At midnight, amidst the blizzard-raged desert, Azhar led three hundred elite warriors stealthily approaching the New Moon Tribe.
The warriors wrapped their weapons with cloth soaked in sulfur to avoid reflections; the camels' hooves were covered in felt, making their advance almost silent.
They first dealt with the outer sentries using poisoned blow darts, then quickly dispersed to infiltrate the camp.
The New Moon Tribe was presently enjoying a rare warmth.
The small mobile energy tower emitted an orange glow, dispelling the cold within the tribe.
Elders dozed around the tower, children smiled for the first time in winter.
No one noticed that amidst the snowstorm outside the camp, death was closing in.
"For the tribe!" Azhar's roar pierced the night sky.
Three hundred warriors attacked simultaneously, their sharp scimitars glimmering in the snowlight.
