It goes by like a blurry flash of images for Tristran. He can barely think with everything happening in a matter of seconds before his very eyes.

He had entered the room, expecting to find Lord Primus, warn him, and leave as soon as possible.

His mind only vaguely grasps the fact that he sees the star, the innkeeper and his strange family, and Primus, all congregated by the fire. And then ... blood, so much of it, spurting in the firelight, like some terrible fountain of crimson.

Tristran remains frozen in his spot, his heart pounding loudly, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open.