As the caravan descended deeper into the canyon, the air grew stale and strangely cold. Grass gave way to alabaster stone, rough and unhewn by decades of rain wash. For those of magical inclination, a odd ache was passing through their temples, perhaps the onset of a migraine from the many days traveled. Indrau, near the front, the hooves of his steed clacking against the shale in a mock metronome of his pace, could feel Silence gain a faint heaviness, imperceptible to anyone but its master. 

Gill fiddled with his armor once more, unable to find even the slightest reprieve from the numbness in his arm now. He wondered, idly, if this was another side effect from his experiment with Soulscale. A sudden twang echo'd through the canyon, breaking the line of though the young man had as a hideous base note of spun steel reverberated from off the stone walls. Numbness blossoms in his other shoulder now, dimly drawing his attention to the arrow now poking through the plates, emerald fletching swaying softly in the breeze. “Oh.” He manages, recognition far off in his voice, catching the sight of nine other members of the order who were not as lucky. Emerald clad arrows rising from their shields, horses, or (in one mans case it seemed) visor in salute of their far off masters. 

The normal din of conversation is silenced for a moment and it occurs to him, with almost dumb after thought, as he slides backwards from his horse that he should probably raise the alarm to the attack. However, the arrow protests this action, numbness now bursting into red hot pain as his vision fills with white. The momentary silence is broken as he slams into the dirt, filling the air with the renching sound of metal clashing with meat.