There was some sort of sentient vessel behind him, that much Kyros knew.

The thing was clomping along in his wake, the slight rattle of its clay lid giving it away. A second set of noises joined it, then a third; was this a line of...clay pots? Following him?

Kyros signalled his skeletal servant with a flick of his ear, and the being stopped.

"State your business." Kyros' tone bore no room for negotiation.

"We're hungry," a rattling, clattering voice said, the hollow banging of its lid against an empty pot forming a strange, drum-like sound.

"So find food," Kyros said without turning around. "There is plenty of it here." He could practically feel the pots' disappointment at his answer.

He moved forward, and this time, there was nobody following him.