Ilyana's lips curled in anger. This... this was slavery! Binding the unwilling and driving them forth to battle without care or concern...!

And [i]Terilu[/i] was thrilled! 

And then Nemeia stepped up spoke, the sadness in her heart weighing down her words.

[color=6ecff6]"Let us fight with the shackled dead then, deeper in this corrupted crypt. My fellow pilgrims, our solemn task remains, we must continue our freshly begun work, we must cleanse this place of the evil that afflicts it."[/color]

Ilyana bowed her head, a scowl writhing on her lips, then she reluctantly raised her heads. The tiefling was right, they were committed, now.

[color=00ff66]"He didn't even ask them,"[/color] she choked out, remembering walking out of that prison to find the press gang waiting for her. And her uncle's man, watching from across the way as they reshackled her to a chain with the other 'recruits' and marched them down the street, towards the docks and the waiting ships. And the smiles of the people, pleased that it was convicts, not them. How the leader of the press gang took what little they had before turning them over to the ship's quartermaster...!

How many died that first fight? How many died the second?

The young half-human girl started after them, but she couldn't help but wonder - if she died down there, would Terilu animate her body too? Would he bring her back to guard the caravan while her things were stolen from her cart?

And the worse of it, knowing that nobody would care.

[color=00ff66]"Aye, let's be off after that onion-eyed oaf,"[/color] Ilyana mutters, following them down the ramp. [color=00ff66]"Before the grist mill runs dry."[/color]