Reinhardt dropped his zweihander and fell to his hands and knees, screaming. His already damaged throat was stripped raw as the sensation of a body, the ability to move, flooded him. The ghost of pain from his neck sliced through his mind. Across his “body,” uncountable needles stitched his into the metal of the armour. Each pinprick was a burning ember of agony in his mind. He brought his gauntlets up before his eyes and flexed his fingers. His eyes flooded with tears - despite the pain now wracking his body, the sensation was truly divine. He swiped at his eyes to brush away the tears. His metal fingertips found real flesh as he almost blacked his own eye. He could barely “feel” anything, but he could feel the movement, feel its position in relation to itself, the pressure of the armour pressing down on his “knees” as he knelt on the stone. He could sense the floor, how hard it was, but not the texture and how flat it was. Obviously, his had counted the Magic animating the Essence, so he could only “feel” the inside of the metal. Still, was this a previously unknown application of Maybe by grabbing that broadsword.”

  He turned his head to look, really look, around the room. Despite being finally - - able to move, he froze. Even just being able to moving was bliss. However, the helmets of the other Armours had whipped towards him. It suddenly struck him that having taken control of the Armour, he had gone from an “Armour with Reinhardt inside it,” to “Reinhardt wearing armour.” He was now perceived as an intruder. His first instinct was to grab the Zweihander, but it was too long and too cumbersome to bring it up quickly. Given the choice, he’d have been killed by a shield wielding Armour. Given the choice, he would not have been killed at all of course, but he had spent hundreds of hours staring at the “Stag and Thorny Crown” banner on the opposite wall, just coming to terms with the fact he was a disembodied spirit haunting his killer. Except he wasn’t. His gauntlet had encountered flesh. The sudden image of his head and the helmet lying on the radiant sun mosaic, facing each other in death flashed through his mind. The sound of a beartrap. His hand groped at the helmet, and he slid the visor shut. It was well made and had good structure - the occularium barely impeded his vision, only taking a few degrees from his peripherals. The biggest problem would be pitch, he’d have to move his whole head if he wanted to look up or down, he’d deal with it if it ever came up.

  The “Shunk” of the other five Armours stepping forward snapped Reinhardt back to the present. He shot to his feet. He didn’t know how he was going to fight five Essence as if he was actually him, in physical form. He was sure there was something there about how the is tied to the body, or tied to the mind, or was a conduit between them, in which the mind had a concept of the body… It didn’t matter, he decided. Getting out through the double doors nearest his position was the top priority.

  While Reinhardt was not the most proficient lad in the town when it came to moving in armour, he was still better than most, and the quality of this particular armour was better than any he had worn in training. Armour training in school was a double edged sword. The armour was only Spirit having completely bonded with the steel. Not only did he exist, he could move and interact with the world again! He had a physical body, although the nagging voice at the back of his mind admonished him. “,” but Reinhardt pushed this thought aside. First things first, he needed a plan. Whilst he wanted to escape as soon as possible, he could not deny the allure of that

  He almost walked out of Castle. He just wanted to go home. He wanted to see his mother and be comforted by her, have her brush his hair back and enfold him in a hug, telling him all will be well. He wanted to hear Elke and Leopold laugh and cry and feel their relief and excitement that he had returned. They would climb on his lap and cry and hug him tight. His father would punch his shoulder and tightly hug him in the guise of roughly wrestling him. They would be so happy. “?” He was not actually alive. He wouldn’t be able to feel their hugs and all they would feel is hard steel. He threw that idea aside. He could deal with all that, his family would be happy to know he still existed, in any form. So that left fighting his way out of the DungeonDungeonBut if you had a Magic weapon,” his brain prompted him. That

  Reinhardt turned back to the doors of the Grand Hall. The after Franz had left the room. The Armours couldn’t open the door to the Butler’s passage, but they hadn’t been immobile the way they had been when the group shut the door behind them. That gave him an idea. Not a good idea, but it was certainly an idea. He kept the door mostly closed but placed his foot in the Grand Hall. He listened at the crack of the door. As he suspected, the marching feet started to approach the door. He tried to count the steps and imagined how close the closest

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  If the Magic Good plan,” he told himself, as he turned to the west side of the entrance hall. He would need to find a room to hide in, where he could still monitor the hall the patrol would walk down. There was a staircase on this side of the Castle as well. He could safely ignore that for now. He did have some curiosity about the Lord’s Chambers, but for now, everything he wanted was on the rear wall of the Grand Hall. He broke into a jog, clanking slightly as he ran. He paused at the corner, listening intently. With no marching feet coming down the hall, he turned the corner into a hall with a dozen doors. He considered continuing as long as he could, but he dismissed that out of hand. Best to find a place to hide out and get concealed as soon as possible. “Time” had been a funny concept when he thought he was a spirit. He had measured his life in six hour increments, but he was unsure how many he had missed while deep in thought, “” and measured “days” by the time it took to finish a thought. He may well have been there for an hour, or even two before he came to the end of the thought that led him to his current predicament. He tried the first door, and found it locked. He frowned, but upon thinking about it, it made sense. Locked doors meant the vast majority of the castle would be untouched, even during times of high traffic, limiting what needed to be fabricated during . Also, locked doors acted like magnets for Rogue

  He zig-zagged across the hall, trying each door in turn. About halfway down before he found an unlocked door. The room was a midsized lounge, with large windows facing the west garden, and the reflecting pool they had baited the Statues toward. He made sure to shut the door securely and walked over to the window. He didn’t even register what was in the room. After so many hours staring at the same thing, this new vista was the single most beautiful thing he had ever seen. It was still “night” in the Dungeon

  He frowned at himself. “?” When the east to west went past, then the west to east would be three hours away, give or take, depending on where in the circuit he was. Now he had an idea of where the patrols on this floor were, he knew about how much time he had. He had a three hour window to get the broadsword, and even if he had to run, it left three hours to circle back to this room. He pushed the door open slowly and checked both ways before walking out into the hall. He continued north along the hallway and turned left, jogging along the short corridor until he came to a junction. Left would take him to an intersection, a right there would lead down to the Armoury, but another left took him to the rear of the Grand Hall. Turning left, he found the junction and slowed to a walk. “,” he thought. Getting through the West Side Passage was difficult when you were a suit of Full Plate - it was necessary to half turn and semi-crouch. He had a flash of memory - - Otto was not a large man, and he took up half the Passage. Looking back, Magdi had the same half twist he had now.

  He paused at the door. He knew as soon as he stepped out, the helmets would turn, then he’d have… maybe twelve seconds. An eternity in reality, but he’d have to grab the throne, drag it to the wall, climb it, and retrieve the broadsword. The alternative, he supposed, was to get a Magic How long would that take? would the Sword be by then?” No, better to get it now, and bind its progress to his. He was certain it had Nothing else for it,” he thought and pushed the door open.

  He could see by the light of the chandeliers that the

  A wasted effort, it turned out, as a halberd crashed into the throne and smashed it out from under him.

  Innate and what it meant. It just grew into it's own story.