Kipli strode purposefully down a cobbled street, his bare feet soaking up the warmth of the sun-baked stones. He looked like a normal boy. He had dark, curly brown hair that had grown longer than most mothers would stand for their boys to wear. It overshadowed his dazzlingly bright, blue eyes. His frame was slight, on the scrawny side of lean, and he was robed from shoulders to ankles in tattered rags. Nobody paid him any mind. It was a harsh world, where old magics lay dormant, waiting to visit destruction on whichever poor fool dared to scrounge ancient ruins and battlefields for treasure and knowledge. He let his solemn eyes swing from door to door, as he felt the tug, as if a string was pulling his heart towards his bondman. Now and again, he'd lurch forward, leading with his chest. Past the village proper he meandered, the pace of his steps slowly increasing in speed. He could feel the pull. The need. He felt a slight sense of surprise, when the tugging carried him out of the village, and on towards a nearby ruin. It jutted out of the ground, made of thick, white stone blocks. The architecture, though once fine, looked to have been blasted, torn, and even melted in places, like some horribly abused skeleton. His ears prickled, as he heard a high-pitched scream lift from somewhere within. By the pull, he could tell that it was not his bondman. Even so, his pace picked up, and he let his legs stretch in an easy run, as he closed the distance to the one to whom he'd been bound. He rounded the first of the shattered walls, and saw a stairwell, leading into the depths of the earth. The screams echoed up the stairwell, and filled Kipli's ears as he descended, catching his breath. The hallway at the base of the stairwell was dark, not open to the light of day as was the stairwell that had led Kipli down. Not pitch black, but gloomy all the same. On the floor, a little boy lay, cradling the stump of an arm that was gushing blood. The rest of the limb lay a foot or so farther down the hallway, limp. Beside the boy, knelt a girl. Kipli knew her. He couldn't not know her. He approached, leaning in to whisper to the girl. "Kipliveygarrine," He began. "You can heal him."