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The drums have been beating all day long, a rhythmic attack on your senses. As the sun sets, the drums stop, and you have settled on your next candidate.
As you approach cheekimonk, a shrill laughter permeates the air. A raspy voice whispers in all of your ears at once, "Death is coming, Druss cannot save you. He will be dead, dead, dead!"
A blinding flash of smoke strikes where cheekimonk stood. As it dissipates, you see the form of an ugly, ancient sorceress.
cheekimonk was The Old Woman!
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