Death coats the floor, its crimson grasp seeping through the worn wood and pooling in the cracks of the Sandlion. The natural scent of dry beer and sweat, now hidden beneath that of fire and smoke. The desperate wails of those that seek to flee the deathtrap of this once joyous place mix with the sounds of battle as steel strikes steel. The sand-pirate captain dances across the bar, whipping his rapier at Tyrvaan, Zylnan and Ballen as they seek to surround him.

“Zipz, my darling! People dying out here, vhenever you ready?” Misxibis shouts from the taproom. 

Zipz’s ears perk up and scans the room for any more survivors, then bounds for the door, pulling a dagger from her cloak as she vaults the last chair. The dagger leaves her fingers as she clears the doorway, spinning end over end towards the sand-pirate captain, burying itself deep in the back of his neck, its point erupting from his throat, much to the shock of the others.

The captain smiles, something gentler than his previous toothy grins, and he grabs at a silver necklace before falling onto the bar.

Charles scans the room now the immediate threat is dealt with. His eyes pass over a man hugging his knees on the floor, halting on the last remaining sand-pirate in the room. He reaches out his hand and a skeletal arm appears beside him, frost dripping from the bone as it reaches for the sand pirate, only for the bone to snap and dangle in the air for a few seconds before dissipating.

“I should really practise more…” he grumbles.

Misxibis takes a look around seeing the two elves beside the bar clutching deep wounds and rushes to their aid, stomping across the taproom. She grabs one and waves her hands at the other. Their deep wounds close with uncomfortable tingling but as the blood flow ceases, both smile in thanks to this stranger.

Tyrvaan peers across the smoke-filled tap room, his eyes locking onto the remaining sand-pirate. He’s running before he’s even considered the danger of it all, his bulk knocking chairs from his path. His last step carries him onto one of the low wooden tables and sends flagons and dishes clattering to the floor. Tyrvaan raises his mace high and brings it down on the back of the sand-pirate’s head with a sickening crack. 

The man stumbles forward from the unexpected assault, as a bolt of energy flies across the room from Zylnan, crashing into the staggered man and sending him to the ground to join the dozens of other bodies that lie across the inn.

A crowd of people mill around the base of the main stairs, trapped between the burning tap-room and sand-pirates guarding the back door. Several take the initiative and dash for windows and smash their way out as screams continue to fill the hall and the fire spreads. With the tap room clear, Ballen takes off towards those in need, eager to deal with the sand-pirates he knows guard the back door. He jumps on the bottom step, avoiding the packed hall, and sends a hand axe whistling towards his quarry. It sails over the heads of the panicked throng and buries itself into a sand-pirate’s shoulder with a deep wet crunch.

As others turn their attention to the frightened and needy, Zipz leaps onto the bar, pulling her dagger from the sand-pirate captain’s throat and slides her hand into his pocket to retrieve his coin purse, only for it to catch on his necklace. Even amongst the  wails of terrified patrons and crackling fire, the sound of the sand-pirate captain’s body thumping wetly against the bar as Zipz tries to extradite his hand is something that turns the heads of all in the room. Several more seconds of frantic *thwacking* and the chain snaps, the locket around his neck coming off in her hand. She shrugs at the others, a hint of colour in her cheeks and she shoves it into her pocket.

“Let's get out of here, quick! That way is safe!” she calls to the fleeing patrons as Charles moves past them heading for stairs. 

“If you would be so kind, could you get that door open!” Charles calls to the massive form of Tyrvaan as he passes, conjuring a phantasmal hand in the air above the stairs in an attempt to direct the panicked tavern goers towards the taproom's main door. Misxibis takes a more direct approach, charging into the mass of bodies to get a better look at what is causing the jam.

Ballen, Misxibis and Charles watch in horror as those packed in the hall are cut down by the sand-pirates remaining at the back door, sending the rest of the patrons into a further frenzy for survival. They push past the approaching adventurers into the main taproom in a bid to escape the death that will surely claim them should they remain.

Tyrvaan watches the taproom fill with the fleeing and turns to the massive double doors as instructed, jumping from the table and swinging with all his might. His mace cracks through the wood and he peers out to see crates and barrels piled against the outside of the doors. The dwarf besides him scurries out the small hole and makes a run for it into the sand whipped winds.

“Thank you laddie!” he cries over his shoulder.

“Move the boxes!” Tyrvaan bellows as the shadow of the dwarf disappears into the night. “Ugh…” he sighs moving back into the room, stomping over a table and jumping down, to land on the corpse of a slain man. “Over here,” he calls to the fleeing patrons.

“There can be no survivors!” a voice shouts from the sitting room. Several glance over as a halfling staggers from the door into the taproom, closely followed by two more sand-pirates. Zylnan makes for them, dodging around the bar and through the scattered chairs, coming face to face with the halflings pursuers. He conjures a wave of force in an attempt to slow their advance, instead knocking the table beside the sand-pirates away. 

Ballen watches the three sand-pirates in the corridor charge, as it begins to empty of civilians and catches sight of another three people running down the stairs. He spins, opening his mouth to scream in fear for his life and looking straight into the eyes of Charles and Misxibis, choosing instead to swallow his panic and hold his ground.

“Be brave, be brave,” he mumbles, hurriedly swinging his halberd in defense. His adversaries easily dodge the half-hearted attack and Misxibis rolls her eyes. 

Zipz leaps from the bar, runs across the room to grabs Misxibis by the hem of her dress, pulling her back.

“Missy! What are you doing? We need to get out of here!” she shouts, as she watches Ballen wave his halberd at something unseen down the corridor. 

Charles brushes past her, peering over the shoulder of the Ballen into the crowded hall and conjures another frost-covered hand that swings wildly at one of the sand-pirates, but fails once again to connect.

“These people need our help!” Misxibis shouts to the frantic Zipz before pulling away from her and squeezing around Charles further into the corridor. A quick glance reveals bodies pierced with darts, left where they fell and a charging group of sand-pirates, one Misxibis meets in kind with a bolt from her crossbow. A fleeing patron shoves past her in a bid to escape and the bolt flies up burying itself in the ceiling.

"Hey!" Misxibis shouts at the running persons back, then turns back to the sand-pirates as the close the distance. “Zipz!” she screams in horror.

One of the men coming down the stairs drives a dagger into a passing sand-pirate’s back as his two comrades bustle past and into the taproom in a hurry to escape. 

“Bandits,” Ballen says, drops his halberd and draws his longsword, recognising the men from earlier. His swing comes a  little too late as it connects with the doorframe and the two bandits run past Charles and Zipz. The last pushes the body of the sand-pirate down the stairs and hesitates to follow, seeing Ballen, longsword drawn.

The remaining sand-pirates rush forward striking glancing blows against Ballen and Misxibis, the former grunting in pain as the latter screams. 

Another pair of sand-pirates approach from behind but Zlynan blocks their path. He dodges the first blow but the second slices his bicep. Tyrvaan seeing his friend in danger, skirts the spreading flames and pushes through next to him, giving him a nod before bringing his mace down once again. Both fist and mace crack into the sand-pirate’s face sending him staggering back. He regains his wits and snarls as a blast of force smashes him into the wall and holds him there. His body trembles in visible agony as blackness flows along his veins and blood leaks from his eyes and ears. The convulsions stop as the body goes limp. Zylnan relaxes, releasesing his clenched fist and the corpse slips to the ground. 

Ballen takes a breath and faces down the sand-pirate before him, driving his sword into the enemy’s stomach, and pulling it out with a fierce grunt. Guts spill onto the floor as Zipz darts past behind Ballen, alerted by Missy’s scream, rapier in hand, purposefully nudging Charles as she passes. The blur of Zipz' body flies through the air before Misxibis’s face, twirling wildly, her rapier slicing through the throat of the remaining sand-pirate. He grasps at his throat as blood leaks through his fingers and splutters, before falling to the ground. Zipz lands lightly beside Misxibis, face still shrouded in the shadow of her hood. 

“It’s really just not my day,” Charles sighs, scanning the inn for any other threats and finding one remaining sand-pirate. He stretches out his hand once again and a skeletal hand appears before him, reaching forward. It caresses the pirate, who shudders, appearing momentarily frailer from its contact, as if some life has been stolen from him.

Misxibis waves her hand in the now empty corridor and a ruby trumpet appears in the air before her, blasting a deafeningly perfect imitation of the city guards call to arms, while Zipz folds her long ears down over her head. The bandit on the stairs turns and runs back up to the second floor at the sound. Misxibis nods to Zipz in satisfaction and says “Okay, Now ve go.” before striding over the bodies that litter the floor towards the back door. 

The last remaining sand-pirate turns at the sight of his comrades perishing and flees, in an attempt to save his life, only to be cut down from behind by Zylnan. Tyrvaan nods approvingly and turns without a word, pausing at the base of the stairs and glares at the tiefling in the room. 

Though he hasn’t seen one before he has heard of their kind and judges there to be no immediate threat from this demonic creature, remembering her willingness to heal his friend.

“Any remaining ones in here?” Tyrvaan grunts to the small goblin woman, who stares wide-eyed at the giant golden dragon.

“I… I… don’t think so… I think they’ve gone…” Zipz stutters turning her gaze to the floor completely abashed. 

Tyrvaan nods towards him in a ‘you done well’ manner and Zipz turns a deep vermillion colour. “What about upstairs?” he grumbles.

“I… I don’t know…” Zipz chokes. Tyrvan nods again and stomps up the stairs, his massive bulk causing the stairs to creak.

With his friend gone, Zylnan scans the room intent on finding any lagging sand-pirates and his gaze falls on the only other human dressed in desert garb, Charles. Zylnan hesitates for a moment as he stares at this stranger.

“Do you belong to them?”

“No, no, no, I’ve been robbed!” Charles splutters, holding his hands up in supplication. Zylnan squints again at the response, but something doesn’t add up. He definitely saw this man pilfering a dead body not a few minutes past.

“Don’t move… or I’ll hit you!” he grunts at him. Charles takes a step back and freezes.

“I’ve been basically useless all day anyway…” he replies, gesturing at the fire behind Zylnan that continues to spread around the room.

Ballen edges towards the confrontation.

“Ummm…That desert man was just attacking the sand-pirates. I'm sure he's not with them.” Zylnan’s glare slides from Charles onto Ballen.

“You two are working together aren’t you,” he grumbles, his eyes darting back and forth between the pair.

Zipz stumbles away from the dragon, her eyes wide with wonder. As he vanishes up the stairs she shakes her head, as if remembering where she is. She grins to herself and skips after Misxibis, the bodies of the dead completely forgotten.

“Missy! Missy! Did you see the dragon? Did you see the dragon...”

 Zipz skids to a stop before a familiar creature pinned to the wall with two spears, head against his chest, ears limp. Blood soaks his matted fur and what before had been a torrent now only trickles from his deep wounds. His chest no longer rises and falls as it should. Zipz’s face drops, concern and fear gleaming in her eyes as tears roll down her cheeks.

“Missy, Missy! It’s Skips! It’s Skips! He was at the caravan! You have to save him! Missy! Save him please! Please save him!”

Missy shakes her head in reply.

“Can we give him water? Can we treat his wounds? Is there anything we can do?” Zipz cries.

“Nothing, ve can do. Sorry, Zipz, come away!” Misxibis answers, resignation in her voice. Zipz falls to the ground, sobbing and curls into a ball. Misixibis stops and crouches down beside her friend,  lifting her with little difficulty. She continues out pushing her way through the back door, leaving the burning inn behind.

As they cross the threshold of the inn, a soft musical melody floats pat them on a phantom breeze, beneath the crackling of the fire and the wails of those that survived. Gentle words, alien but beautiful, singing in an unknown language. 

“Look! Look! Look!” Zipz calls and Misxibis spins. The song gathers around Skips, riding on a breeze like the waves of a calm sea. A summer light startling summer light blossoms from the amulet around Skips’ neck, causing all to shield their eyes. As they look once more a luminous flower of light float into the sky and vanishes.

Charles’ head whips around as the thrum of magic fills the air.

“So... totally on your side, not the pirates, but I have to see what this is!” he shouts at Zylnan, lurching from the room in time to see Heri take a heaving breath. The spears fall from his chest and the amulet around his neck crumbles to dust, leaving only a small fraction of metal filigree to clank to the floor. 

Misxibis drops Zipz to the ground and rushes towards Heri, untying the lid of her canteen to feed him water. Zipz follows, embracing Heri in a tiny hug, only for him to stumble forward onto her, his eyes closed.

Charles darts over to them, glancing around as the powerful magic disperses.

“Something fey…,” he mutters, unaware of the imprint it has left on him.

Tyrvaan catches sight of a fleeing bandit, who continues to glance over his shoulder at the approaching dragon.

“Not right,” he grunts, following with a quickened pace. The bandit breaks into a run and bounces off a wall in panic as he turns a corner. He charges straight for the window at the corridor's end.

“Stop!” Tyrvaan screams, but to no avail. He sighs and removes the shield from his back, launching it in pursuit of the man. The shield ricochets from the wall and slams into the bandit’s feet. He yelps in pain and crumples to the floor in a panicked mess.

Tyrvaan stomps over, his pace consistent as always, and lifts him in a thick scaled arm. He throwing him over his shoulder as if he weighs nothing and slings his shield onto his back. The bandit beats weakly against the scales of the dragonborne, but he pays him little heed. 

The sight of the burning inn fills Tyrvaan vision as he spins and he sighs, turning instead towards the window. He throws the bandit through and the thin glass smashes, sending the man bouncing along the cloth canopy outside. Tyrvaan follows and the man shrieks as Tyrvaan's bulk tears the canvas and he falls straight through. On his way through, he seizes the bandits leg and pulls him after. The sand erupts around Tyrvaan as he lands before a crowd of escaped patrons, their soot stained faces, marred with streaks of tears. The bandit follows, but with no leg to land on, crashes face first into the floor and stops moving.

“Hello, there!,” Tyrvaan growls.

Ballen edges from the tap room as fire begins to engulf everything, but Zylnan lingers, feeling the tint of fey magic in the air around him. He shudders at its touch, the feeling of it causing terror to rise within him, only for it to vanish a second later and leave him breathing heavily. He looks over the dead of the burning taproom and coughs, turning to follow Ballen out.

Ballen and Zylnan stumble from the smoke-filled corridor and out the back door to the sight of Charles, Misxibis and Zipz crowded around the unconscious form of Heri Skips.

“Can any of you help the rabbit please? He’s not very well. Can any of you heal him?” Zipz asks, looking at the faces of those around her. An awkward silence follows as they exchange looks.

“Healing’s not my specialty,” Charles replies.

“No,” Ballen mumbles at almost the same time as Zylnan says, “Nope!”

Mixisibis sighs, peering around for any others that might offer assistance but finds them alone. She raises her hand and balls lights float into the sky as she tries to signal their position, only for them to be lost in the  light of the bonfire that is the inn. Zipz grabs some soiled bandages from a nearby tent.

“Hey Missy, I found some bandages, can you heal him?” she chimes.

“I’ll check, see if anyone can help.” Charles replies, breaking for the side of the inn. 

He turns the corner and finds those few that escaped the fire, staring at the burning Sandlion in shock and continues past them, his true motive of finding the escaped cultists, something only he knows. 

The next turn takes him to the front of the inn where he finds boxes and barrels stacked against the front doors as well as some panicked horses, still held within their stables. Unwilling to see them perish he lifts the latch of their prison and releases them, before continuing on. 

The last corner finds him before a dragonborne who stares at the fire with peace in his eyes, unaware of the wide berth those around him give. Charles looks down and sees an unconscious bandit on the floor beside him.

Charles skids to a halt, catching sight of two similarly dressed bandits loitering at the back of the crowd, their eyes staring daggers into the back of the dragon.

“You seem like you have a handle on things, but there are a couple of others like this fellow who are eying you up.” Charles whispers, gesturing towards the back of the group.

Tyrvaan glances in the indicated direction.

“What’s your name?” he grumbles.

“Ugh, of course. Charles wells at your service.”

“Charles. Keep an eye on this one,” he says and turns to the two bandits within the crowd. They begin to fidget at the attention.

“Charles do you have a dagger?” he grumbles.

“I do not… I have a staff.”

“Not, a knife?”

“Nope, more of a magic wielder.”

Tyrvaan grunts, lifting his mace over his head in a threatening pose staring down at the man on the floor, then turns and makes eye contact with his compatriots in the crowd.

“What’s goin on here?” he roars at them. One of the men grits his teeth and makes a rude gesture before they turn and run. Tyrvaan throws his mace in their direction with such force it slams into the ground beneath his feet, sending an explosion of sand up around him. The crowd around him takes another step back.

Charles steps up beside Tyrvaan, summoning fire in the palm of his hand and throws it at the fleeing bandits' backs. It flies across the intervening space, hidden by the conflagration of the inn and slams into one of them. The force sends him sprawling across the floor, his clothes slowly combusting. 

His comrade skids to a stop, looking back at his weakly struggling friend and the approaching Charles and Tyrvaan before turning to run, his mind made up.

Tyrvaan lifts his mace from the sand and trudges over to the weakly struggling bandit. He hoists the flailing man over his shoulder, where he soon goes still. 

More and more people join the crowd as the flames reach high into the sky, townsfolk roused by the shouts and cries. Before long the town guards arrive, pushing the people back and calling for buckets of sand to try and douse the inn before the Aquamancers arrive.

It doesn’t take long for word to spread of those that fought in the inn, strange people and creatures normally not seen in Sabal. Guards begin to move through the crowd, eyeing most with suspicion.

"We should go," Charles says, nudging Tyrvaan lightly in the ribs. He looks at his new friend then over to the approaching guards and nods, slinging the other bandit over his shoulder the pair walk off into the desert night.

Several guards round the corner of the inn and approach the group around Heri.

“Yes, ve should move,” Misxibis whispers at the sight of them. 

“Time to pull out the charm, Missy!” Zipz whispers. Misxibis shakes her head in response.

“I think ve should leave quietly. Carry Skips” Zipz, Mixibis and Ballen grab the unconscious Skips and rush off into the night as Zylnan takes off in the direction of the guards, pulling his hood up over his head.

“Hey you!” The guards scream, breaking into a run as the group awkwardly carry Skips away.

“No, they went that way! Zlynan points into the darkness of the desert as another wisp of wind carries a spiral of sand into the air. The guards stare into the darkened hood of the stranger and pause, seeing human features peering back at them. Then they turn and stare off into the sands for a moment too long. Long enough for Zylnan to pass them and for the group to disappear into the night.

Metal presses coldly against Zipz’ skin as she runs and she pulls out the sand-pirate captain's locket she pilfered. She flicks it open as they run into the desert and her face reddens as she beholds two pictures of a great ship. Both curvaceous and wide keeled. She titters and hands it awkwardly to Missy, hiding her face in her hood.