With the skeletons having finally collapsed back into their coffins, Ulor's attention turned away from them and back to the room itself. The presence of these necromantic creatures went to refute what he thought to have observed before; they could not have been lying there by sheer chance, for they had remained in their tombs in the wake of whoever had placed the latest newly released prisoner in the disappointingly harmless saltwater tank. No, they had lain there to serve a purpose; and whatever purpose could have required the presence of battle-ready undead - somehow, Ulor thought first of holding sacrificial victims in place, and only then of guarding something - it was certain to be an interesting one. Unfortunately, neither he nor the octopus could see much past the others as the chamber was searched, and had to resort to craning necks and flattening heads to even e certain that it was being searched at all.

The blooming of the enchanted boat was, however, visible enough from the corridor, and he was satisfied enough with it that he thought little of clambering into the vessel when it was lowered onto the murky water. After all, it had been there for the use of those very acolytes who now were chanting more and more audibly somewhere not too far. Ulor caught himself thinking that the fact that the boat was here and the acolytes here might have been strange, but by this point they had already set sail, so it did not matter much.

The chant grew more and more in volume, and Ulor was irked that he could not understand what something with such a curious cadence meant. That is, until the gnome, about whom, along with most of the party, he had all but forgotten, helpfully translated the sinister words. The mage frowned, alternating a few squinting glances between Eilina and the shadows ahead. "Now? Impossible. No single ritual could be sufficient for this," he rasped in what was ostensibly his usual hollow voice. But he did not sound too confident. In truth, not even he could properly guess at what a sufficient force could accomplish in so little time. What he did know was that an event of that sort was certain to have repercussions through worlds known and uncharted alike, ones that he, for one, had no intention of experiencing firsthand.

Holding up a hand, Ulor whispered something inarticulate, and the octopus, which had been clinging to the side of the boat, slid almost noiselessly into the stream below. The filthiness of the water worked to its advantage as its pale body grew dark to match its surroundings, so that only a suspicion of a bulging eye could be occasionally glimpsed cautiously peering out before vanishing again. And that eye was enough for Ulor's mind, stretched and twisted into otherworldly forms of spirit, to see through. Some moments passed as he sat with his own eyes closed, after which he shook himself and turned towards the group. "There are but five adherents of the cult there, intent on their captive's sacrifice. Yet a fiend of malice and the dark spawn of the Queen preside over their rite. We must keep them at bay as we dispatch their followers, for facing all at once would spell our doom."