The Hour Swiftly Draws Near

Asaag leaned heavily on the railing of the balcony attached to his room at the local Nameless Inn and Tavern. Nights were frigid in Sandhold, so much so that even his breath became mist on the air, though no horripilation marked his skin. He let out a long breath, and envisioned it as though he were a dragon, exhaling a frigid mist from the perch of a ruined building, his grip on the railing tightened, and his claws, growing sharp scored the rail.
He shook himself back to the present moment, focusing his good eye on the horizon. The tower was out there in the sand, somewhere, but it would be hell, navigating the desert. Shaze could feel the draw of the Tower of Flames; she would know the way. Still, he couldn't shke the feeling that something was amiss. He remembered the mission, that much was true, but so much else was...fuzzy. Leaving home, climbing Mt. Samekh with Shaze and the rest of his crew, and the disaster that followed. He remembered the meddling few he had to get rid of to keep their mission secret. Shaze had dutifully followed his instructions, and eased their pain as they passed...hadn't she? If she had, then who was it that they encountered at the Tower of the Bolt? There was the wizard that they'd hired to teleport them there, and...The scholar. Asaag felt like there was another, but the face wouldn't come to him. How was it, then that he had fallen into the tower? He was pushed, that much he knew, he held on, and then he was burned...by the wizard?
He remembered that it had all seemed clear before the Tower of the Gale. He was still recovering, the searing pain from countless lightning strikes still plaguing his body. Shaze had finished healing him since then, but as the pain faded, so did the memories, and now, he had only a vague sense of the events that had brought them here.
Now, there was only a strong sense of impending finality, and the maddening sensation of a memory just beyond his reach.