The deep bellow of a not-so-distant trumpet rang through the rafters of Tilson's room. Dust danced through the air, settling upon his disheveled form, as it lay upon an unwashed straw mattress. With a congested snort, the retired knight awoke.

	"[i]Augh blazes[/i]", he groaned to himself, slowly rolling out of bed. "What madman blows a trumpet at this hour?"

	Slowly lowering his feet to the ground, Tilson clasped his forehead in severe discomfort. The countless flagons of strong drink, from earlier in the day, clung just as heavily on his mind as they were on his breath. Shambling to his feet, he made his way over to the bedroom's window, looking to judge the time of day. It was indeed late into the night, and the rain was merciless.

	"Ugh, what's wrong?" inquired a feminine voice, from beneath the bed's blankets.

	"Some loon, making a ruckus in the town square." Tilson responded. "I've half a mind to go straighten him out."

	The maiden chuckled at the idea, gesturing that he should come back to bed instead. Responding with a playful smirk, Tilson accepted, drunkenly making his way back to the bed. As he hoisted himself back upon the bed, a shrill shriek rang trough the bedroom door. With a look of severe disappointment, Tilson again left his comfortable perch.

	"[i][b]Dear[/b][/i]", the woman exclaimed worriedly.

	"Aye, just a moment. I'll be right back." Tilson reassured his companion, clumsily slipping his pants on. Making his way toward the door, he grabbed his sword from off the dresser, and slung its belt across his chest.

	Tilson burst through the door, into a dark, calm hallway. Pausing to listen for movement, he heard rustling and scraping coming from the staircase. With one hand around his scabbard, and the other around the grip of his sword, he slowly made his way down the steps. As he reached the bottom step, entering into the tavern's bar, a scene of pure horror was laid before him. The innkeeper, Mistress Hilde, lay dead, disemboweled upon the counter. Slouched over here was a hideous, half-rotted corpse, one hand plunged deep into the victim's abdomen. In a fearful rage, Tilson drew his sword and began swinging wildly at the creature. Piece by piece, it fell to the floor, dead once again, leaving a scene of unspeakable gore. Tilson lurched, vomiting where he stood.
	As he wallowed in his sickened state, more scratching met his ears, as another bloodthirsty corpse shambled through the front door. Shaking himself awake, Tilson charged at the beast, and smashed it to the floor with one hearty strike. Quickly, he turned and ran for the staircase. Barging back into his room, he began rummaging through his closet, attempting to assemble his old set of armour.

	"What happened?" the maiden inquired. "Is that... [i][b]blood[/b][/i] on your sword?"

	"The undead are here, Gunna! I'm going to slay the bastards! Now, I need you to lock the door behind me, and slide the dresser against it, if you can. Do you understand?"

	"[i]I-... ye-... yes.[/i]", she responded, swiftly going white in the face. "Don't die, okay?"

	"[b]Not a damn chance[/b]", Tilson bellowed, tightening the straps on his vambraces.

	When fully equipped, looking like a traditional Lordaeron knight once again, Sir Stonehelm marched out of the bedroom. He paused for a moment, to hear Gunna lock the door behind him, and then broke into full sprint. He thundered toward the front door, tossing tables and chairs aside as he ran. Bursting through the open doorway, into the blistering rain, he saw the raging battle. Only a couple remained alive, as the endless hordes of undead flowed into them. A sense of duty ignited within Tilson, like a jolt of lightening, and he charged forward to their aid.

	"[i][b]For Lordaeron![/b][/i]", he roared instinctually.