“Why the long face, Master Golem? – “ Nestor calls to the creature as he notes the trio's approach – Golem and his pair of uncerimoniously dangling passengers, one locked beneath each arm – “That throw was positively splendid!” He gives an encouraging smile at this, the look eventually vanishing in a favour of an involuntary grimace, pain splashing itself his face and leaving him leaning against the wall, chest heaving as he draws in a long breath.

Taking a moment to steady himself, the Demonspawn eases his uninjured shoulder against the stony wall of the great arched gate, silently watching the approach of the others and the ever advancing swarm of Scarab beetles. (Bugs; I had never much liked bugs I found myself thinking as I coughed again, retched up something thick and grotesquely nasty in the back of my throat, spat as discreetly as I could onto a floor already strewn with debris. Beetles – shit eaters – and I'd be damned if they ate me too. I found a hand slipping involuntarily toward that particular spot beneath my jacket. Found the flask. Took a sip. Not enough. My 'medicinal' case and a little bottle followed, and one by one I watched as several pills found themselves following one another down the hatch; then another sip – maybe closer to enough now. The pain began to ease. Marginally. I reach for the flask again – gone!)

The Demoness chortles softly to herself, holding Nestor's flask delicately between both hands – as though it were some holy chalice being reverently brought to an alter – and plants herself right in front of the Golem as he reaches the shelter just within the vault gates. Cocking a thin eyebrow upwards in the looming creature's direction, she announces: “Don't suppose it would do -you- any good, Aluminium Asshole that you apparently are --” She pauses here, sidles up a little closer to him and whispers slyly “Though me myself? I think... I think... you make for a positively gorgeous example of true manhood...” The words are followed by a bit of snickering, and perhaps too much emphasis on the last word, and then her attention shifts – as though she'd never even been speaking to the Golem in the first place – words now directed toward the Necromancer, flask extended in her direction: “Now, now – Nestor's been cut off for the time being – drink up Missy!” A look of careworn sadness somehow forces its way her icy features, eyebrows lowering as she adds “ I do so hate to see my dear companions suffer”. The seriousness of her words might remain very much in doubt – caught on the edge, just barely kept from teetering into outright mockery.

My thoughts had wandered elsewhere – seeing that the party had (by all appearances) waded through the devastation of the ancient Anubi with the same number of members as we had begun, I turned my attention to the hallway of the vault beyond. What lay within, I wondered? And more directly, how in the blazes we were supposed to find this Ankh; Birdwoman Senior – if she'd made it through the horde alive – I assumed could give a little guidance. I couldn't help but smirk at my own minor blasphemy, but they were my own thoughts after all, weren't they?