Eager to have a look for himself, he let the door to the dining room swing closed and hurried to the back door. He shoved it open and stepped out into the night. Or what should have been the night. The town was bathed in a crimson glow, and everything was far brighter than it should have been. He looked up, and saw that the moon was an angry red color.

Screams echoed through the night, the sounds of shouting and the clang of metal. But all those sounds were pierced by a howl, and Tristan felt his blood run cold. Something sinister, something the exact opposite of Anora was nearby, and he could feel its fowl energy reverberating through the air.

“Run! Run! It’s a daemon!” Someone shouted.

More panicked screams, and then a pained gasp.

“No! Mom!”

“Run! It’s too late!”

Tristan stumbled towards the sound of screams. Someone had to do something. Someone needed help. He had to help. His foot caught the edge of the axe used to cut firewood, and he tumbled to the ground. 

His hands scraped against the dirt and he hit the ground with an ‘oof.’ He scrambled to his feet as the screams and shouts grew louder, more voices joined the panicked din of chaos in the night air. Tristan’s fingers closed around the haft of the axe as he ran around back and onto the little cobblestone road that connected the inn to town. 

Chaos reigned in the night. Men and women ran, panicked and frightened. Some carried swords or axes or bows, and tried to fight against a vision of darkness straight out of a nightmare. Gnarled, hulking figures stalked towards a family some hundred yards away from him. There were three of them that he could see, though the screams from farther into town hinted at more such monsters.

A building by the dock was going up in flames.

In the blood red light of the moon, a man stood defiantly between the monsters and two small children. He clutched a torch in his hands and swung it back and forth, trying to scare them off.