Most of the dancers and musicians had run screaming from the circle into the darkness, especially given that their guest had transformed from a homely traveler into a ferocious beast. Fayruz herself, however, froze with terror and - written across her face plain for all to see - pity. In that moment, Saven Wolfslayer pulled the sling from his belt, slipped a rock in, and let it fly straight and true.
Of all the weapons of man, the sling is the most fearsome at a distance. A spear can be thrown well enough, but nothing can destroy a man like a sling's bullet cracking against his head. One of the possessed men fell back, his neck snapping loudly, as Saven placed another rock in his sling and began to swing it.
Gamesha, meanwhile, had moved in a focused blur, interposing himself between Fayruz and the black-sand man without a weapon. He grinned viciously. "Stay back, my lady. I'll take him, should your brother not."
Meanwhile, all through the camp, chaos reigned. The reign of Fayruz had been based on peace and trust between the tribes, trust now betrayed. Cries of 'ghouls' and 'minotaur!' echoed through the camp, as hunters took up their spears and swords. The second Battle of the Olm would be a brutal thing, waged by torchlight and claiming more than a few innocents.