The Dawn Comes
As the heroes recover from their greatest battle yet, an attack on a Wyrmkin Chieftan, a half-man, half-dragon creature created by foul alchemy and dark magics, they wonder do they have the strength yet to get out alive.
On the distant horizon a vague glimmer of sunlight warmed the clouds to the east. Crouched in the blood soaked sands of the stockade, five warriors scowled at the rising sun, knowing it brought death. They had just slain the Chieftain of the stockade and now his army was gathering around them, searching for them and baying for blood. Only darkness protected them. The sun would be their end.
“How is it that the Chieftain knew you” said one of the warriors to another. “He called you by name Tarik.”
“These things are filled with sorcery and demons. He probably knew all of us by name, you as well Rostam. Only your hammer silenced him before he could call out to you.”
“You are a Risen, have you no memory?”
“We don’t have time for this” said another even as the shrieks of the Wyrmkin grew louder from the north.
“He’s right, there’s no time. The next hour will decide whether we live or die” said a fourth.
With a silent nod the warriors closed ranks, until they looked like little more than a single shadow sliding away in the pre-dawn light.