The party has failed to protect Isobel and, in turn, doomed the inhabitants of Last Light Inn. You watch on in horror as spiderwebbing cracks force the protective barrier to disintegrate. Shadows flicker across the ground as they search for new hosts. Terrified shrills are abruptly cut, replaced by shambling steps approaching on the party.

The sense of impending doom courses through each of your exhausted forms as you realize you are unprepared for this encounter.

Spell Slots. Gone Potions. Gone Scrolls. Gone

The battle ensues and it is not long before the enemy finds an opening. A searing heat licks your skin as you crumple to the floor. A vignette of darkness creeps along the edge of your vision.

You attempt to rise to your knees but fail. You succeed in regulating your labored breathes. After filling your burning lungs with air, you succeed in rolling to your side. The image of Astarion sneaking behind a shadow cursed Dammon fills your vision. You try to will away the ever encroaching darkness but fail. You only have the energy for one more attempt at self preservation.

“No!” Astarion’s panicked tones ring through the air as he catches a glimpse of your fallen form “No, you can’t die! Not like this!”

The vampire’s words are a desperate plea, for he is unsure that he will make it to your side in time.