's eyeball, making him kneel while gagging. As he stood tall in front of his victim, his spiked fist finally hammered down on the top of it's head; the crushing of skull-bones was the sound that ended this fight. The sweet taste of triumph, the pleasure of vengeance.

With a twisted sigh, he let his hands free, still singing as they slowly retreated into their natural form. The tingling sensation on his right hand was still there; torn and bruised knuckles on his left.
"I'm impressed my friend...by your talent and the gigantic rocks in your crotch. But we got a lot of work to do, we're far from over... We have the element of surprise, and we should keep this edge." he said and eyed his new ally with pride. A plan started to form in his mind. Deception and elimination.
"You owe me nothing, but I will ask for your trust. We only have each other now, our grit and our thirst for revenge" he went on, hoping that the wave of courage and hatred hadn't washed off Elias' mind. He grabbed the corpse that stood on his feet and dragged it back into the room they were held captive. He shamelessly searched around and removed it's cloak. A dagger was taken from it's sheathe and was instantly shoved straight to a still heart. He grasped the dead man's bloody head with both hands and stared straight into it's face.

"We're outnumbered, and I cannot free your hands... so first, we deceive..." he said and started his ominous chant once more while shouts were heard from afar.
His face was a mask. His face was the one he looked at. With that thought he focused inwards, to the shifting mass that was his Djed; and another portion was driven, along with his precious blood to his head. And as he stared at the lifeless face, his own flesh started to stir. As if slowly submerged into a pool of molten skin, his facial characteristics disappeared, his visage but a crudely shaped mask. And then the change was made. Brow raised, his nose elongated and turned thinner. His hair shortened while his chin became pointy. His lips shrunk and his cheeks were pulled into his face. Bones were sculpted, skin stretched and flesh was rearranged until the thug's face was stolen.

It was far from perfect; yet the bruises and cuts that were carried through the transformation covered the pesky details to make it plausible. His victim was a lot thinner than him, but with the cloak he'd stolen he could hide his stocky build. He pulled the bloody dagger and grasped it tightly. He then pulled the corpse up and heaved it behind a crate, hiding it hastily. He felt exhausted, but adrenaline kept him in line.
He walked closer to Elias, brandishing the stolen weapon, a display of a successful stab.
"When this is over, I promise you'll get even with me.. for now, you'll do the talk.. " and then he pushed him forward, like he would do if the mage was his own prisoner, forcing him to walk along the corridor...

A moment before the door on the other side opened, the Morpher grabbed his jaw and with a disgusting cracking and slurring sound, he added a slight detail on his transformation. Bones shifted as if his jaw was dislocated, rendering him unable to speak while keeping this guise...

[Elias Caldera]

Elias watched in abstract horror as Daegron wrapped his ungodly arm around the man's head and punctured the poor bastard's eye with a sharpened pop of his talon. Till then he had managed quite impressively distract himself from thoughts of emptying his stomach in response to all the grizzly surroundings he had endured, but this... this was just too much. After he was done staring in disgust, he gagged, nearly draining himself of yesterday's cattail soup with one powerful heave. His body shuddered. "What the petch, Daegron!" He hissed in bated breath, the thug falling to his knees in a silent, bloody scream. "What the actual petch." He breathed, more to himself this time as he scrambled free and clear of the pile of bodies. The stink of burning flesh flared in his nostrils, eliciting another raucous revolt from his innards. He hadn't truly expected so much flame to come out the way it did, but his glyph's haphazard construction had altered a great deal of the magic he had so crudely shoved into it. Something only an idiot novice would allow himself to be surprised at.

Wiping the spit and traces of bile away from his lips, he glared up at the morpher with unrestricted skepticism and suspicion. How, in the name of Rhysol, had he gone from hating these nameless men with all his being, to pitying there wretched souls, and all in an instant? Daegron, that was how. Elias had killed men before. Four in fact, six if he wasn't being precise and wasn't talking about the few he had failed to actually watch the life slip from their eyes while he did them in. Four... No, petch, it was five now counting the burned man, wasn't it -That didn't matter though, the point was, death, even the bad kind, wasn't new to him. It certainly wasn't new to Daegron either it seemed, for the man went on so unphased by what he had just done it truly bothered Elias to even be so near him. The young man was now acutely aware of how very chained up he still was, and how very free the butcher had become at his expense. "No, hold on." He muttered warily, awkwardly trying to brace himself against the filthy wall so he could properly rise back to his feet. "Look, no, there is no bonding moment going on right now. Stop it." He grimaced in exasperation while struggling with his bindings. How to make this clear to a man like... him.

"I know we had a moment back there, and that was fantastic and all, but were out now, and that's all behind us. Done. Now its time we got out of here, go our separate ways and- hey, hey what are you doing? He might have the key on him. Dammit." But Daegron had other ideas, ones that quickly became paramount and above all else when the sound of men rushing up to the door from outside began to permeate through the wooden walls of the hallway. Elias wanted to dive for the corpse, shove the stocky man out of the way and begin rummaging through his pockets. The chanting put a halt to that idea, so to did the snap and shift of bones beneath the morpher's skin. The mage hissed a quiet curse or two, most of which were directed at his abruptly in charge partner who seemed obsessed with his magical rearranging. Still chained, still unarmed, still screwed, it was easy to see why even a loyal son of Ravok, who had been trained for the worst of the worst, was readily beginning to lose his shyke.

Finally the dark mage stirred, rising from his self induced ravings and displaying, of all things, the face of another where his own once had been. Elias went wide eyed at the seamless transformation. He hadn't known the thug from a stranger on the street, but the shape shifter had taken his likeness with such a level of depth and detail that it remind the young mage of the masters back in Zeltiva. He barely had the time to decide whether or not he was going to compliment the bastard, or flail at him in an angry attempt at a punch before he found himself shoved forward, directly into the path of the three men who had just surged into the room at the other end of the hall.

"I thought I told you bastards not to start before... Oh my." Said the first of the three. Red stains marred his bare chest, along with half a dozen scars that looked far too deep and terrible to have been ever survived in the first place. His dark, mattered mustache twitched at the smell that coated the corridor while he stared unblinking at the corpse behind the two escapees. Another man, a lanky, yellow haired fellow who had followed in behind the first, broke rank and ran over to the smoldering body, rattling off in some language the handicapped mage only thought he recognized. "You, go tell Jarvis. Go tell Jarvis now." His pointing finger barely seemed to register with the youngest and third member of the murders who was wide eyed in audacious disbelief. Elias didn't know why he was so angry at the boy for showing such shock, but considering what he had been part of out there, in that warehouse of petching horrors, the idea that he had the gall to be anything when faced with another body that wasn't someone he had likely been chopping to bits, infuriated the mage beyond words. Soon enough however, the finger became a shoving hand across his face, pushing him back out the door to the task he had been assigned.

It left only Daegron and Elias for the raven haired killer to focus on. "So... there must be quite the story to tell." He began sauntering forward, a blade smoothly flowing from the small of his back and into his tattooed hand. Elias didn't know what to do, but he managed an apologetic shrug of his shoulders... and regretted it immediately. "I'd love to hear it- Oh, shyke. What happened to your face, Saul?" He chuckled, surprised but disturbingly unaffected else wise by the man's apparent disfigurement. In fact, not even the charred corpse the other man was still fretting over seemed to elicit anything but a curious glance from this bloody businessman. That was troubling, and hastily Elias began fumbling around in the dark for a piece of his djed again. Something told him he would need it, and need it soon. For the time being however, he imagined there would be some some odd, gargling noises on the morpher's part to emphasize the obvious truth that his face, his talking parts in particular, weren't operational anymore. Thankfully, by then he had gathered a enough loose strands of arcana within himself to pull something off. "What happened?"

"The other one, he used some manner of magic to-" A fist caught Elias square in the gut, nearly dropping him to his knees in a loud clatter of chains had the man not caught him and righted him before he could fall. The prisoner gasped for air as the butcher put a bloody, stinking hand under his chin and forced his own green eyes into contact with his own. He's telling the truth the bewildered Ravokian desperately shot out, not even able to comprehend in his stupor that there had been no truth for the other man to believe in the first place. The magic was wasted utterly. "You mean you used magic. We know you're a mage, boy, he told us so, that's why we had you leached, that's why we had you bound. Now lets try this again." Elias groaned helplessly, furious that he was too bloody and beaten to be properly furious. In his rage he reached for just a bit more djed, pleading with himself to grant one final fireball to get him out of this unholy mess. He needed something. Anything!

"Why are you dressed like that?" The man abruptly asked, knocking the shorter Elias off guard. He had been readying himself for a barrage of questions and fists, but instead, the man seemed to focus on Daegron and his twisted visage. "And where did all that blood come from, Saul?" The bearded man cocked an eyebrow, shoving Elias free from his bone crunching grip and rounding on the guard who had killed the man whose face he now paraded around as his own.

"Hey!" Came a cry from the room. Elias turned, seeing the second man standing and pointing over at the bloody crate where the evidence had been poorly hidden. Of course... He turned to Daegron, offering a brief and forlorn shrug before turning on the bastard with red hands and promptly planting a knee between his groin. He didn't even bother waiting to see if it had worked or not, He just ran...

In the wrong direction. Galloping down the corridor towards where they had only just freed themselves from, Elias sprinted as fast as his broken and battered body could manage. He had to reach the door before the blonde one inside could. He had to shut him in so his vile compatriot in all this could kill the other one and perhaps, if the god's saw fit to end their debauchery for the night, they finally petching make it out of this nightmare. He just had to.

[Daegron]

"So... there must be quite the story to tell." A knife slipped in the butcher's hand. This one was far smarter than the rest. And looked a whole petching lot tougher.
This did not bode well...
"I'd love to hear it- Oh, shyke. What happened to your face, Saul?"
A few throaty and hissed consonants, along with gurgles and drool, came out of Daegron's dislocated jaw, as he tried to show how useless his talking parts had become, while waving his bloody dagger. But it was clear now it wouldn't work as he'd hoped. It was a hasty decision and a very bad plan. But still, it bought them some time, which was far better than going for a straight confrontation. The man wasn't buying it; he even looked amused though it was clear that he didn't actually know what had happened. But he'd probably been through worse. At least that was what those terrible scars on his chest said.

So his newest acquaintance was indeed a mage...and they had given him something that took the edge from his talents. Daegron doubted that these apes would think of something so sneaky or effective like that. And someone must have had the means, or the knowledge to find or even create such a thing. Whatever they'd fed him, it was pretty sophisticated, no doubt. But more importantly, who was behind all this hell ? No, this wasn't about some stupid gambling debt or hate kill for being on someone's wrong side. It was obvious that it run a lot deeper and was carefully planned. And if himself had fallen in that shyke-hole of a trap like a damn fool, he could only guess how they'd managed to catch this young mage.

Elias was pretty shaken. But he managed just fine, despite the sheer amount of violence and relentless beating he'd received. Most men would break and just lay down and die, making their prayers or whimpering about their mothers. He was still standing, even after witnessing the Morpher's sickening transformations. Daegron on the other hand, wasn't new to this. His breaking point was reached and overcome many years ago. He was just twelve when his loving family fancied putting the little bastard to the stocks. It was a cruel beating and a long week of humiliation. He was barely seventeen when he found himself on the wrong side of a mutiny. That was a long night of whipping and endless days spent tied on the mast. Being associated with cut-throats, thieves, mercenaries and associated scum made violence something ordinary for him. Being beaten, thrown in a cell and threatened to die was something he'd experienced quite a few times before. His morphing obsession and the corruption it brought to his soul had gotten him even further, to the point of apathy.

That train of thought was stopped with the unexpected chance that appeared. The boy was full of surprises, and when things seemed to turn bleak, a tiny spark of hope was born from Elias's knee. It had landed straight to that bastard's nut-sack who couldn't help but groan and lean forward in agony. The bloody dagger still in Daegron's hand was swiftly plunged forward in an attempt to stab at the mustached man's neck. But petch it ! He was no knife-fighter. He was able to wield decently a scimitar, perhaps even perform some very basic attacks with accuracy, or even try something fancier without hurting himself. But for him, knives were meant to cut fruits and the occasional piece of meat. There was no deathly arc, no swift flash of steel nor streaming hot blood. Just a slight trail of blood was left behind; a simple cut between the target's neck and shoulder as the blade missed the obvious mark. His hand was still shaking from the stress of recent transformations, or it could just be an excuse for incompetence. It was no matter now. The butcher stood tall, bloodlust in his teary eyes and behind him rose a mighty fist that landed straight onto Daegron's misshapen jaw.

That hurt. His concentration broke and with it, the face he'd stolen was forcefully snapped back into it's normal shape. He felt as if his front teeth were just shoved into his brain as he stumbled a few stems behind. And then another punch, even harder than the last came from his right and sent him crashing on the corridor's wall. In the haze that followed the impact he barely caught the glimpse of steel heading straight for his eye. He'd never know or be able to guess if it was pure damn luck or his instinct that made him tilt his head a bit to the right. The blade missed his socket and pierced the wooden wall all the way to it's hilt. The butcher tried to remove it, but it was stuck. Daegron desperately lunged his knee forward, managing a weak blow to his opponent's belly, only to receive an elbow on his brow, from the hand that was still trying to pull the blade out. With a grown and a grunt, he gathered all the strength he could and sent a punch that landed under the thug's arm. A few precious moments were earned and he managed to clear his head just enough to dodge the next hit aiming straight for his face. He tried to retaliate with an uppercut, but it was hopeless. His hand was deftly grabbed, and he was turned around with a quick move. Sharp stings came through his back as a couple of quick hits landed on his waist, His legs failed and he knelt; the killer's arm was instantly wrapped around his throat, locking his head as he wrapped the other around his chest and stood over him.
"I'll just kill you with my bare hands..." his opponent hissed and tightened the grip.

The world blackened as his breath was stolen. He desperately tried to push, but the other man was far stronger. The end was near. There was no hope for breath; his neck and ribs were ready to snap from the terrible pressure. He frantically tried to reach inwards, to grab whatever was left of his Djed, but he just could not focus and direct it. His essence was just barely out of reach and the dancing strands seemed to mock him. As his senses begun to dull and fade and his consciousness started to flutter away carrying whatever was left of his life, he heard it...

"And to think that you'd make it... pitiful weakling, your Art is nothing, useless now... and you will soon be dead.... pathetic.... spineless little worm you are..."

Cruel mockery from the sweetest of whispers; it's tone but a gentle melody, drowned in contempt. It shook his very being and dragged him out of oblivion, reminding him of what defined his existence. Pride
"Spineless? Hardly so...II'll show you the spine I got.." he thought and made a final attempt. His legs seemed to find strength anew and his feet stepped firmly on the floor.

And it was as if his fingers stretched and grabbed a strand of Djed from his core. And guided by the rhythm dictated by his slowly beating heart, the strand swirled and followed, spreading throughout his body, and like an ominous wave along his spiral cord. His torso slumped forward, giving the impression that he was almost dead, while in fact he was creating an arc, to facilitate the impending transformation. He felt the grip on his chest loosening and welcomed the inward rush of air and the power it brought. His vertebrae seemed to stir and the marrow inside became denser as the bones hardened. Within few precious moments they grew to connect and establish a rigid, solid structure. And once that foundation was laid, small bumps formed on the outer surface. With the breath he'd gained, the Morpher pushed his feet against the ground, awkwardly standing up and forcefully sending his opponent's back crashing against the opposite corridor wall. What a surprise! he was still pinned and the grip tightened once more, but he'd managed to create a slight gap for short breaths and locked the butcher in place, pushing as hard as he could. With fierce howls, his chant started again and the small bumps grew into spikes, tearing through his own skin. They elongated and slowly travelled into the flesh of his enemy. Dozens of barbs ripped through and viciously pierced till the bated breath and groan in his ear stopped, and the hands dropped dead, releasing him.

The daggers on his spine retreated back into place as a numbing ache spread along his body. He huffed and his first deep breaths were followed by a coughing fit and the feeling of faint. Soon his body had taken it's normal shape and he was hastily searching the corpse. A key ring was raised where Elias stood before the door that was closed again. The lanky fellow was locked inside and was furiously trying to break the door; just like his victims did before him.

Moving towards them, his walk more like a stumble, Daegron took the key and finally unlocked the shackles that limited Elias' hands. Still hunched, he looked up into his ally's eyes and spoke with a fading voice..
"What the petch ? you think they'll let us walk out of here ? Someone has taken great pains to turn us into piles of dead meat, you think they'll just stop ? Sure, they'll just forget about it and you can walk around free; they certainly wouldn't throw anything worse upon you. Then a couple of days later, the Black Sun starts preaching about daisies, sunshine and love... " he laughed and coughed and rose a hand pointing at the door to their cell.
"In there, we got one who knows something. We need to find out who wants us dead and get to him first, or we'll perish. Don't you dare quit on me." Was it hesitation or determination in Elias' eyes ? Daegron wasn't sure. But he threw a wildcard anyway:
If you prefer, we can just leave and forget all about it... but it's a pity, really.. After all the things they said about your mother...

[Elias Caldera]

There had been a small glimpse of satisfying victory in the blonde man's eyes when his hand, which Elias noted was missing the top most notches on two fingers, had reached the handle of the dainty cell door before his own. In that moment he had known Elias's plan to grab the door and slam it shut while he was still inside, and he had also known he had beaten him to it, denying the prisoner his only chance at trapping him inside for god's knew how long. The mage could tell, it was an occasion that flashed by in an instant as more important matters surged into focus frame by frame, but still, he was glad the petcher had at least that brief, happy thought going for him, because it was a moment that lasted all of two ticks before the young mage leapt so damned high off his feet, black hair scraped against the filthy, spider webbed ceiling of the confining corridor before leveling out and planted both heels right in the bastard's chest. What followed was an explosive 'oof' and shoe leather meant chest shaped door mat, which was proceeded immediately by heels skidding along the floor and the sound of crates bursting apart as someone rocketed through them with uncontrolled force. Elias hit the ground a heartbeat later, all the air forced out of his aching lungs while chains rattled and bit deep into his arms. Laying there, stunned by the impact of his own drop kick, Elias didn't dare move until he could feel the sweet relief of breath once again grace his soar throat. It was only after his own semblance of life returned did he notice any movement inside.

The butcher arose from the sea of wooden shards and splinters, shakily picking himself out of the wreckage and fixing the Caldera with a glare that screamed bloody murder. He could scream all he wanted, Elias decided as he rolled to his feet and kicked the door shut, it was his room now after all. There was an audible and thoroughly comforting snap-click from the bolted iron lock as the hinges snapped shut. The chained young man was certain he heard someone curse at him from the other side, and it brought a most delighted smile to his bruised and bloodied face to hear it. All his glorious boasting had to wait however, as there was still one left to deal with before this gruesome phase of the nightmare came to a close. Elias whirled around, completely ready to do combat with a knife wielding shyke or two, but instead all he found was Daegron, miraculously still alive and well no less. The novice wasn't sure whether he was relieved or not truth be told, especially when he noticed the skewered body the moprher had left in his wake, not to mention the copious amounts of vitae that smeared his back. With so much blood having stained the walls and their clothes, and in so short an amount of item as well, Elias found even he had to relent in the face of all the mayhem and gave a curt, silent prayer to Viratas in halfhearted apology for its spilling in the first place, but mostly in an awkward 'thank you' for making sure it hadn't all been theirs in the end.

As pretty as a blood covered old petch like Daegron was however, nothing could compare to the beauty of the key he held in his hand. Elias nearly swooned at the sight of it, but as the chains fell away and he was finally granted his freedom, he decided to let out a deeply relieved sigh instead. Part of him could have almost hugged the stocky murderer, tattered and battered as he was, but that idea was soon thrown out the window when the dark mage began to talk again. As he was quickly coming to understand, Daegron's forte was blinding one with hearty speeches of vengeance and courage while simultaneously distracting you from the very sobering fact that his accompanying plan of action in no way shape or form would ever work. He, of all things they could have done at that point, believed it to be a good idea to burst back into the meat locker and interrogate the blood soaked goon now loudly protesting against his unscheduled incarceration inside. Annoyed, Elias smashed a quieting fist against the wood, but it only elicited an even more boisterous ruckus in response. How exactly were they going to do this again? The morpher looked nearly ready to collapse and Elias... Elias was just so tired none of this even felt real anymore. It was like he was having a terrible dream, and despite his best to rouse him, his ally simply couldn't understand why the young Ravokian had been so wishy washy during their incredibly brief, incredibly violent time together. He was exhausted, not just mentally, not just physically, but magically as well. They took my petching djed! He wanted to roar, to make everyone understand what that meant. He hadn't been introduced to magic at a young age, instead his life was the sword and the shield and the duty to one's city that never faltered. When all that had been torn away from him, it had been magic that filled the void left behind. It was like a scar scabbed over, and now that it had been rent and ripped opened again, the wound was revealed just as empty as it had ever been, but now without the arcane to ease the pain. Elias was just too weak to properly fight, and too drained to be a mage instead. Without those two things, what else did he even have?

The morpher didn't know any of this of course, and so he persisted on anyway. When he mentioned Elias's mother however, the ass had finally gone too far for their uncomfortably alliance of necessity to mitigate his abrasive personality anymore. What are you, a child! Trying to use my mother to goad a response out of me... With a bloodthirsty snarl and all his remaining strength, Elias threw out his hands in front of him and shoved the man with all he had... which was to say he neatly bounced off of Daegron in some feeble attempt to protect his mother's honor, almost literally collapsing against the opposite wall in the process. Doubling over on his knees, he cursed and struggled to regain his breath before bracing himself for the retaliation. "No." He groaned angrily. "No more of your plans. Your plans petching suck." The last one had almost gotten him stabbed, and it had definitely gotten him punched again. He was tired of getting punched today! Daegron just couldn't get past the rage, he refused to see how hopeless a situation they were continuously digging themselves into. The two of them had to get out of there, out of that hallway, and out of whatever crimson soaked hellhole Rhysol had deemed fit to dump them in. "More of them will be coming." He tried to state with as much conviction as he felt, but all that managed was to allow him to barely stand up straight again, let alone put on the air of knowing authority he was hoping for.

Elias was fairly certain he was right though, about his prediction that they'd have even more unwelcome hosts trying to greet them to the party soon. That other one, the young lad who had seemed dumbstruck at the sight of his fallen comrade, they had sent him off to fetch someone and relay the news. Smart thinking on the part of the butcher, but his kind of smart had only gone and gotten him impaled like a pin cushion and left to bleed in a crumpled heap somewhere in the corner. That was not the way Elias intended to go. He had to be two steps ahead instead of just one, and that extra step did not involve beating a confession out of a two bit cutthroat just so they could get gutted by his friends afterwards. "I'm getting the petch out of here before we have to do all this again." His tone was more argumentative than it was matter of factly. There was no denying it, in his condition, Elias needed the other man if he truly had any hope of making it out alive. For some reason they hadn't taken his magic, and twice now it had saved them from the grasp of certain death. If the other man still adamantly refused to adhere to reason however, then the Ravokian wasn't going to die trying to convince him. He stalked off towards the opposite end of the hallways, simply content with the prospect of finally getting away from the stink of burning flesh and newly minted bodies. Regardless if the stocky killer followed or not, Elias was getting his freedom from this place, he swore it. As he made his way past the body of the mustached man, he planted a solid boot across the fool's hollow face, toppling the corpse over and revealing the dagger hidden underneath the folds of his stained clothing. Elias bent down and took it, knowing full well how useful it would surely come in soon. He made for the door handle and cautiously pulled it open. There was no telling what was waiting for him on the other side, nor how many of them would require a good stabbing in order to be persuaded that he was leaving one way or another.