A heavy veil of scarlet dusk settles over the ash stone walls of Selgar.
Inside, the People grow weery of the on coming morn.
Men dressed in crimson robes, quickly thrown over vests of steel.
Shadows cover the charred earth as the talk siege engines block out the sun.
An old crone feeds her grandchild hemlock and a burly bartender locks his family in the cellar.
Two old men sit at a table, betting on the next race they know will never come.
The frantic people seek escape and protection. Others turn to denile.
But up on the rooftops grim archers lie behind shields that they know will fail.
The army of Bairne has arrived.