"What the hell are you?!" Oxenbridge's words cut the silence heavy in the air... The skull, flame going from the eyes on twin, taking scarves of orange, tilits, lazily, to regard him, as if seeing him now for the first time.  A voice books through the room, not the product of any throat or drum, more a hissing resonance-- it comes from many throats at once, many voices, lungs squeezed like dry wineskins to echo a semblance of speech, all jibbering, chattering at once.<br/><br/><strong>What (https://youtu.be/2KnyL4IFcwo) Hell, you, what.  Are you hell? You are hell.  Hell.  The hell. The hell, the you, the hell.</strong><br/>Then a chittering noise like many colonies of locusts rising from slumber, the jibbering-mad laughter of a thousand bedlam's children.  Every voice joins in.<br/><br/>"Father!" Cris cried out in desperate terror before she collapses to a heap of weeping and moaning, her skin blading hot and seeming to crawl over her skeleton like a pond of living things converged.  The skull remains stoic in is hiding column of flame.  For the briefest second, the fire licks up along the skull in the shade of a grin.<br/><br/>The voices hiss again.<br/><br/><strong>father...father... Father father Father father Father</strong>before descending into the chaos of laughter.<br/><br/>The shoe like acolyte steps forth toward the for valiant ones, her naked flesh gleaming but for the fine lace and webs of data now visible as all the paint has sweated away.  She lifts the scorched cow-skull mask from the edge of the fire and the is a hissing sizzle from her skin.  She lifts it overhead and, without ceremony, places it over her head.<br/><br/>""You are foresworn to conscription in the Ravens of Golgotha."  The contract dangles from her fingers, a thin worm of fire spreading over the words as she speaks... No longer shrieking, now assured... Possessed.  "For murder in the barony---" her free hand is leveled at them, little finger and pointer extended long.  "For murder in the streets... And for theft.  You will serve and we will call upon you again."<br/><br/>Figures emerge from the throngs and begin to rip up the stage, overturning the planks onto the growing fire as she speaks.  "The One has his contract.  You go.". The hovering skull disappears among the rising flame as the dry wood is consumed, as the Walker and the dead and sing guards are hair in the pyre.<br/><br/>They can now move, and among them in a flash are both the elven rogue, her forehead bleeding and split between her eyebrows, and the man that Ox saw briefly at his table with Crow.  This man's noise is swollen, still trickling fresh blood over his lip.  "Get them out," he says angrily, throwing his own cloak over Malia as the young woman gives Mina hers.<br/><br/>"Wagon's outside, go," she says in a hush of pain as the two of them help haul the exhausted and wound to their feet.  "Right out the door, don't look back. Don't look. Just go."