Zynn pauses and then dismounts. Picking up a handful of dirt, he confirms the fact that they are indeed past the gray area. The sand here once again feels like it’s supposed to. “Make camp,” he says. As the wagons gather together and the horses are taken from their traces, he gazes back to where the dead lie. In a way saddened by the loss of life, yet at the same time thankful for the opportunity his village will have to survive another year or two. Sighing, he turns back to the others and helps with setting up the camp.

The night continues to deepen as the hours fall away. When the world has slipped into the deepest part of the night, a figure moves among the dead. His passing brings cold, cold to the world and cold to the soul. Behind this figure move two others, both wearing dark armor with another four in robes following them.

Winding their way around the bodies of the dead soldiers, the one who leads searches for the place he desires. All his carefully laid plans are coming to fruition. When his dark lord set him upon this task so very long ago he knew it would take centuries until he arrived at this critical moment.

First he destroyed the priests of Morcyth. His lord told him how they would send for another, one not of this world. He would know of this one’s coming when the Fire and Star walked together under the sky. Then, all that followed would culminate into what happened here.

When he sent Abula-Mazki to bring this mage to him, he wasn’t sure if this was indeed the one told of in the prophecy. But when his warrior priest was defeated and said the Fire walked with the Star, he knew. For Ozgirath, High Priest of Dmon-Li, the waiting has come to an end.