Garrick wanted to spit thee bitter blood out of his mouth but another instincts in him told him to swallow his body was starved for nourishment and in need, But like all things it came to a end as he saw a new threats possibly coming.

Looking for a weapon now that the knife in his hand was not real but a shard of the floor he began looking on the bloody floor for something and found a small bone hammer made for breaking bones carefully for a medical personal now used for breaking bones and leaving thrmt in broken condition.

Carefully trying to pick it up Garrick found he was having troubles just picking this one handed tool up. Using both hands he picked up the small hammer and tried to wield it.

As the doors opened and chains fell from the ceiling, the familiar sense of blood running through the limbs once again enveloped Viator and he opened his eyes for the second time today. It was a strange sensation, after all this time, to be able to enjoy having more than just a sight and he relished at the opportunity given to him by his patron, dressed as a rather angry legionnaire.

"Is that the sweet musk of fear which I sense?" the traveler thought as the feeling began returning to him, slowly but surely, the brewing conflict and the emotions that followed it giving him strength to move his atrophied limbs. "One would remember his past better if his hand would grip the familiar pommel of his sword," a voice came unbidden to his mind and Viator obeyed. Or at least, he wanted to but the reality was much different.

As he touched the grip and felt the old sensation coming back, he growled as the truth that he suspected was finally revealed. First of all, his body was in such a bad shape that he seriously questioned his ability to fight or do anything requiring little bit more than a minimum effort, fighting included. But then again, that problem could be solved perhaps by feeding upon the horror of those about to die - and more by causing the suffering in question - however in order to do that he would at least require a proper weapon which the one in his hands certainly wasn't.

Sa'vr'sen'stvo, the name of his old sword spoken in the dead language of ancient Terran settlers who first gazed upon the redeeming madness of the Warp, the blade blessed by the trice-cursed blood of a hundred and six virgins and honed by the corrupted smiths of the Weng Mountain, entrapping the soul of a greater daemon and bending the creature to his will, making the sword and his wielder unmatched when it came to claiming life in Slaanesh's name.

However all of that potency was gone now - the blade was rusted and dull beyond repair, the golden and purple ornamentation fallen ages ago and whatever creature that used to be inside of it was now long gone. For all intents and purposes, Viator in his hand held a sword that could go toe to toe with only a crowbar, and even that was a question. But maybe it was true, maybe as he continued down the path and reached the new heights of sensation so would his soul-strength reflect on the blade, twisting it back in his glorious image and the image of his patron. He sighed. Maybe not - after all, he was never a sentimental man, leaving such weak emotions to the fools destined to remain ignorant and becoming one now was out of the question.

He slowly stood upright, careful not to fall, and started walking out of the cell towards where the Word Bearers pointed at, careful to stand at least in the second row of "militia", or at least behind or close to another prisoner that didn't look as if he was about to die from a mere sneeze. There was a time for arrogance and a time for being cunning, thankfully the Dark Prince was pleased by his servants being and showing both of those attributes - mostly in equal measure of course, but this situation required more of the latter. At the same time, Viator was also on the lookout for any interesting individuals surrounding him, other than the Word Bearers, maybe some of them could be used later on when they eventually get out of this mess. After all, who can say that some of the incoming enemies might not push through their lines and gank one of their jailers, so he needed to see who could he count on to help him find a proper pleasure while gutting one of the marines and feeding upon their sweet suffering.

Observation: I seem to be drawing nearer to the source of the chanting than I can ever recall having done. But there appears to be something else overlaid upon it...a noise...like that of a battle-WHATBYALLTHEAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHH...

The first sounds that clear Silim's spasming throat are dry, rasping croaks of agony, followed by a horrid scream to tell the world how he really feels.

With the grim desperation of a drowning man, he seizes ahold of mental discipline - long gone rusty, but too deeply ingrained to ever truly fade - and locks onto a mantra of focus, mouthing the Sanskrit words in parched silence as his will begins to assert itself through the fugue of confusion and pain.

{"Form is void, and void is form;
Pain arises from fear of impermanence;
Fear arises from ignorance and delusion;
Enlightenment is a diamond that cuts through delusion;
Embracing the void is the first step to enlughtenment;
Form is void, and void is form..."}

Rising to his feet as his senses and reason gather coherence, he takes note of his circumstances, both internal and external. Noting the wasted state of his body, he casts a Pavoni healing cantrip - nothing too elaborate just yet, simply enough to accelerate his metabolism and encourage his cells to heal themselves with energy leeched from the Warp-saturated air.

Meantime, he listens to the sounds of battle about himself and attempts to interpret them so as to better form a tactical premise, reaching out also with telepathy to parse the local mindscape for information . Simultaneously, he glances about his claustrophobic cell, seeking means of escape, or anything that might be pressed into service as an improvised weapon or sorcerous implement.

Before his fall to this pathetic form he was... He would have hugged the beast of his patron god, played with it, perhaps attempted to tame it. But in his pale form and having fallen from the grace of his god...?

Wait a moment. How did he get free? Kaleidos was just about to be devoured by the flower before it suddenly opened up and spit him out into this beautiful garden. Well it would be beautiful if the deadly plagues and viruses were not attempting to eat him and his flesh. The air hurted his lungs, not in the good way he was used to. It was burning, the burning hatred of Nurgle eating him inside out.

And then his absolute worst nightmare turned real, the Beast of Nurgle who was a prime beast in spreading Nurgle's unconditional love. But today? Today he would die the worst, most pathetic death in the history of Nurgle Sorcerers. So he did what every intelligent Astartes would do in this situation. Kaleidos hurried over to one of the imprisoned individuals and ripped him free, pushing him right away towards the Beast of Nurgle. "Fetch this one! He is so upset and needs your and Nurgle's love!" He cried out to the Beast, hoping it would take the fresh prisoner, while he himself made as fast as his legs would carry him towards the exit.

To regain Papa Nurgle's love, he would need to survive for another day. Or was this perhaps the irony of Tzeentch? Letting him fall into his old patron's hands who tortures him after the attempt to follow the God of Change? Only so that the God of Change can save him in attempt to fully convert the Pest Sorcerer? His faith was crumbled and he did not know what to do - except to survive.

Three decades. That is how long it had been since his last attempt. A true trophy amongst failures if he was to be honest. He had lost count of the amount of years he had been concocting that plan. But it didn't matter in the end. For all the subterfuge he weaved in the tower, all of the death and blackmail, it all came to the same conclusion as all of his other plans. Total failure and complete humiliation, and the unending laughter of the Weaver of Fate. Something in Alpharius had broke that day, and since he had simply sat in the tower, accepting the futility of his plans and attempts to escape.

Of course his patron wasn't amused by this, wanting nothing more than to see his continued blunders and failures of cataclysmic proportions. He presented him with countless opportunities to escape, even at times bringing the exit, his doorway to freedom but a footstep from him. But Alpharius knew better, and that the moment he took but a single step forward his legs would fail, stopping short right before he stepped out.

And so he sat. Unmoving, unthinking for years on end, to the point where a thick layer of dust formed across his body. As time passed, the attention of his patron seemed to pass as well as began to stop his attempts at temptation, finding the stagnation of one of his play things to be unbearably boring.

But deep down, Alpharius was to proud to give up. At least not forever, and even failure seemed to be preferable to his unchanging state. After so many years the dust shifted, falling off of the Alpha Legionnaire's form as he got up from his position, finding everything to be the exact same as when he last moved about. Or was it entirely different now? It didn't matter, for he had a new plan now, one that held promise to secure his freedom, and his chance to bring uncertainty and manipulation to the stars once more.

"I'm going to wing it." With that the Astartes made his way into the tower, not bothering to think of where he was going and what lay before him. All's that mattered was that he keep moving forward

OOC: Sorry for the delay

< Halls of Stagnant Blood > @matt23 @Virgil_Corbec @Vulpas
Mordethac's hands wrestled against those of the inmate in quivering, almost spastic, bouts of strength. They ended up tumbling over one another several times before one sack of wasted flesh and decayed muscle overcame the other and Mordethac smashed his foe's skull onto the floor several times and succeeded in knocking him out. Ages ago it would of only taken one good smash to splinter skull and spill brain matter, oh how the mighty had fallen. For the others there was a distinct lack of opponents as no one wanted to bother the faceless guy with a knife and funnily enough Garrick's brand scared away others who weren't too keen on trying their luck against a fellow radiating any sort of power, even if they had an inkling of an idea that they could probably take him. The broken prison began to empty as the laggards hobbled, shambled and lurched out into the connecting structure where the Word Bearer garrison normally lazed about and lamented what was very much a penal posting. Either nothing ever happened, or something like this... a lose lose situation.

Whenever our three notable nobodies joined made it there themselves they would find many of their own dead and a handful of butchered Word Bearers. Once again they had been stripped of all equipment and they were too late to the party. Now they had some actual options on what to do. Perhaps they might follow the loudest source of screaming in Kharn's own rebel mob. Perhaps they would delve into one of the other three halls marked out by several other arches and each one marked out by elaborate portrayals of the various gods' heraldry.

< Garden of Decaying Favor > @Uriel1339
Kaleidos found his sacrificial friend to be of very disappointing use as the confused fallen Nurglite whirled around confused before being crushed by the Beast slithering over him. It paused mid-step for about three seconds to make sure its buddy was properly slimed before carrying on at a far faster pace than the sorcerer could with his rail thin legs. Nearing the arch to freedom he heard an ungodly combination of squelches and squeals as the Beast coiled back on itself then sprung forward.

With all the grace of arcing vomit the daemon splashed down between Kaleidos and freedom, splattering phlegm and mucus all over the place as it writhed around like a surprised serpent. Regaining its composute the creature rose up and began to slap toward the man with three webbed feet.

The Damned:
Kaleidos: 8
Conditions:

Friendly Fiend:
Beast of Nurgle: 20
Conditions:

< Silver Tower > @Keidivh @Draconion @Grall_Stonefist
For Alpharius he found himself already in the heart of the tower on one of its middle levels. What space wasn't given over to cells was dominated entirely by a wide spiral staircase that was quickly filling up with his fellow convicts like Silim and Aphael. Unlike the Khorne loving prisoners they were all civil to some degree. Instead of outright stabbing each other or pouncing upon the guards they were all respectfully plotting how best to screw over the others while making their own escape. Equipment was even rarer here than in the other halls as the handful of dead mortal minders possessed mostly decorative ritual knives and shoddy quality staves and channeling staffs. For those seeking a focus or armament these would have to do. Of note to everyone was a single prisoner who seemed to of maintained some of his form and was attempting to gather the others attention.

"Fellows, fellows! " He fell silent a moment and dipped his head to clear his throat, trying to avoid coughing out loud lest he sound weak. "I believe it might be in our best interests to band together for our trek forward. There is no telling what awaits us out here. This might be a genuine opportunity or another trap, either way we're bound to accomplish far more favorable goals working in some cohesion. " He might be right, then again it wasn't hard to imagine that it was every man for himself. Granted this fellow still had the build of a proper Space Marine so cowering in his shadow may keep one alive a bit longer to accomplish something.

For those who could care less about teamwork though there were two destinations within the tower and one was up the stairs to the top floor which was just more cells like every other section of wall. The other was straight downstairs to the entrance where they could march outward and into the central building to enjoy the sounds of Kharn attempting to pry open reinforced doors with a chainsword and his bare hands while dozens of angry Khornates chanted in support while keeping a fair distance back lest they get gutted!

< Temple of Deprivation > @Redthirst @Colapse
"Here they come! Come and face death you miserable cur! " The horned Word Bearer made a slash with his power sword signalling the handful of legionnaires under his command to open fire. Bolters fired passed and into the ranks of Slaaneshi cannon fodder tearing apart the initial wave of inmates. Screaming in fury and pain they toppled over as torn up sacks of flesh and splintered bone. Some were so driven by madness that they ran on or continued to crawl forward. Easy prey was pounced upon by the just as wretched prisoners who had displeased the Prince of Pleasure. The Word Bearers fired indiscriminately ripping apart the naked desperates. Of course this effect went both ways and it took a total of thirty seconds for the plan of using sensation starved Slaaneshi to go pear shaped.

Former cultists and champions from all sides fell to lunacy as the Khornates did what they did and just sought bloodshed while the Slaanesh worshiper's threw themselves at any experience they could whether it be violence or degeneracy. The Word Bearers quickly tried to break from the area, kicking, punching and shooting everything that came near and doing a damn fine job of succeeding thanks to being in healthy shape and having actual equipment that was worth a damn. For our two 'heroes' it was an entirely different story as they were now surrounded by a bunch of insane naked heretics equipped just as poorly as they were. The chaos of crumbling prisoner line and invasion of the Blood God's shamed had pushed Nemeritus and Viator into close proximity. Just as quickly they were surrounded by approaching foes, two of their fellow deprived scrambling in from the left while behind them and facing Viator was a bolt pistol wielding Khornate who had forced enough angry strength to the fore to actually wield the weapon.

The Damned:
Viator: 8 Nemeritus: 8
Conditions:

Those Damned Khorne Lovers and Lunatics:
Fallen Champion: 8 Crazed Inmates: 5/5
Conditions:

@Virgil_Corbec @Vulpas

Arnok fell to his knees once again with the attacker dead. It was strange to feel such a lack of power. Barely being able to stand on his own to feet, was a very foreign thing. Astartes were the strongest beings in the universe and to be reduced to this decrepit state was pitiful. He had been humiliated by Khorne, having everything taken from him as that blood god pouted like a child. No matter, Arnok would have his vengeance in time. All he needed now was the patience and wherewithal to stay alive long enough to make it happen.

With the room now free of most dangers, Arnok could see two others, in his very position, begin to gather near the exit of the room. He pushed himself to his feet, once again, and made his way over to them. "I will be damned if I ever follow a servant or representative of Khorne again. Those animals are just as likely to kill us on their little war path as they are anyone else who stands in their way. Not to mention Kharn now walks with them, and that is someone who, even before all this, I would care not to fight next to," the Word Bearer said as he held himself up against the wall. He then pointed to the three other paths to the prisons, "I know you both may not like this, but we have no favor with Khorne anymore. We can split up, and each of us can go into a different part of the prison and see if there are more sane prisoners to recruit. I can go into the depths of Nurgle's prison. There will be durable recruits there for the coming battle. We can meet back here once we are done and get off this damned planet of my Father."

OOC: I vote going to search other prisons. I will go into the Gardens of Decay.

@DeranVendar

Picking up the rusty saw Mordethac cut through the throat of the man below him and claimed his skull for Khorne. He thought it was a poor bounty for the blood god but a bounty nonetheless. He turned and yelled in a hoarse voice "Anyone else?! Anyone else dare to challenge me?!" Upon seeing no one willing to take on the angered space marine he smiled. He shakily got to his feet after the bout and realized just how wasted he was, his muscles ached after the brief fight and now a cloud came over his mind.

Shaking his head Astoro looked around the room and noticed the sudden light. Had he actually managed to break free? It couldn't be right? He walked up near the exit amongst two others.

@matt23

Astoro wanted to get off the planet as much as this man wanted but he didn't feel like working alongside chaos worshippers. It didn't matter he was knee-deep in them anyway so he'll just have to pretend. He would rather not deal with psykers in his condition so he said "I'll go down to the prison of slaanesh and see if there is anything of note there."

@matt23 @Virgil_Corbec
Garrick listened to the other Marine as he suggested his plan. He could somewhat agree with the plan but not with the part about leaving this planet, Garrick wanted to regain his strength then burn this entire planet till it was nothingf but ash, Then go after that damned Erebus of this place then tear him apart and turn his skull into a artillery shell. Then that dammned sorrcer.

As Garrick's eyes wandered he spotted the mark of tzeench and a hall only those of the sorrcer's god of change could possibly enjoy, "agreeded I will head down the hall of the sorrcers god, I shall return if I survive, If not start a fire and burn down the sorrcers ward and everyone in it." Garrick said with what energy he could then looked down the ward and began moving down it with hammer in hand.

@DeranVendar

Kaleidos cursed under his breath as his path was cut off and the beast was so close, approaching him. "I will not be denied freedom. Not like this." The Nurglite said to the beast, literally putting his foot down. His physique might have not been anymore the glorious body it was once. But his mind was as sharp as it always had been. Terror and torture might have weakened it - but not stripped him completely of his sanity just yet. He closed his eyes and held his arms outstretched, trying to channel the ethereal of the warp. He was a sorcerer after all. Once he believed to have garnered enough warp power, he slammed his palms together before him. It was an attempt to unleash the undivided spell of doombolts. Perhaps he could at least weaken the beast enough to stop chasing him, or push it away to look for another route for his escape.