Fyroh took a drink of water; then fell into a deep sleep.
Xor was flying; and already far away from the area. "You won't catch him now." came a voice; it was Jankhe, the masked, hooded magician. It was impossible to see any of his skin. He held an impressive looking staff in one hand, propping himself up with it. "He's already out of here. And might I add; nobody can defeat him except for a mere handful... Vlaardi, I, and himself... and why? He is already dead, my dear. He's a zombie, controlled and contorted by a power that even I do not know of. If you wish to beat him, then I believe you shall have a hard time, no matter how powerful you are..." He paused briefly. "But stopping him is another thing entirely; that shouldn't be much effort, if you can catch up with him, or perhaps... lure him back." He laughed. "Like I said... I can stop him, and defeat him, yet I have no intentions of doing either. I consider him an ally... yet I do not support his intentions, nor the way he goes about forfilling them, I have no reason to betray him." He floated into the air, somewhat amused by something.