You weren’t sure how long you’d been lying there. Blood pooling from a ragged gash onto the clean marble stairs of the great monastery.

Your nose was filled with nothing but the scent of blood and iron, a foul sickness swelling in your stomach from the pungency of your own life ebbing away.

It was only when a shadow fell over you that you let your head slip to the stairs, assuming it was death coming to ferry you away. But instead… a gloved gentle, yet strong hand cupped your pale face, tilting it up towards them.

An Eladrin.

A paladin, by the looks of it. One of the Morninglord’s evidenced by the golden crest emblazoned on his gleaming breastplate. His skin glittered with a radiant lustre in the sunlight, golden eyes, calm and kind, searched your own for glimpses of any life remaining in them.

“Try to stay awake…” His voice hummed in your ears. “…aid is here. Your life is not in vain.”