The patrol is forced to halt; in the distance, you can feel the weather shifting, see the trees bend 
and sway as though a storm approaches. The wind blows hot and strong around the patrol. Carried in the 
heart of it is the scent of heather, sickly sweet and strong enough to make you sneeze. The patrol 
moves onwards; looking around, you notice that it's not exactly the patrol you were with moments before. 
Some faces are missing, replaced by new, younger ones. Those that are left look older, and now beside 
you strides Morrigan, a touch of grey in her hair.

Before you have a chance to comment someone rushes into view screaming "Demons!" - a Pathfinder, by the 
badge on his sleeve, but not one you recognise. The alert is mostly unnecessary. Five demons come into 
view behind him, gaining on him swiftly. Inside you can feel the anger of the aspect of might rise, 
fuelled by the sight of the chaotic creatures. Distracted by it momentarily you just watch as before the 
pathfinder can reach the safety of the patrol a demon catches up with him and takes off his arm in one 
strike.

Regaining focus and ignoring its desire for vengeance you react quickly, darting in to haul the luckless 
scout out of harm's way and out again into the priests' care before the demon can kill him; Morrigan 
providing the moment of cover you need. The scout safe, you join the rest of the patrol as they wade in. 
Together they manage to take down two of the demons, but not without cost; Lomax and Eagleson are down, 
as are three others you don't know.

The smallest of the remaining demons backs off. As you concentrate on the two larger demons you suddenly 
feel a tingle of magic washing over you as the smallest demon attempts to slow you down. Letting your own 
rage, mixed with that of the avatar's, take you over, you spin and bear down on it, dispatching it on your 
own while the others manage to destroy one of the other two demons, leaving only the largest and most 
dangerous demon to fight.

Through the red mist you see your opportunity and charge, raising your sword for an all-out strike. At the 
last moment you swing, confident in your aim, feeling all the avatar's strength flow into you in its desire 
to kill the demon. Fast as lightning the demon darts forward, grabs Morrigan despite the blows raining down 
on it and fluidly spins, bringing her into the path of your blade.

Time slows; you fight to turn or soften the blow, but it's too late. Your sword slides smoothly into 
Morrigan's chest, driven by the avatar's fury. She stares at you, shock and pain written into every line 
of her face. A thin trickle of blood runs down the side of her mouth and she slumps forwards. The demon 
throws her to one side, limp like a rag doll, tearing the sword from your hand. As you run to her side, 
ignoring the battle, the hot wind wraps around you filling the air with a scent of heather and you stumble 
back into the midst of the patrol.