If Jericho wasn't as focused on keeping it together as he was, the fact that his gut instinct had gone from screaming to being curled up in a metaphorical corner, gibbering in response to the....[i]thing[/i] that had just come into view would have probably left him in a rather sorry state as well. The innate dread he felt boring into him kept his face rather deadpan, more frozen in shock than simply being unflappable, but given the light conditions, it would likely be difficult to tell. Then the thing started talking, sounding unsettlingly human, and the chuckle didn't help. What in the ever spiteful gods did that plague surgeon drag the collective of them into? The second voice caused his eyes to dart to the source, another one chattering about how it'd be rude to just start. Given the name offered, Keepa, this was probably what passed for a jailor. Which meant this was probably going to get ugly, but he kept a level tone as he responded to the thing as it asked after his name, or what they call him, the addition of baby sent a shiver down his spine, and not in a good manner. Still, he kept his tone level, confident even, an scoundrel like him had to keep a confident, even face in the face of the most impossible odds, or what good was he?

	[color=598527]"Call me Walker, it's a pleasure Keepa. Apologies about the noise, seems it travels rather uniquely in this lovely place you have here, and since we're just passing through we can certainly be on our way and not causing anymore noise if you'd be so kind? Save us all the trouble of being in each others way."[/color] The reaction, and movement of Kite out of the corner of his eye, was an indicator this was most certainly going to get ugly fast. However, the longer he kept talking, the more precious seconds he could give the other three a chance to brace, subtly hopefully, before this got ugly, as well as gather precious bits of information, as he was [i]sorely[/i] out of his element right now. Two heads so far, he didn't have the slightest clue how well well made steel would work on this thing, but he'd be a fool if he planned to simply get back in his cell. [i]Especially[/i] given the fact the sounds had come from the cells before this thing had appeared. Four of them, three cells of freed prisoners, since he had to assume the gypsy was also freed, just the first one. The grip remained on the hilt of his arming sword, borderline white knuckle, and he had made sure his position put his back to his newfound allies, temporary and transient as it may be after this. Hope the new girl was the swim type when it came to sink or swim. All he was looking for was an opening, either to strike, or to leg it. Discretion was the better part of valor, after all, and he hadn't survived and thrived fighting fairly or openly, so he had to keep his options open, and if that meant talking, so be it.

	Oppressive darkness, and given the things opening extinguishing of the light, it probably would target the torch again given the chance. Meant he'd have to be careful with it, pass it off and grab another if the opening was made. Normally, he'd use an offhand torch as a weapon as well, but given how vital it was as their only source of light, not an option. Perhaps if they could get another one, maybe during whatever 'Stardust', as the thing had referred to their guide as, was hopefully planning. That knife trick hinted at other things, what would stop him from producing a crossbow or the like? And given the complete unknowns of what the red clad lass, and the gypsy if he was being earnest, could do, he had to assume they would be dead weight until proven otherwise. Still, his focus was on the head talking, meeting the things gaze, as unnerving as it was, while his peripheral watched for any other signs of trouble. Calling his nerves on edge would be an understatement, as he could feel the adrenaline hammering through his system, triggered by fight or flight. Given they had nowhere to run that was apparent? He was ready to fight, like a cornered rat, ironically enough, which could be dejavu inducing if he wasn't so on edge.