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 Gale flinging cantrips at looming shadows fills your fading vision. You try to will away the ever encroaching darkness but fail. You only have the energy for one more self preservation attempt.

“No!” Gale’s panicked tones are faint on your ears. “I can’t lose you. Please!”

The wizard’s words are a desperate plead for he is unsure he will make it to your side in time.