You Would be a Mage, If you had any magic. Unfortunately, the cruel, careless universe seems to have forgotten that detail. No matter! You have taken it upon yourself to rectify the situation, by hunting down a sandwyrm and drinking the blood straight from it's still beating heart. You are Hannah, a young woman of the Althen tribe. You live In a small village by the edge of the desert. The land is hard, and the living is rough, but you survive. Unfortunately, even so poor as you are, there are those who would make your lives even rougher. The neighboring Sough tribe have been waging war against you for two generations, seeking to enslave you in the name of their god. They have been killing and abducting the youth of your tribe, and you have grown few in number. The people around you support your ambitions; your people are oppressed and desperate, and will cling to any scheme that may bring hope, no matter how mad it is.
The sun has only just set below the horizon, and the heat of the day is beginning to fade. According to legend, if a young maiden drinks the blood of a sandwyrm straight from it's still beating heart, she will be empowered. The legends are a little fuzzy on that detail, telling of warriors who commanded fire, paid no heed to the heat of the sun or the chill of the night, and could vanish into the sand at a moments notice. You have with you three youths of the village, armed with spears. They are as of yet untried, but they are the strongest and the fastest your village had to spare. All the rest were kept busy on watch. You have been tracking wyrmsign for hours, now, and have finally caught up to it. Ahead, you see the the telltale mounds and pits of a feeding worm. What do you do?