<em>Some things change. Some things never do.<br/><em><br/>The cult of Graz'zt was supposed to be in a middle of a ritual involving the sacrifice of a virgin when she busted in. At least, that was what the cleric had told her- he was too old and frail now to help her, but he had at least provided some support and healing potions, as well as the offer to heal all wounds the battle caused her. Little did she expect that she would find two of the cultists already downed, with a cloaked swordsman battling the rest with a determined expression on his face. Unarmored but seemingly a quite excellent combatant, the man holds himself with unusual grace and poise, wielding the bastard sword with all the skill of an expert swordsman. His ensemble of long-sleeved tunic, cloak, breeches, knee-high boots, leather bracers, and gloves are all black, with the occasional fire motif, but it contrasts starkly with his luminously pale skin and bright blue eyes as they peer from beneath his dark hair with an intensity to give dragons pause. Though the cultists scream and curse as they swarm around him, he remains silent as he continues his work...<br/><br/>She stands about 30 ft away from the main conflict, 20 ft away from the closest cultist. The head cultist is on a pedestal at the center of the room, 50 ft away, with the non-cultist 30 ft away, directly. The dark figure is surrounded on three sides, save the one from which the head cultist, two of which appear to be assassins, and one a warrior wielding a spiked chain. The high cultist is flanked by two others who appear to be spellcasters, and they seem oblivious to the beautiful, naked girl on the obsidian altar before them, instead focused on the terrifying visage of deadliness before them.</em><br/><br/>OOC: Initiative.</em>