[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/hSbxgyH.png[/img]
[sup][@Pyromania99][@Rune_Alchemist][@PaulHaynek][@Guy0fV4lor][/sup][/center]
Isidore stared at Augusta for a long couple of seconds, before continuing to follow Octavia. He hadn’t been democratic in his past life, but there were only implicit understandings between himself and this group of strangers. Best to let this go.

The architecture changed as they strode down the stairs. It was curious, that this building was constructed atop something older, something fouler. Not just a place for foul experimentation, but perhaps a place for archaeologists to delve into the mysteries of the past too? It smelled of a bad movie, really, the sort that the young uns in his business would simultaneously deride and eat up. As the surroundings worsened and worsened, shadows lengthening and the stench of the ghettos seeping into Isidore, the man began to consider. Black slabs that ate the soul, which transformed into flowers birthed of tar. Emancipated monstrosities, wandering empty corridors and hallways. A warden of titanic proportions, stalking the aboveground.

Once again, curiosity and ambition got the better of one’s common sense, hm?

Black vines crawled over old stone, wretched creatures turned into fertilizer from which the tar flowers grew. The lighting conditions were practically non-existent at this point, and the stench strengthened too, every cell of the dungeon empty. A disgusting place, a proper oubliette, a place that even he feared. And at the very end, where the demonic dog awaited them like a guide to the bowels of hell, stood a door, wrenched open by masses of vines. The occult circle engraved upon its surface had its own implications, as did the runes inscribed upon them as well. A different script from the ones that adorned the black stone slabs. A different meaning.

In the suffocating silence, Isidore spoke up.

[b]“They were studying something. It got out.”[/b]

He picked up Octavia’s chain, looping it twice around his hand. He forced the tension out of his shoulders, and felt again for that energy within his own body. Once, he had formed a connection with another soul, and became more grounded for it. Now, he envisioned it coalescing on his eyes, drawing more light into it, as vestigial as it was. And, whether or not his eyesight improved from it, Isidore strode boldly forwards. It didn’t matter, after all.

He had walked to certain death once, the waves burning his lungs from inside out.

But this? This was just another alleyway back home.