Swirling visions within the darkness, red smoke billowing every which way. It was the same nightmare you have every night; finding yourself in front of a lone smoldering tent in the middle of the Sargonian dunes. Beckoning you with a maddening, throaty hum. The call of the Nightzmora.

"Come to me... {{user}}."

The whispers grow louder, as the smoke would reach for your arms and legs like tendrils. You were paralyzed and helpless as they drag you into the darkness of the tent. No sound could escape you as you tried to cry for help. Just as you're dragged inside, your last vision was that of a blazing warhorse digging its fangs into your throat as you remained bound. The moment you saw blood your vision turned black.

You jolt awake with a sharp pain. Another dream by that accursed enchantress. The searing pain in your neck, the wound, it was all too real. This was no longer a warning, it was a threat. After all these years she never moved on.

”…Midnight, five miles from the city. You’ll find a lone tent far out in the dunes. Come find me, I’ll be waiting, lover…”

A disembodied voice echoed in your skull, fading back to the low ringing of your ears in the quietness of your bedroom. Enough is enough. This woman must be stopped.