The first thing she was aware of was the ringing in her ears. The second was the strange sensation of blistering heat scorching her face and freezing cold at her back. As the blackness swam away from her vision, she blinked, looking up blearily at the pillar of flame before her. Memories pushed themselves to the surface as she struggled to stay awake, bringing with them a wave of alarm that propelled her back to full consciousness.<br/><br/>She had been in the hamlet when the shambler and its spawn had attacked, hoping someone there had heard some news--<i>any</i>news--of her mentor. When a Blackguard went missing for over a month, that never meant anything good. She would not, or perhaps could not, believe that Ignatius was dead. A veteran Blackguard with decades of field experience didn't just vanish into thin air on what was supposed to be a routine mission.<br/><br/>Things rarely ever went the way they were<i>supposed</i>to, however, as she had learned today. The hamlet was supposed to be secure from the Mist, its bonfire warding away the living shadows and the monsters that lurked within them. Not even a frigid winter rain should have been able to put it out, and yet, she had gone to sleep on a rainy night, tucked away on a cot in the corner of the inn, and awoken to a nightmare.<br/><br/>The low moan in the middle of the night had roused her, along with everyone else in the hamlet, chilling them down to their bones with a deep, primal sort of fear. The sound drifted through the town like a dark wind, a cry of agony wheezed from putrid, decaying lungs that carried for miles. The night watchman had crept from his post to investigate, only to return to the inn white as a sheet with grim news on his lips: the Bonfire was out.<br/><br/>As if on cue, the darkness surrounding the town had come alive with cries and moans, welling up from throats that might have once been human. Above them all rose the agonized call again, and a noxious odor filled the air, the scent of diseased and rotting flesh causing many to gag. Cold terror had swept through the streets as the<i> thing </i>stepped into the fitful lantern-light, as tall as the largest building in the hamlet, a tower of corpses melted and twisted together, teeth and eyes and screaming mouths dotting its form.<br/><br/>Of the ensuing panic, Liirah remembered little aside from the screaming and the blood, twisted shapes pouncing upon the townsfolk and throwing themselves against doorways and windows, forcing their way into the buildings to slaughter the inhabitants within. The hamlet's militia had fought valiantly, rallying themselves against the horrors, and Liirah had joined them, her crossbow dropping the smaller creatures like flies and sending steel bolts deep into the flesh of the shambling colossus, making it wail in pain. But they were unprepared for an assault like this, and as the few remaining townsfolk barricaded themselves in one of the larger buildings, hoping to wait out the night together, the militia were slaughtered, ripped limb from limb and smashed into the mud, until only she was left, her back to one of the grain silos as hissing, shrieking abominations closed in around her. Death had always been a certain thing for her, but she wished she could have had just a few more years before stepping into its shadow.<br/><br/>Well, if she was going to die, then she was taking at least a few of these creatures with her. Her last torch was lit, its flame briefly causing the shambling corpses to withdraw with a hiss of fear. Before they could muster themselves and fall upon her, it was tossed high, sailing through a hole in the silo's cylinder left by the shambler's swinging fist, to land in the dry, half-fermented corn and wheat stored within.<br/><br/>The resulting explosion of heat and noise had knocked her head over heels, flung away from the silo like a stone from a sling. She had expected the impact of her body with the ground to be the last thing she ever felt, but here she was, broken and bleeding but still clinging stubbornly to life. Liirah groaned again, attempting to sit up, but everything hurt too much to move. Her clothes were charred and her face felt blistered, but as she craned her neck to look around, she could see no trace of the shambler or its minions beyond a few burning, twisted corpses. Whether they had been chased off for good or would return later, she had no idea, but she had done all she could. She had bought this doomed hamlet a brief respite, at least, perhaps it would be enough for them to evacuate.<br/><br/>She was ashamed that she would die without finding her mentor, but if he really was dead, perhaps they'd see eachother in the next life. Liirah let her head drop back into the muck, eyes flickering shut, only for the sounds of approaching hoofbeats and shouts to keep her from slipping away. Her brows furrowed as she struggled to look up again, turning her head slightly to catch sight of the approaching cavalry. She likely looked like another corpse sprawled in the mud, but as she caught the insignia they bore--<i>Blackguard</i>--they would see the "corpse's" hand raise feebly, followed by her upper half as she attempted to sit up, wincing in pain as her battered muscles protested. If they looked closely, they would see the a similar insignia on the mud-covered leather armor she wore, albeit without the finery that marked her as a full-fledged hunter, only an apprentice.<b>"S' gone," </b>she slurred, unsure if they could hear her, she could hardly hear herself over the ringing in her ears left by the explosion. She grimaced and rubbed her head, gloved fingers coming away stained crimson. She felt like she had been kicked in the head by a horse, but pressed on, despite her dizziness.<b>"Bon'fire went out, an' a horde showed up in th' middle of the night," </b>They'd be back, though, she was sure of it. There was danger here that she was desperate to warn them of, but her concussed mind simply wasn't cooperating.