You step back to take in the sight before you. Three figures stand between you and Zhan-Ukhel, each of them fifteen feet high or more. One of them is a mighty warrior, his armor blood-red, his hair dark and wild. Another is a woman, lithe and elegant, her clothes, like her hair, standing out in brilliant white against the night. The third is an oddity, a giant yet hunched figure clad in a heavy black cloak, its only identifying sign an enormous carved wooden mask, marked with lichen and pitted with age, that seems to hang from where you imagine its face must be. A strange group, but they seem to radiate a power and authority that eclipses even their own massive size.
Zhan-Ukhel falls back before these new arrivals, his eyes wide, his teeth bared in a snarl.
"You should not be here, sorcerer," says the woman, "and you must leave this one alone. Baseera told us that he had arrived in the spirit world. He is under our protection."
She turns and looks at you. Her eyes are a vibrant and unnatural blue, but there is kindness there in spite of their alien appearance. "Hold onto one of us, Basileios," she says. "We're about to leave this place, and we don't want to leave you behind."