Beren was about to think he had imagined the rumbling, and it began to quietly die down. His heart rate slowed, and he relaxed. 

Until the statue screamed. 

He screamed too, before bursting into action. He took his staff in both hands and flourished it, landing in a stance that gave him the greatest leverage with a forward swing if necessary. However, the statue was no longer made of black chlorite. It fell into life, falling to the floor and gasping for air. He stood transfixed, utterly confused on what exactly was happening. The monsters had been one thing, the lava another, but this was by far the least expected thing he had ever seen. Slowly, he dropped his staff, dumbfounded. He instantly regretted it when the woman reached up at him, and he felt a refreshing chill pass through him, his staff up again in the blink of an eye. Yet nothing happened. 

He let out a breath, and was about to speak when she reached toward a boulder and it de-materialized in a cacophony of inky black sorcery. He yelped in alarm, and watched her rise up in a likeness of the goddess he believed her to be, and her supple form was ensconced in black silk that shimmered in the wan light. To his surprise, she spoke. Her voice was sonorous, yet the tongue was brutal and harsh. It was a strange contrast. It took him another few moments to realize he understood it. It was Xerubian! 

He must have seemed completely stupid to the woman, flummoxed as he was. His mouth worked, but no words came out for three more heartbeats, until he swallowed and fixed his unkempt mane of hair. "I... am Beren... Beren Draiglwyf Mac'Riglas, a Sanguken monk. Er..." He tried to find the right words in his lexicon that he could translate. "T-Traveling seeker of knowledge." 

It was as accurate as he could be. He was not about to lie to this deity or great spirit he had awoken. It was a humble description, to be certain. His strong form and scars, along with his relative youth, might have suggested otherwise, but there was no deceit in his voice. He looked around for an escape, but there was none. Hel, even if he spotted one, he would have had to run thirty meters over open ground to reach it. Instead, he pulled at his nonexistent shirt collar, before realizing he stood stripped to the waist. 

"Who are you, great one?" He asked her tentatively, hoping his words were correct. A part of him believed he had called her a man, but luckily he had found the gender neutral term. He almost prostrated himself, until he remembered that was sacrilegious to his order.