They struck without warning around the Anlas of Meraud's Cloak; we never had a chance. A cry shook the night, waking me before it was cut brutally short. My parents and I lived on the outskirts of town and we heard the slaughter before it was near. Swiftly and silently they attacked, setting the houses on fire and killing the unprepared in cold blood. Billowing clouds of soot filled the air, stinging and burning my eyes. I could make out my father standing in the cool night air, moonlight beaming off the massive claymore he held in his hands. My mother was nowhere to be seen and the world around me soon erupted in fighting.

I saw my father's sword flash and cleave an invader in half. Moments later a scaled hand fell at my feet and I instantly knew who was attacking. The Dragon Priests must have planned this attack for months as their onslaught forced the villagers back in a full rout. The bone-chilling hiss and swish of reptilian tails pervaded the area as I stood stock still watching the massacre. My neighbors and friends lay in pools of mixed S'kra and Elothean blood. The wounded and dying let loose horrible screams and all I could do was stare in disbelief. To this day I wish I had acted and at least died protecting my beautiful village.

My father's battlecry brought me back to reality as it rang out across the flame-kissed land. I ran, and kept running until the din of battle was barely audible. I found a tree and climbed it, hiding in the safety of its sprawling branches. Slowly the fighting grew more sporadic until it finally stopped altogether. I slipped down to the ground furtively and crept through the shadows toward my hut. The stench of burning flesh assaulted my nose as I edged closer. A massive pyre lay in the middle of town, and robed Priests walked by carrying bodies to be thrown into the voracious flames. Elothean and S'kra bodies burned in the dim moonlight as the Dragon Priests chanted around the fire. I lay silently in the shadows, waiting for them to leave so I could survey the ruins.

Before the break of dawn they were gone, their ritual complete. They left behind only charred ruins, ivory bones, and scaled footprints. Swords and shields lay strewn on the ground, their owners having no use for them anymore. I searched the ruins, trying to find traces of my father and mother. A few survivors wandered around the ruins of our once beautiful town looking at the ravages of the fanatics as I scavenged. My father's sword lay half buried under our hut. Nearby I found my mother's golden necklace, but neither my father nor my mother could be found. Wails from the survivors could be heard everywhere, but my throat was too burned to even utter a prayer to Meraud.