The Big Sink, corridor to cellblock #1
With Josh's words the dry trill of thaumaturgy fleets through the corridor. The air feels dry, static, dangerous, just for a split-second and then the magics have worked. Dim-yellow light flickers off the pistol-wielding prison-guard's face as his mouth raises into a small smile of its own accord, and his small, brown eyes glaze into compliance. He shuffles over to Josh, yawning slightly, and gives Josh 'o the Mornin' a hearty, leathery handshake -- a heliograph opportunity if there ever was one.
Meanwhile, Orb presses through the other prisoners, her hair trailing behind her like some protein war-banner. She speaks, like Josh, intoning just the right cadences to manipulate thaumaturgons into their proper places, and once again the air does trill with thaumaturgic static. But down the corridor the young, blonde thaumaturge merely grits his teeth and sheds the spell like water. A few crackles of surplus thaumurgons slide and spark along the small coil of wire at his side.
The thaumaturgic stillness of the air is broken as Dartan gives a gutteral roar, his hands twisting into gnarled claws as he runs at a mage. The dwarf's hair bristles as his legs churn and boil to bring him screaming at his prey. But, to his shegrin, the older thaumaturge has his fist at the ready, jabbing it into Dartan's eye just as the dwarf reaches the man. Even now the broken blood vessels around it are beginning to form a formidable black eye.
The older and gray mage smiles, only a little.
His partner to the right, a weathered black haired man, then begins to make small coughing noises and pull at strings of air suddenly thick with puissence. Dartan dimly realizes what is occuring in his adrenaline-soaked state, but the open-handed swipe comes too late -- the thaumaturgy is done. A net of fat, sticky threads belches from around the black haired mage's navel to stick fast to Dartan, the net itself feeling cold, and slimy, quickly going from pure white to a dusty yellow in the filthy confines of the corridor.
Lliend remains slumped against the wall near Tish, where she let him down when trouble seemed to rear its head. Makh, however, is on the move. The big bugbear skirts around the other prisoners to come running at the blonde thaumaturge, the lantern light glinting off the glass panes of Makh's lantern cum bludgeon. Unfortunately, Makh loses his footing near the boy and the lantern swings wide to bounce off the stone wall, shattering a few panes of the glass within.
Back with Josh, the pistoleer laughs, the sound ringing through the halls as Dartan's roar did. "Oh me," the guard says through breath made thin with laughter, "them boys are sure playin' rough!"
OOC: INITATIVE -- Josh, Orb, Guard, Dartan, Thaumaturge, Lliend, Makh, Iannja*, Thaumaturge 2, Malaci, Tish, Tyson, Thaumaturge 3.
The * denotes whose turn it is, and I just assumed that Lliend would still be unconcious for simplicity. 
Iannja yer up!
