Chapter 1 - Awakening

The old man may not know his name, but does vaguely recall that he personally uses italicized bold for inner thoughts and quoted bold for verbal communication.

Might as well announce myself. Maybe they can help.

"Hello? Who's out there?" he says as he approaches the bars, shocked at the sound of his own voice. Is that what I sound like?

I am...I, I say, still at a loss for a name, or identity.

"'Eye?'" verifies the old man. "Well, can you get me out of here? Where are you?" He tries to grab the bars.

In a cage. I take it you are in the same?, I ask, the answer fairly obvious.

"No it's not from the grooves. Does anyone know where we are? Or who I am? I don't know who I am"

"I think it's pretty obvious by now that we're all clueless on why we're here, or even where here is. I'm more concerned about getting out of here at this point, anyone got any bright ideas?"

"Who said that?" blurts out the old man, not really thinking it through.

I inspect the bars to see how large of gaps may be there. I try to reach my gauntlet hand through seeing if I can use my intangible ability to reach out further than I should likely be able to.

"I think the pillars on the dais might have something to do with it"

The elf looks about his cell for anything if use

"Maybe if we can disrupt the channels we can get free?"

He wakes up on the ground, head spinning. He looks around and notices he does not know where he is. The sound of nearby voices causes him to take a defensive position. He doesn't know why he's doing it, but something inside him caused him to take that stance. He doesn't recognize any of the voices. He creeps up to the bars and tries to look out. He sits back and listens to the voices.

"What in the hells are you talking about?" grumbles the old man. "Disrupting the channels? With what, piss and spit?"

Actually... the man tries forming enough saliva to lob something into the grooves on the floor.

I clatter to the ground in a pile of armor before I focus up again and get my form back to a recognizable form. I stand on shaky legs that threaten to both buckle and clatter to the floor. I manage a few steps towards the dais. The...the orb. It disrupted the channels. I can't feel the magic from them, I say as I pull the robe I'm in around my form, and if there is a hood I cover my helmet to try to hide my appearance.

Surely they'll think me a ghost... ...maybe they would be right, I think.

"Magic? What magic?" asks the man, gingerly stepping beyond the boundaries of his cell. "And why did you get to keep your fancy armor, while I... did not? Uh, I must have had something else to wear... right?"

Hearing the clatter of armour, The elf runs back to his cell's door and grabs hold of the bars

"What was that, how did you .... He stood mid sentence as his bars start to crumble

Bewildered he gingerly takes his first steps out of his cell

We're free. Now what? he looks around the room at the other. He rests his gaze on the One wearing armour, slightly longer than the others, before gong to inspect the Dias

A figure steps into the middle of the room. Measured steps, well-practiced. The gait of a swordsman. But this is no man. The figure has cast aside the tattered robe, exposing not flesh but metallic plates. Here is no suit of armor - the metal is this thing's skin. The metal gleams in patches where the grime of this place has been rubbed away. Is this a fellow prisoner, or your jailer? The thing stands, impassive, unheeding. It would seem a mere automaton, a golem, were it not for the spark of intelligence that shines in what must be its eyes. There are tales of such things: living constructs forged by sorcerer-kings to wage their wars. The figure looks down at its own clenched fists. Then, suddenly, it bows deeply at the waist, to whom, it is unclear. The figure straightens, remains still and silent.

The boy almost falls over as the bars of the cage turn to dust, but barely manages to keep standing. Peering out of the cage, alert for danger he steps out. The boy has long blonde hair, almost down to his waist and long bangs that frame the face of a very young man. Good estimates would put him at about 16 years old, though he is a bit short for his age, standing just under five feet tall.

As he steps out of his cage his left leg lands heavily, making an odd sound, as metal hitting stone. Those who look closely can see a metal hand sticking out his his right sleeve, but he is obviously making an attempt to conceal it. His golden eyes peer around the room, taking in the sights and absorbing the sensations as only a young man can. He takes a deep breath and smiles, unsure of where he's at or why he's here, but he's happy to be alive.

He notices the strange, armored individual with his hood up and feels a strange kinship with him, as if he's met him before. He shakes off the sensation, it must be a trick of his fatigued mind.

I look down at my armored hands poking out from the robe. I keep the hood low to obscure my helmet and walk up to the dais to examine the dark orb.

The armor is...necessary, I quickly say in my tinny hollow voice. I reach out to touch the orb.