In the days after the dragonkin, Gohdin, had ravaged the invading barbarians in the town of Carmoss, there were humans still moving about the empire—completely ignorant to his violent exploits. He’d done them all a favor. It was obvious by the savage actions of the invaders that they wouldn’t have ended their ways. Any that threatened their comfortable, procured fort would likely meet the same end; all in hopes of keeping their existence a secret.

But, it wouldn’t remain a secret now. No one remained to slaughter those that entered the ghostly town’s walls. The gate’s smaller door on the southern side had been left unlocked. This was an obvious issue for anyone familiar with the town.

“Come on, lad.” A man carefully placed the reins of his two horses down across the bar on the front of the cart. “Guess no one’s watchin’ today.” He kicked one leg out from the bench and carefully lowered himself from the platform.

A boy of thirteen followed his father’s movements; careful to mirror how he swung around, how he’d place a foot on the inner spokes of the wheel, and then use his arm strength to gradually fall to the ground. His father, a simple family man, was the general goods store owner and clerk. He’d travel biweekly to gather supplies for his store from the capital.

“You all stay with the cart.” This man with no hair on his head and a heavy brown mustache covering his lips pointed at three men who sat in the back of the cart with the goods. He sounded stern in his demand, but he smiled and waved it off. The three men each nodded and smiled along with him.

He’d hire this low-ranked adventurer team when they were available to ensure that nothing happened on the trip. Sometimes, beasts or creatures would ambush travelers. It was good to keep someone who was good with a weapon around. These three men were perfect for the job. Low level monsters weren’t the easiest for these men between the ages of eighteen and twenty-four, and they weren’t extremely efficient at eliminating problems in dire situations.

There were a few times one had been injured enough to create panic. Yet, it was their collective dream to become a group of adventurers that made plenty of gold and heard their names in the bards’ songs. This was one of the jobs they enjoyed taking. They enjoyed the store owner and his son. It was a guy’s weekend out every other week where they could sleep in the wild and joke how they pleased. The father even had the boy agree what he’d heard and seen in the wilds or capital was to be kept a secret from his mother and sisters.

A good bunch of people just trying to get by, really.

“Blasted guards. What do we pay them for anyway?! You hear me, Barnel? Do you? I know you can hear me!” The man walked with a bit of a sway to accommodate his girth. He was not a fat man, but his chest did puff out and his shoulders were wide. A deep laugh would cause those shoulders to roll as he bellowed out his joy into the world like an infectious cloud. He was a good, simple man.

“Barnel! You drunkin’ fool!” The man walked over to the gate and stood in front of it with hopes of hearing the pulley system activate.

There was only silence.

The man scratched at his beard as blood slowly pooled in his cheeks. There were the sounds of distant birds and the breeze around the tall, wooden walls of the town, but he heard nothing from inside. His foot tapped uneasily as the time passed.

“Blasted man!” This simple man marched over to the door on the left side of the gate and rose a meaty hand. He threw one knock that was meant to be followed by another, but his second swing only hit air. The door had swung freely at the first hit.

“Father?”

The man’s hand opened wide and signaled the boy to stop where he was. He glanced through the doorway in silence; as it was only partially open and blocking the most crucial locations. He could only see the standing legs of the tower to the left and discolored dirt at the base.

“Everything alright there, Mr. Darnson?” One of the men called over.

“The ol’ man’s probably going to wallop Barnel. Should be a good show.”

“I’d pay to see it. Guy gets away with—”

“SH!” The first man to speak out silenced the other two.

Three men sat in the back of the cart… waiting… silently waiting.

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The first man, the one that inquired of the situation, stood with tight slacks and a black belt holding them up. He wore only chainmail over his commoner’s shirt. He did have two iron gauntlets on, but they were somewhat damaged and slightly too big for him. His blonde hair was stuck back like a bird trying to showcase its feathers; a fluff shot straight up in the front. His blue eyes pierced the scene in an attempt at an answer. A clean-shaven, thin face kept watch. Two swords hung at his side, and he placed his hands on both of them. They weren’t the best swords ever made. Not by a long shot, but he was proud of them and what they’d helped him accomplish.

Second, a man with a tad less muscle than the first leaned against his side of the cart. This man wore leather armor over a black shirt. There were no sleeves, but his forearms also had leather guards strapped to them. A bow rested at his side and a quiver was pulled around his waist while he rode. His eyes were a golden brown; like the wheat fields that had supplied so many with life. Black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and a thin mustache fell from either side of his lips to meet at his chin.

Lastly, the youngest of the group stood behind the first man. This lad of eighteen wore blue and white garbs that wrapped around him like a cloak. It seemed as though he’d been part of some higher-class, but he had done so on purpose. Adventurers need to stand out to get the best work, so he’d forsaken a few meals to make sure his wardrobe was well supplied. His blonde hair was cut extremely short on the sides and about a centimeter or two on top. His green eyes waited for his leader to move or give the order. The lad’s thin features weren’t meant for combat, so his hands gripped at the wooden staff he carried. A heavy knot curled at the end of this staff. There was a carved symbol on the top; something most would assume was magical.

“Mr. Darnson?”

There was silence. Heavy air seemed to pour over the men’s various types of armor; drawing them closer to falling to their knees. It was as if the town radiated an unholy breath—exhaled through that small opening by their employer.

That meaty hand moved forward again to push the door slightly. The boy, that innocent lad who accompanied his father, tried to look through. As the boy did; however, Mr. Darnson slapped his hands over the boy’s eyes and dragged him back toward the cart. It was simple enough. Even as the boy struggled, his father’s mass dragged him along without concern.

“Go! Go!” He motioned for the man that stood in the cart to take the reins. This employed adventurer took the meaning immediately. Leaping over the small wooden barrier, he landed on the front and began to tug the leather straps that bound him to the horses. They reared and began to turn to the right.

With the man getting closer, he hoisted his son up without issue. The boy continued to flail after being momentarily blinded for an unknown reason. Once freed, he blinked wildly to regain his sight of the town that began to grow distant again.

“Father?” The boy’s voice was short and inquisitive. He shouted over the rumbling of the wheels and the horses that began to quicken the pace.

“Keep going!” Mr. Darnson had taken hold of a bar on the back of the cart. With one swift yank, he brought himself up to the level of the cart. “Don’t stop for anyone!”

His clothes were not the grandest in the empire, nor were they the cheapest. He was not the strongest by far. His arms certainly proved he wasn’t the weakest. Yet, this man was a great man that had always tried to do what was best by his people and his family. He’d done so by traveling often to gather goods, setting up a business to earn for his kin, and he’d always welcomed in those that were in need.

This day, he couldn’t help. He couldn’t offer a hand to any within the town. There was no sign of anyone he knew, but the bodies in the street told him this was no place for his boy.

“What did you see?!” The ranger in the back of the cart bounced a bit as the vehicle cruised over stones and through small ditches in the road.

“Father!” The boy tried to break the man out of his wide stare.

“Old man! Tell us what you saw!” The man leading the horses yelled back over his shoulder as he flipped his wrists to demand more speed.

“I,” the old man’s eyes were far beyond the group. He was still there, at the edge of a massacre, seeing the horrors of scavengers picking away from the rot.

“What about mother?” The boy was questioning his father’s silence. “Father! What about mother?!”

The lad continued to shout, and the adventurers looked to the old man with silent acceptance. It was on his face—clear as day. That lost stare as if he were a continent away.

He’d seen death.

He had no way of knowing that his wife and daughters were beneath the town’s main road. He had no way of knowing that they were gone forever… yet he knew.

He’d looked out over the field of the dead—people that weren’t of his city. Had anyone remained, they would have cleared it. The streets would have had workers moving corpses about or repairs being made.

There was none of that.

There was only death in the town of Carmoss.

Mr. Darnson felt it from the gate. He’d set eyes upon the heart of his once thriving community, and he found it deceased. There was nothing living there that wasn’t simply feeding on the dead. He shut his eyes as tightly as he could, and he began to weep.