[Suzerain of Sheol]

Clearing his throat, Shealtiel grunts his name, wondering if he's going senile. "Alteil, will be fine, however," he adds.

He takes the food gladly, letting his sustenance spells lax for the moment. It has been a very long time since he last ate.

As Michael goes on, however, he finds his appetite quickly souring. Suddenly standing, he opens himself to the power of Sheol, his knees buckling with the strain. Almost instantly, he senses what is coming, is overwhelmed by it, and stumbles backward, nearly falling if Michael hadn't caught him.

"It's worse than you know. There a hundreds of Dybbuk bearing down on us, and by the time they tear through the settlements on the way here, there'll be hundreds more. And not only that..."

He resists the urge to be frustratingly cryptic; the situation just turned into a crisis. No time for old men's games. "There's at least one Rephaim leading them, possibly more. And Emim, too, maybe as many as a dozen. We have to get out of here. The city will hold for a time, but they'll be overwhelmed, especially with Acacias wounded. I can't fight off anywhere near that many, not with Emim to counter me."

As Michael stares at him, he swings his cane, striking him sharply on the arm. "Time to go. Pack up." He pulls his hood up as he makes his way out of the broken temple.