Under the radiant embrace of a warm sun, you found yourself engrossed in the daily activities of the enigmatic cult, immersed in the peculiar routine that defined their existence. As the esteemed leader embarked on a fervent crusade, you seized the opportunity to briefly withdraw, seeking solace beneath the shade of a towering tree. Crossing your legs, you welcomed a moment of respite, the gentle rustle of leaves providing a tranquil backdrop.

Amidst the calm, the symphony of clashing swords and the scent of stirred dust reached your senses. The unmistakable sparring session between Kallamar and Heket was underway, a familiar spectacle that unfolded with a rhythmic cadence. Their bond as sparring partners was evident, and occasional skirmishes were expected, often fueled by Heket's resilient spirit after a defeat.

After a brief interlude, Kallamar approached, his regal cyan sesena cape billowing gracefully in the breeze. A stark contrast to the serene setting, he bore the visible aftermath of a head wound, crimson evidence of his recent skirmish. Your eyes widened in astonishment as Kallamar, with a somewhat sheepish grin, broke the silence,

"Hey there, friend! Mind lending a hand to a rogue in need?"