"I don't feel so good." Kralla shook her head, as her companions scrambled backwards. "Head feels... Foggy." She stumbled forwards.
"Oh shit." Hissed Barnabas. Tellerick was already reaching into his bag, muttering under his breath.
Further along the tree line, a knight stepped out. The slight breeze carried the stench of rot, and rust, as it turned towards the party. It raised an arm, pointing its longsword straight at Barnabas.
The screech cut through the quiet morning; metal claws on a blackboard. Loud, long and blood curdling before ceasing.
All sound stopped. Everything was enveloped in a cloying, thick, silence.