Good carries the unlikely tendancy to put itself into lock and key, allowing evil to arrive like blood leaking from a healing wound. Infection has all but settled deep into that wound, the skin that tapers over it like a thin curtain trying to mask burning sunlight admitting radiation useless and weak. The mask that shrouds his face lacks the ability to hide the two most noticeable features of the man who lay on the cave floor. One, the eery, almost-glowing colour of his eyes, their green hues taking a thin light to them. Two, the wound itself, placed upon him because he has flaws dug deep into his grave that is now being dug by the gravedigger, the spine of the elderly man bent and portraying itself like the ribs that appear from beneath the dark man's chest. Each share a common fate that arrives from their chosen actions, whether they wanted what was handed off or not.
Life comes with the form of ruined gasps, lungs fated to be placed within him taking them only because they're forced to. By this time the brain placed within his skull is unaware of every action that occurs because the disease decays everything that can wrap ghostly fingers upon. Scinfaxi stands in the beam of light forcing itself through a hole in the ceiling. For those that had often visited this area, having such a large hole in the earth open as it did now seems a thought that reminds all that the Gods were more than willing to take matters to their own hands. For the man who preffered the life that existed outside all of normalities, this is just a new wound for the earth to injure itself with and weep over.
It had been night fall that brought him into such a place as this, his fresh mask taking what emotion he maybe even owned and thrown it inside the caverns. He followed with his final step to no emotion, moving with an odd grace that haunts a freshly zombied corpse.
Knees bent to angles that seem would pain the nerves to the depths of endless hell, he lays a body with bones that crackle with laughter of sick humour that only the psychopath serial killer you see in the movies would make. Blood covers his feet, the only that is his own upon his neck, the wound there to remind him he has something to look after. In the past times, maybe back to the times when he was just a boy that spoke out loud to the demons in his brain, had he a true reason to exist. Now Memphis knew her way around his thought process, breaking through the filters and settling down right beside the corpse whose heartbeat echoed within the glass walls of his brain. A stray thought may pass of his new daughter, about how she wasn't walking right or how she turned out beautiful, then falling flat. The Unknown let a thought of her pass by, moving with break neck speed through his clouded eyes to let him see the girl who had one blue eye and one green eye, both of coloured just as bright as his own. When a crackle of laughter is made for his raised head, gas mask still firmly attached to his head, the limp single ear upon his head shifts with curiousity. It's brother is probably torn to shreds and lost forever out on the Steppe that now covered itself with life. Frostfall would come with the usual revenge and hateful actions upon the land, and then back to snowdrifts, dying screams that finalize the end of life, and lost souls thrown about like helpless snowflakes.
Every bit of about the Steppe called his name, yet while his body remained lost and disorientated to the endless tunnels, his mind is drifted that place. Scinfaxi is aware, and breaks the trio's awkward style with a blink that hides golden pupiless eyes. It takes every bit of the stallion's attention while he has nothing else to preoccupy himself with.
'Shall you not climb the walls to escape the terror that haunts this area? Your soul can easily join the many others that fade in and out of reality here if you keep yourself down here.' "Die, it's best you do." No. 'And to whose statement is that an answer to?'
By that time Luna is letting herself fade because the air has grown hotter, the lights that cascade in from holes in the ceiling now brighter. Pupils shrink, the glass that both protects and threatens his eyes hiding the body's natural reaction. It calls out to him, distant echos that mimick things unseen bouncing off the stone walls, calling him to his feet. This time he slides upon the earth given beneath his mass. Falling down is refused when he discovers his balance and stands, legs shaken while the mess of black hair that falls from him is ripped and torn, telling his ruined story. A groan, completely unacknowledged while it arrives with just an idea of what noise should be made, is what allows others to know that they cannot remain alone in such a place.
The first step is the one that begins a horrible haunting, the living yet not undead corpse of a dying man patroling the caves. And laid upon his head a mask that only adds to his dark presense, the weezing noise that falls out of more of a hissing of toxic gas filling the gas chamber.


OOC: come in as you please.
He's got his gas mask fyi


"talk talk talk"