He'd always thought that the Tyrest, the creator and upholder of the Tyrest accord, the man who set up the prisons that'd held him and the laws that chased him, would've been...well...more impressive.

Sure, he was certainly impressive in his own way, all huge shoulders like winglets and elaborate helm, but the once-majestic metalmesh cape was largely holes and worn tatters, the green and gold of his armor was dulled and chipped, and the holes...the holes were a story of their own. A nice, long story of self-flagellation.

It took an immense effort on Overlord's part not to give in to the temptation to jam a finger into some of the more accessable holes in the armor, just out of sheer curiosity. Would it even bother Tyrest? He'd found the mech occasionally, drilling new holes into his armor. Parts of it were outright structurally unsound from the sheer amount of damage done to the armor.

And then there was the bot's torso. Which was just a mess of a patchjob, and frankly if there were any evidence for the usefulness of faith it was that sometimes, Overlord was sure that was all that was keeping Tyrest upright and alive. He'd had a hole blown through him big enough that he should've been offline or at least in stasis, and instead he walked around, if it was in a sort of daze.

"Why am I here, anyways?" Overlord had asked it several times, and already knew the answer he'd get.

"You will see. Soon."