However faint the light was, it was enough to expose a famous frame. Gum could recognise the hulking silhouette and tempered face of Sir John Cromwell in any light. After wearily groaning to his feet, the old shaman—experiencing a degree of ease in the presence of a known quantity—obliged with his name and title.

"I am Gum do Mugu, Arch Shaman of the Xangu people."

In spite of being wiry and lithe by comparison, the umbral holy man made certain to capitalise on the ghoulishness of his appearance. He stood, barely in the light, exposing his scarred and bony torso; the shaman's chest was decorated with a necklace made of three shrunken heads.

"I know you from your successes in the fighting pits of the Citadel."

Do Mugu revealed the deep lines of his sullen face in the orb's sickly radiance before continuing.

"Cromwell, have you arrived in this dreadful place to be my assassin or my ally?"