Lawrence turned to the man whose face and overall was covered in dirt. He had a large bushy beard and the word that Lawrence found quite apt to describe his physique was that of a bear.

“No, I have not, good sir, do you mind enlightening me?” Lawrence asked, giving a polite smile and reaching into his bag for a bottle of wine which he raised. The worker looked at the bottle of wine and broke into a smile, reaching out to take it.

“That’s the way to tell a story! Good man!” the bearded man laughed, corking open the bottle and taking a swig from it.

“Well, where should I start…” the worker said, scratching his chin through his beard. The fire crackled as the workers and Lawrence as well as Craig waited patiently.

“It started in Marquis Donovan’s domain of the Forest Altis forty years ago. The young man believed that if he bathed in the blood of young children, he will ascend to the heavens as a demi-god.”

“Then, in his domain, he sent out his soldiers to find young children and at night, he would hand them to his right-hand man, Venti Laughlin. They say that Venti enjoyed the taste of human flesh and enjoyed watching people suffer. Of course, we don’t know how much is true.” The worker shrugged, taking another sip of wine.

“And the King let this happen?” Lawrence said, incredulous. Craig interjected this time, saying, “Marquis Donovan’s father was a hero to the nation. In fact, they say that they never intended for him to inherit his seat, but the sudden death of the senior Marquis left a messy succession process in which the young, cruel and evil Marquis Donovan won.”

“However, one day, Donovan’s Gatherers, oh, that was the thing they called the Marquis’s gathering of young children, grabbed a young lass off a wagon.”

At that point, several people whistled and leaned forward, as if knowing that it was near the climax.

“However, what the Marquis, the Butcher and their men did not know was that the child was the daughter of the Wolf of Seacrest, who was, in turn, the son-in-law to Father Karl Franz, the head of the Paladin Order of Suffering.

So… Basically, the Marquis offended two powerful people in succession huh…

“The elderly Father Karl Franz, strong and tall even in his advanced age, stormed into the capital of King Carmine, furious and red-faced and held up his gauntlet.”

“He then declared to King Carmine, “If you dare stop me from purging evil in these lands and bringing back my granddaughter, I will drop these gauntlets in these halls!”

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

“Rumour has it that even though King Carmine appeared angry, he actually clapped and rejoiced in his own private chambers.”

Why will he not, Lawrence thought to himself, the King has not been able to get rid of him without worrying the nobles. Now, an opportunity falls from the sky and in front of him.

“Well, the Father Karl Franz then called for a crusade against Forest Altis and the mighty stronghold of Altland. His son-in-law, Feyland Seacrest mustered rows upon rows of warships which descended the banks along here with sailors, paladins swarming the shore like locusts! But guess what…”

As the storyteller pauses dramatically, many held their breath, including Lawrence.

“The Marquis locks everyone from here to Altis into Altland and he locks himself and the Butcher into their great study where they studied for months on end as Karl Franz and Feyland screamed and shouted for the return of the child.”

“One day, the moon suddenly turned red and the stronghold had buckets upon buckets of blood poured from it. A sense of dread seemed to originate from the castle… Yet, on that same day, fate would have it that Father Karl Franz deciding enough was enough, led a group of elite paladins to sneak into the fortress along with a handful of sailors.”

“What Father Karl Franz saw was so horrible that he personally refused to talk about it and swore every Paladin to silence. However, you know how sailors are!” the worker laughed but no one laughed in response.

Coughing awkwardly, the worker ploughed ahead with his tale.

“As the Father led the men along the poorly guarded ramparts, they cut down the guards and when they made a turn to the castle courtyard, there were rows upon rows of men, women and children crucified and their blood draining into the center, where a large table stood, a small girl tied to it.”

“The Father instantly recognized the girl as his grand-daughter, and the group made a beeline for the courtyard.”

“The guards spotted them and when the Father reached his grandchild, he cut her loose and hoisting her over his shoulder, his blade blazing with a white light as he warned his attackers that God will strike them down if they dared harm his grandchild.”

“The guards hesitated for a moment and the group retreated, only encountering feeble resistance. As they made for freedom, the girl told his grandfather that they were attempting a ritual to call back something.”

“However, before she finished her sentence, the ground shook and a jet of red shot up from where the courtyard would have been, and a blood-curdling scream was heard.”

“And guess who the Marquis used to replace the sacrifice… You got that right… He used… The Butcher!” the worker said, finishing the bottle.

“But I’m going to assume the good guys won in the end, right?” Lawrence said and everyone nodded.

“Well, of course, why would you expect otherwise?” the worker replied, nodding almost as if sagely.

“Then the gates of the fortress opened, and what flooded through were men, women and children who have long been dead but are rotting away,” the worker continued, and the vision of zombies briefly entered Lawrence’s mind.

“You mean zombies?” Lawrence asked and everyone present tilted their heads in confusion. Ah. The word zombie must not yet have appeared.

“At the helm of the counterattack was Venti Laughlin, looking healthy as ever, clad in his grey robes.”

“The two forces clashed and the unlife seems to have won for a moment until Karl, Feyland and Venti clashed. Feyland, throwing himself to hold onto Venti, allowed Karl to plunge his sacred blade into the body. But guess what? There was no flesh underneath his cloak. Only…”

The worker breathed in deeply, before whispering, “Only… bones and a black heart.”