Fight:Kyros v Zombies

Synopsis: A group of necromancers and their undead pawns invades the Secluded Village of Xalious, much to Izianova's curiosity. When the mage and his minions take her, along with four children of the village, as their hostages, will the human knight in shining armor known as Kyros save the day?

Location: Xalious

Date: 09 December, 2011

Characters: Izianova, Kyros, NPCs

The Battle

Izianova had been asking questions for hours, looking for the perpetrators of the kidnappings. Why she was worrying about a bunch of kids missing in a human settlement confused most, and only lent to their terror. A drow looking for the children, what where they to think? Truth was Izianova smelled the necromantic magic thick in the air, and thought perhaps to find her lost friend Brahms, though he would not be found this day. She couldn't get information so simple as the location of the local graveyard without seducing a be damned drunk. She was disgusted with these cowards... they made wards against evil when they saw her, or ran in outright terror... none willing to talk of the children. They were hiding their fear. The mages tower should have taken to protecting these people, but she assumed there were political reasons they didn't... perhaps too much friction between the superstitious villagers and the mages. Whatever the reason, when a handful of black cloaked forms came moving through the center of town that night, Izianova nearly laughed aloud at her good fortune. She smelled the stink and rot of death, and they came to houses, pulling children from their families wailing arms, killing any who resisted. They weren't fighters, carried only daggers and maces, simple weapons... but their magic struck terror into the souls of these people. Izianova walked alone, nearly naked in her black chest bandages and loincloth, and came to the center of the group, who looked confused and ready to fight at the sight of her, 4 terrified children in tow behind them. After a hushed exchange, they placed shackles around her, and marched her away, leaving the village relatively intact, a few parents weeping at their doors as though their worlds had ended, and the majority of people shuttered up in their homes as though trying ot repel the evil outside by hiding.

Kyros had very little perception of his own peripherals when he was in training. He had little care, too, for the humans who inhabited this village, but how had he been just minutes behind Izianova, and how had it been that he'd walked past these houses and been unaware of the crying mothers at their doors? It was not this that stopped him. It was a man, dressed in poor peasant's clothes, one who came directly in front of the fighter as he walked, and took his hands together in front of him, clasping them. "Please," the stout man begged. He was only a few inches shorter than Kyros, but many degrees less intimidating. "Please, I'm begging… I see your armor and your sword, and I've seen you in these parts - we know that you are a warrior, please-" Here, Kyros shook the man off, almost visibly. His head shook and he took a step back and he held his hands up, as if in defense. "No," Kyros spoke, but the man carried on. "They've taken our children to change them, and they've taken a drow hostage. My son-…" The poor man continued on here, but Kyros had tuned him out to an extent. "What drow?" he asked instead. "What did she look like?" Perhaps it was someone he knew. Perhaps it was someone of worth, and perhaps, he thought, he could assist without foolishly entering battle. He thought. The man described her - white hair, red eyes, scantily dressed - and Kyros placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. "Which way did they go? How far behind am I?" And the village man pointed. "This way. Just a couple of minutes, but I wouldn't advise -" It didn't matter what the man would or wouldn't advise. Kyros was running before he could finish, his bare feet thudding hard against the ground to close the distance between himself and whatever lie waiting a few minutes ahead.

Izianova was headed toward the cemetary, where she should've gone instead of wasting her time with the be damned villagers. The shackles on her were for her exclusively, the acolytes weren't afraid of the 4 terrified children running. The younger three children crowded around one older boy, who carried himself with some strength, and his own terror barely held in check. Izianova recognized him as the boy who's parents both had been murdered, was now an orphan. The other kids stayed near him, and he did what he could to soothe them, to re assure them that they'd be ok. He was a good leader, and strong. She smiled at him when she caught him looking at her sultry form, and gave him a wink. Later, she would be sure to slip him a weapon or two, and keep an eye on these children. She had no intention of letting the necromancers do their works much longer… Brahms was so singular among necromancers, in his ways. Kyros would be able to nearly catch up with the party, but once in the mausoleum there would be a handful of loitering undead, aimlessly bumping into gravestones and wearing a bare minimum of old, rusty weapons and armor. Just 3 skeletons and a much stronger, slower zombie. The necromancers took Izianova and the children into a very beautifully made mausoleum, intending to take them into a rather deep, winding crypt. One acolyte was left outside to guard the entrance with the undead, a trainee who left his family's poor business for promises of wealth and power.

The human's feet led him over a path, his human instincts and senses mostly useless, but developed well enough that he could see where grass had been recently trodden, could smell the scent of dead flesh and exposed bones and rust, and could find, easily enough, what he was looking for. He stopped at the mausoleum gates and regarded the undead silently, though they had already heard him. Surely this was not all there was. There were no children, there was no drow, and Kyros had not enough experience with necromancers to know for certain that these walking bones in armor were not here of their own accord. He drew his weapon and advanced, as one would on very weak monsters or cattle, estimating the easy downfall of these three creatures, not yet having seen the stronger zombie that lingered closer to the gate. He passed by it, rather, and went for the one right in front of him, drawing his sword mid-run, and the dead grass hurt his feet and the cold stung his hands, but he proceeded to grip the sword tightly and brought it down in one fell swoop, directly through the soft spot in the minimal armor that was supposed to serve as some sort of protection, between shoulder bone and neck, slashing into and through the first, watching as it crumpled to the ground. Kyros held his sword parallel to the ground and looked, with a clear anticipation, on the remaining two, waiting to allow them to come to him.

Izianova was deep inside the crypt when Kyros arrived behind them, holding the children close, the one brave boy the only one of them not crying openly. They held onto her loinclothand the sash at her waist, and her shackles, afraid to leave her. The skeletons battling kyros were a joke to a trained, unintimated warrior, and fell easily enough. A zombie behind him grimaced at his passage, drawing rotten flesh across bare teeth. The remaining ones close in, swinging ineptly as the zombie stumbled towards him from behind, ready to catch him in a bear hug and rip his throat, or whatever its mouth hit first, out with its teeth. The acolyte standing guard heard the sound of battle, drawing a heavy one handed mace from his belt and approaching until he saw the fight. With a look of astonishment and anger, he charged at Kyros, ready to smash him with the mace… which he had no experience whatsoever with. Izi was still cooing to the children when she heard the sounds of battle outside, and wondered at them. The other acolytes hadn't noticed, and she had no intention of warning them. They herded her and the children into a hastily erected pen, and she sat on a barrel, all of them around her. The acolytes told her their master would soon be coming to question her. When she inquired as to their intentions towards the children, they ignored her. She shrugged it off, and did a small dance for the children when the acolyte's were gone or guarding just outside. The dance was entertaining, especially to the eldest boy who blushed mightily at her lurid movements, but it was also practical… she placed temporary seals on the children that allowed her to keep track of them, and feel their emotions. When the necromancers tried to hurt them, if they did, she would know where ever she was. They were about to be seperated, and however tamed she may appear, she would be ready, even for these amateurish fools.

Kyros brought his sword down with another fell swoop to the second undead, his sword piercing through bone and beheading the thing effectively. In the same spin, he brought it against the chestplate of the zombie, pushing it back, and then caught the third skeleton through the side as it lifted the rusty weapon it bore. Now the zombie came at him again, and Kyros turned, as if he were running. Only a few feet away, the human stepped up onto a gravestone and used it to launch himself up as he spun, bringing his sword down from above and slicing through skull and spine and shoulder and chest. His sword stuck there, the whole force of his weight behind it as he came down, clumsily landing on top of the zombie and losing his grip on his sword. Had there been others around, he'd likely be dead for the experimental move of bravery, but there weren't, and as he stood again, he rested his foot on top of the zombie's chest and slid his blade through gore, extracting it. A glance over the thing's armor told him there was nothing with enough value to steal, and he turned quickly, his blade dripping bits of rotted flesh as he moved, quickly headed for the crypt up ahead. This had been an easy enough battle, he thought. How much harder could the rest be?

The acolyte came upon the scene of Kyros battle, and found himself on the wrong end of a warrior heated by battle. He took a quick look, and turned to flee back to the dubious safety of the mausoleum, but tripped, being an easy catch should Kyros be ready to rush and capture him.

Kyros breathed hard as he walked, coming upon the mausoleum and stopping when he saw the acolyte. They caught each other's eyes just before the other turned, and Kyros was advancing on him before he even tripped, making the downward swoop of his sword much easier. Kyros planted a foot on the back of the acolyte's head and wrenched his sword into his neck before withdrawing it again and moving on, creeping on light feet towards the entrance of the crypt, his eyes focused and his mind steady, hearing the faint sound of children crying from deep within the place. He'd found them.

Izianova heard the entrance to the crypt opening, knowing that their wayward pursuer had followed them. Perhaps she wouldn't have to do anything. The acoyltes were mostly freshies, and as he moved through the levels of undead, he would find only a handful of sentinels. Only one mage here was powerful enough to support more than a single undead… they were mostly pathetic. But that one… was enough that Izi decided to play it cautious, to make sure he was defeated before he could wreak any real havoc. An acolyte came forward to bring her to his master, and she swallowed a lump in her throat. She hoped this was just a representative of the true 'master' of these cults. The Eye was more careful these days, after Nymh had struck back against him. The little guys intelligence reports where very useful, but he had never mentioned any number of necromancers before, among the cultists… however, the robes of these cultists bore the eye. It's influence was growing. She was led to the inner sanctum, and sat to wait in a rock chair, legs crossed, as the master arrived. Meanwhile, three acolytes and twice that number in skeletons where waiting in the room Kyros was about to step into… the acolytes with maces and daggers, the skeletons unarmed or bearing rusted weapons that may easily snap.

It was slow going walking into the crypt, for Kyros could hear the scuffling of feet echoing, and the voices, and occasional clamor of armor, but not quite enough to make out how many of them there were. He pulled open the door and stepped through the threshold, on his guard. Instantly, one of the skeletons ran at him, a rusty, thin blade raised. Kyros dropped it quickly with a swing of his sword, catching the others' attention. Here, he ran forward with a cry and slashed against the armor of two skeletons, knocking them back. One acolyte stuck out his hand and approached fast, and Kyros ran forth, cutting just below his chin, above the curve of his robes and slashing halfway through the tissue and muscle of his neck. Another, a female acolyte, it seemed, was right behind the first, and Kyros drove his sword straight into the stomach of this one, above the naval, wrenching it upward to lift the blade up a couple of inches, ripping her flesh further. She gazed with wide, glazed eyes at him as she died, and he slashed his sword to the right, tossing the body off of it and hitting two skeletons with her dead weight, knocking them to the floor with the sound of armor and bones colliding. As another acolyte approached, he threw a dagger at Kyros, narrowly catching him in the stomach, his leather armor stopping it such that it went in a couple of inches and missed any major organs. The human halted. Then, with brief moments lost, he drew the dagger out of his own flesh and tossed it back at its owner, catching him through his left eye, the long sword driving into the brain and sinking him to his knees, a crumpled heap of black robes. Here, Kyros stepped over him and continued on through the room, leaving two wandering skeletons to wander around or trip over the bodies of the fallen as he moved into the next room.

Izianova was in the room with the lich that led these kids, though the lich himself was a rambling, prattling egomaniacal fool. She was sure his lichdom wasn't earned by himself. While ignoring his lectures and promises should she serve him faithfully, she wandered with her magicks as to how the kids fared. They had been orunded up with several other children, all crowding around that one older boy hwo had lost everything, and they were being taken into a room, in the center of a large pentagram. A nasty ritual was being prepared, and most of the acolytes where in the room preparing things… though the lich would likely be doing the honors. When Kyros continued onward, he would find a few better prepared enemies… similarly equipped to the others, only one of the acolytes in the ritual room had a wand, and would pepper Kyros with magical missiles, weak, but they did not miss. The others may send small rays of acid or frost or fire before charging him with maces and daggers, all with fanatical devotion to their 'master'. The children where bug eyed victims in the middle of this place, faces drawn with inward stares, made painfully aware of their mortality.

Kyros walked into the wide room in a warrior’s stance, his knees bent and feet apart, sword held up, but it seemed these acolytes had already heard the battle going on against their weaker counterparts, and were prepared. Forget stealth – Kyros pressed forward the door, and one of them was hiding beside it as it opened, and knocked it back against the human’s sword, sending him stumbling back a few feet. At an advantage, this acolyte rushed in with a mace, and Kyros slammed his blade against the shaft of it, knocking it so that its owner had to draw it back to swing again. During this time, Kyros slashed at him, slicing through the front of his robes and into his chest. This seemed to anger him more, and he swung his mace with fury, catching the side of Kyros’ hand and then aiming for his head, an attack which the human barely missed by leaning back quickly. His hand, still, had been crushed, and he could feel the digits throbbing. He drove his sword forward again one-handedly, into the acolyte’s chest and through a lung, finding purchase between two ribs. The attacker fell, then, blood coming from his mouth, but now two were advancing through the door, so as soon as Kyros turned, they both charged him, one holding out a hand to send a beam of fire, which hit against the human’s armor and caught him by surprise, making him take a few steps back as it scorched the heavy leather. The other was swinging daggers as it came, one in each hand, and Kyros backed up until his feet bumped the armored skeletons that occupied the floor. A third acolyte entered the room, then, and advanced with his mace drawn back, and within a second, Kyros ducked around the first and ran past the second, sheathing his sword as his feet moved quickly so that he could draw a dagger from his satchel instead, throwing it, and then another, at the newly entered mace-bearer. One dagger hit him in the chest, stopping him, and the other in his neck, catching the left side, near his artery. As he doubled over, grasping his neck, Kyros took the forgotten mace and ran into the next room, slipping the shaft of the weapon through the door handles. It wouldn’t open to the two on the other side this way, and now he could draw his sword again and count the number of heads left for him to take on, ignoring the harsh throb of broken bones in his dominant hand.

The children were scared, and huddled away from the warrior and necromancers alike, who were yelling and screaming and calling in minions to fight the man so that they wouldn’t have to, but to a one ready to die on the end of his sword or kill him. The acolytes were all confused, they hadn’t expected any kind of actual violence or resistance from the people. They kept waiting for more villagers to come barreling in, but none did… some of them were whispering talk about crazed drow, too. No one there was a good enough leader to keep them working together, except the one lich which was still boring the hell out of Izianova, and would soon be right in Kyros’ path, angry at the loss of so many of his followers.

Kyros counted four, in addition to the three he'd blocked off in the previous room. One was short, with blonde hair - another woman - and the rest weren't very muscular, either. It was clear that, unlike Kyros, they were not trained as warriors. One of them sent a magical stream at him instantly, a fire just like the first that scorched his armor and caused him to move fast out of the way. Wielding his sword one-handedly, he swung at this one, slashing and catching an arm, and then its stomach, causing the acolyte to fall, bleeding, but far from dead. He was lifting his sword again at a second one, and thus distracted, when the female acolyte waved her wand. A missile drove towards him, hitting his shoulder and knocking him a few feet, his sword landing an arm's length away and leaving him on his hands and knees. It was then that one of them advanced, swinging its mace down at his back hard enough that it would surely break his spine. This was when he rolled away, though, and the mace collided with the arm that had the wounded hand instead. Kyros growled under his breath in pain and anger. He rolled once more to crawl forward, reaching for his sword, just as the female acolyte's foot came to rest upon it. He looked up, meeting her gaze, and she beheld him, seeming pleased, her wand pointing in his face. She misjudged him as weaponless, though. He still had one of his three daggers left. Drawing it instantly, he stabbed into her calf in desperation and pulled himself up as she screamed in pain, waving her wand forward haphazardly, so that one of her spells sent a missile at her ally, knocking him back and onto the floor. This one had a mace, which Kyros took from him in his confusion, and ran at the wand-wielding woman, slamming the blunt end of the mace into her skull. With her body on the ground now, he could retrieve his sword from below her foot, and he ran towards the next door, leaving three injured and one dead, possessing no desire to kill them all at the risk of further broken bones.

Izianova had waited for the human man to come, and come he had. She was doing her best to distract the 'master' of these necromancers, a middle aged exiled magi of no great skill... and it hadn't been particularly difficult. He preached to her of his own 'masters' great promises and showered her with his delusional fantasies of having the drow as a queen by his side when the 'master' ruled the world as a god-king and gave rule of the great, famed mages tower to him, and all he could lay eyes on from it. His eyes flickered back and forth nervously over her scantily clad form, and she encouraged it with subtle postures and physical exaggerations. The ugly, stupid man didn't even note her sarcasm when she agreed to all of his inane ramblings, and eventually she settled with just nodding her head and trying to drown out the sound of his nasal voice while listening to the battle going on where the kids were. They were terrified still, but were in awe of this man. She wished she could see it, but wanted to be ready in case the man tried anything more stupid. If this hero was strong enough and willing to make his way in here and save them all, then why not let him? It'd be nice to see some initiative in the people around her for a change. The balding, middle aged necromancer was reaching the climax of his speech, all wound up and licking his lips over her form. “All shall be mine, and by my side you shall see the greatness of my rule-” The hero was nearing the door, and she decided to have a little fun... this man was so very easily taunted, easily tricked. “I'm sorry, but sir, I simply don't think you have the stones to handle such grand tasks. After all, such vast imperial designs... well... 'tis simply far beyond a eunuch.” The man stopped mid sentence, his face purpling in rage. He yelled at her, swearing he was no eunuch, whoever had told her such a thing. He yelled and ranted and Kyros neared the door, and Izianova simply sat there innocently, shaking her head, as though aghast that he would think she would simply say something like that out of the blue... of course she had heard it from the acolytes, they said he had no stones. She couldn't very well see herself with a man with no stones. By the time the middle aged necromancer had dropped his pants to disprove the ludicrous rumors, still in a rage, Kyros burst through the door, and he half turned in disbelief, stunned into silence. He then half turned, tripping with his pants around his knees, and groped them for his wand... no, his other wand... and quickly pointed it at Kyros with a triumphant sneer on his face. He fumbled mentally for the words, his face a twisted grimace trying to remember, half-mumbled nonsensical gibberish spewing forth in random intervals from his lips. At last he cried, “Oh screw it... Abra Kadabra!” And a giant flame burst forth from the wand in the form of an enormous ball of flame, which promptly fell under its own weight and exploded at the poor man's feet. Izianova turned her head, shielding her eyes as the crispy remains of the mage sailed past her, and Kyros... and the table... and the wall hangings... There wasn't anything notably intact of him after the explosion. Izianova looked at Kyros, and just shrugged, as it to say 'hell if I know'. Well, the 'damsel' was still in distress. Might as well finish acting the part, see where it led. With a voice of wet silk, though oddly light and jovial she begged, “Could you be a dear and untie me, please?” She indicated the shackles on her wrists and ankles with a little rattling.

Kyros had no mace to blockade this last door with, and was fairly sure that even if he had, these acolytes were skilled enough, at least, to find their way around such a simple, mundane trick of leverage. Perhaps not, as none of these were very skilled in general, not the type with magical abilities that you'd one day see taking over a land or enslaving hundreds. Kyris guessed, perhaps, this was why they had gone after children. The human stumbled into the room and what else could he do, but gawk and hold his sword prominently, flinching to swing it when the fireball was summoned, but then saw it was hardly about to harm him, and so his eyes flicked between the drow and the pile of ash that had previously been this mage, and a 'humph' left his throat. So it seemed, there would be no grand leader to fight, and that was all just as well with Kyros, because his sleeve was drenched in blood and his arm was useless, fingers broken, and if he didn't have them set soon, they'd likely not heal correctly. One-handedly, the man clumsily sheathed his sword. Then he regarded the drow briefly, eyes scanning over her. He may have thought this a trap, had he not recognized her as Izianova, one of Tanya's friends. This reminded him, suddenly, of the potion Tanya had given him, and he found a marked flask at his side. "You'll be fine for a moment," he told her, drinking deeply from the flask until not a drop was left. He breathed deeply and watched the light sparks coast over the top of his skin, healing and snapping bones back into place that had been misaligned. He drew in a sharp breath through his teeth. When the pain had just about stopped, and the sparks faded away, he tested out the fingers by closing them into a fist and opening it again and, satisfied by this, he went over to the remains of the mage. There was a buckle, a wand, a key - Kyros picked this up. Walking over to the drow, he regarded her briefly before leaning over her, finding upon her wrists the key hole of the shackles and sliding the key inside. He freed both of her wrists and then offered the key to her by tossing it lightly into her lap. "And why exactly were his pants off, then?" he asked, all too curious.

Izianova finished unlocking the shackles, and regarded the man’s question curiously, her voice a symphony of light joviality and innocence. “Why, he meant to do something unspeakable upon my person, of course. Didn’t you see the sheer madness in his eyes? You came just in time to prevent my loss of innocence.” Though her clothing may suggest otherwise, Izianova was in a particulary good mood, in spite of her hero’s rudeness. “I thank you for your aid, warrior. Tell me, how have the children fared? They should have been in a corner right outside.” Izianova listened as the fool mage made his escape in a corridor behind them. He was decent at illusions, she’d give him that. A problem too, perhaps. But one she could deal with later.

Kyros watched the woman and, now that she spoke, seemed slightly more sympathetic with her. He nodded, almost a light bow. "There were four of them, miss, and the four of them seemed quite shooken up, save for one older boy. He was watching over two and had a weapon he perhaps took from one of the undead warriors. They were out of harm's way. I believe their watch guard was one of the acolytes that fell by my sword." He nodded again and knelt down by her, not noticing the mage as he escaped. Instead, he was watching Izianova rather intently. A certain part of her physique, to be precise, that was more supple and closer to his face in his knelt-down position. "No harm was brought to you, was it?" he asked before bringing his eyes, at long last, to the drow's face and clearing his throat. "Perhaps I can assist you in getting home or something?"

Izianova noticed his lingering eyes, and did not mind in the least. She was honestly far more comfortable the less she was clothed. So many of the smaller races were so ashamed of their bodies… odd creatures. Didn’t they know they were beautiful? Somme clothing, though, was beautiful too. Ah, how she loved her own accentuations. She adjusted the bandages about her chest, keeping them tight, and smoothed the long loincloth that trailed to her ankles. The man was much taller than her, and she had to look up to him… the children were only a handspan of years away from being taller than her too. “You did an excellent job to make your way through so many, expecially with their undead creatures.” She took a little pride in the boy with his weapon, she was sure he protected and comforted the other children well. “I am unharmed, fortunately, though I do doubt you’d find the trip to my home anything short of horrific. I reside still in the underdark, and in a most ruthless house until I have found my own home once more.” She stretched her arms high above her head, cracking out stiffness form joints and muscles and bone, stretching her back backwards impressively. “I came to see to it that the children were all right… and to find out exactly what these necromancers intended to do with them. I will be wanting to investigate that room thoroughly. I believe it was a ritual of some sort.”

Kyros nodded briefly, glancing back towards the door that remained open. Upon the other door, he could hear the weaker acolytes banging lightly upon it, begging entrance. The human regarded her as he stretched, averting his eyes. "Ah, I've never been to underdark, but I wish not to go any time soon..." he trailed off. "It is a shame I have so recently been betrayed by someone I used to love. Otherwise I would perhaps have less trouble keeping my eyes off of you," he said and cleared his throat slowly, beginning towards the open doors. "Though for a man who thought five minutes ago that he may never live to see another woman, I think I'm doing well." He laughed softly.

Izianova gave a dismal little sigh. A love sick hero, eh? Well, perhaps he could be of use. She had no objection to 'rewarding' him, if only to entertain her and himself, but she had more pressing matters to attend to now. She was presently ready to go to the door, open it, and dispatch the few remaining acolytes, but thought better of it. She wanted to actually see him in action, a bit, and didn't want her guise of innocence to be seen as a sham so soon. "Perhaps you could clear us a path to the children, goo sir?" Her words were wet silk, seductive and alluring.

Kyros regarded her briefly. Oh, to be done with his sword for the day, he wished... Yet he drew it, now with both hands functional again, though a dull ache resided in the one hand. He should probably not be using it so soon, for the sake of letting it heal properly, but as he saw it there was no other option. He withdrew the mace from the door and saw but a lone acolyte had been banging upon it. It seemed the two skeletons had tripped over themselves and were in a pile. Pathetic, really. The other acolyte was gone, having fled or been taken down by this one, who weilded a dagger and ran at him. Kyros acted quickly, slashing at him and taking a slice of his arm, causing the weapon to drop. He lifted the sword with both hands then and brought it down upon the shoulder of his cloak, cutting down into the ribs, where the blade promptly stopped. The body, though, gushing blood, dropped and flailed, legs kicking. Kyros wrinkled his nose and sfabbed him in the chest, hearing cracked bones and gore, and when he withdrew the sword, it was dripping red again, and he motioned for her to lead the way out with it, feeling rather proud of himself. He probably lacked the experience to know how weak this particular acolyte had been.

Izianova strode past him, into the room, completely oblivious to the bloodshed, or seemingly so. In reality it got her somewhat excited… hungry. Impulses best put down. The children were huddled in a corner, and flocked to her when she emerged, holding onto her sash and loincloth, and even accidentally nearly pulling it right off. She struggled for a moment, pulling it back up her hips and tightening it, telling them to be gentle. She peered about the room, leaving the kids for a few moments to inspect the intricacies of the ritual… searching for a specific clue. “Damn all. It’s not here… no indication of what they were going to summon, except that it was nasty. Oh well.” She returned to Kyros, and gathered the children. “Shall we be off, then? We’ve kids to return to their families.”