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An hour later and you flop on the bed, exhausted. There’s nothing useful in this room, and the only clothes you could find were so risque you wouldn’t wear them if you were paid to. You don’t know much about incubi, but their taste in clothing is poor at best. This is so frustrating... you’re not a champion, you’re just a soldier. You can’t call on the powers of the gods or summon the elements to get out of here like they could, and the closest you ever had to a combat pet was the family dog that passed away years ago. Hugging a pillow close for comfort, you begin to softly cry into it, tears streaming down your cheeks and staining the fabric. You fall asleep like that, worn out by the day’s events.