Warily Conan scanned his surroundings, all of his senses alert
for signs of possible danger. Off in the distance, he could
see the familiar shapes of the Camp of the Duali tribe.
Suddenly, the hairs on his neck stand on end as he detects the
aura of evil magic in the air. Without thought, he readies
his weapon, and mutters under his breath:
"By Crom, there will be blood spilt today."