Icarus frowned as he watched the jester poking at the corpse. He was still reflecting on the possibility of his own death... and how many projects of his would go unfinished. 'I wonder if anyone will pick up my work on the inverted...' his thoughts were broken as he saw the jester poke the newcomer with his stick then run over to use him as a shield. "Geh," he furrowed his brow as he took a step away from the strange, masked... whatever it was. His eyes darted around as he took a closer look at his fellow cohorts. The new woman, whom he'd mentally tagged as some sort of witch, approached the evil looking god and fawned over him. As he watched the scene unfold, he listened to Cassius' explanation carefully and took a deep breath. He'd more or less figured out what was happening already, but it was slightly relieving, albeit stressful, to hear it directly from the one's who had brought him here. He frowned as he listened to the replies of the others; most of them seemed confident in their abilities at least. He wondered why he had been chosen as he remembered the painting of Cassius on the wall. Nearly everyone looked dangerous and all of them seemed to have shed some sort of blood at one point. He glanced nervously at the jester, positive that even the person behind the mask had spilled his or her share of blood. Strangely enough, as he tried to get a bearing on the situation and where he stood within it, he realized that he probably trusted the jester more than any of them. At the god's mention of anyone having questions he pursed his lips, consigning himself to his usual silence. He glanced over at the medieval looking warrior as he heard the man shout something,  then frowned, shaking his head and wondering once more what in the nine hells he was doing there; he certainly wasn't anyone's ace in sleeve.