He is standing on a cliffside, overlooking one of the valleys in the vast mountainous region. In the distance he sees many small settlements and beautiful, distant temples, scattered through the valleys and on the mountains, some of which wear snowy hats. Sparse forests in between provide distinction. The sky is cloudy, but the sun pierces the roof of clouds at several spots, blessing the areas below with its golden gaze.

He's a tall young adult, wearing traditional cyan-light grey oversized pants, a slightly darker vest and a bag containing many scrolls on his back, some ancient, others recently written. On his head a band covers his forehead, bearing the symbols of his sect with pride, and donating his rank amongst the monks. As a top scholar, he's quite high ranking for someone so young. In his hand is his wind staff, a simple design, a metal rod with an orb shaped air crystal at the head, which he moves rhythmically as he chants winds spells. The invisible spells hit the targets hanging from the branches of the trees. He does so with great accuracy from a distance, with little effort, as he moves gracefully like a dancing a bird.

A young man approaches in the distance, wearing similar clothes, but with less runic markings, he walks hastily and wiggles a little thanks to his chubby body, staff in hand.

Zephyr, care to join me on a trip to the village of Hattlefor? He puffs and gasps for air, already out out of breath. It's a small village, but the cloud cakes they sell are the best.

Cloud cakes, You mean those rock-hard cookies you made at last years harvest festival?

Yes well, I'm still perfecting my own baking skills. It's supposed to be a small cake made of a really sticky dough, but before they enter the oven they fill it with floral aromas, so it becomes really fluffy, and when you take a bite the appetizing scents leave the air pockets. I haven't had them in months. And as you painfully reminded me, my experimenting with them wasn't a success either. Mazin's mouth begins watering as he reminisces over the sweet flavours of the cakes.

Truthfully, I got to run an errand, and I'd like some company during the trip. But I didn't lie to you, the cloud cakes really are a delicious delicacy.

I'm not sure. Seems like a hassle to walk all the way to Hattlefor for some cakes.

Alright, we could make a detour on the way back and go to Strolis, see if they finally finished those air staves we ordered, maybe visit the tavern?

Zephyr thinks for a a second or two about his tasks for the week. He finished most of them early, and he has been looking forward to obtaining his new air staff. He specifically comissioned one with a concentrated air crystal, saving for it took quite a while.

Sounds like a plan. I was just about done with my morning practice anyway, I could do my readings tomorrow. Let me get my boots first.

And so they say their goodbyes to the temple guards and begin the long walk to Hattlefor. The roads are uncommonly traveled, but that also has the advantage of making the roads safer. Bandits seldom visit this area, the villagers are well connected, and the monks are far too dangerous to be desirable targets. The cold nights on the mountains don't help either, as do the many beasts that make their home in the wilderness.

By midday they descend the last hill before the village of Hattlefor, the trail lowers through a sparsely grown field with the occasional flower here and there, and grain fields removed further from the path.

Stolen novel; please report.

Hattlefor's small stone houses become visible in the distance, uniquely made from the abundance of lightly coloured egg-shaped stones in the area.

The streets however, are surprisingly empty, unexpected given the day.

They make their way to the bakery, which sits on the main street through the town, a bit further out.

It's door is closed, but unlocked, as is common in these type of villages. Everyone trusts one another. A stone carved headstone above the door depicts the image of breads.

They walk inside the bakery, but it too, is empty. The place is clean, the ovens are clearly still lit, as the place is quite hot.

Mazin calls out for his old friend, mister Hensworth, are you there?

After receiving no reply, they decide to head to the market square.

The streets are silent and empty, but they can hear commotion in the distance.

Perhaps there's a fest in the townssquare? Mazin says somewhat confused.

As they make it to the townsquare is surrounded by soldiers.

Several of them mages, wearing long black robes with lilac runic symbols in the brightly coloured lines that are embroided near the wrists and at the bottom near their feet, glowing, some red and others orange. The melee soldiers wear dark brown metal helmets and shin guards, and light chest plates protecting their front. There's almost as many soldiers as there are villagers, and they completely encircle the perimeter of the market square.

Through the line of soldiers they can barely make out a large pile of wooden furniture and firewood scattered on the floor. On top of them the villagers, even children, restrained as they are tied together with ropes by the soldiers.

I think it's best we leave now Mazin, there's nothing we can do for these people, Zephyr says with a soft, defeated voice.

As they turn around to leave one of the soldiers yells at them.

Hey, monks!

Mazin and Zephyr turn around.

The man is wearing several decorations and insignias on his chest and shoulder pads, indicating his higher rank, but he does not approach them.

Spread word to the others!

We caught an assassin trying to poison our officials in Satharak. He was born in this village. He will bare witness as everyone here will be burned as a sacrifice to the god of death, Zernebog, praise his name and his followers! Let this be a lesson to those who seek to meddle in Necros affairs. Now leave!

They turn once more and leave, neither uttering a single word. They haven't left the town yet as the screams of the crowd begin to intensify. Wails of agony pierce their ears. They resist the urge to look back as they walk uphill, back into the mountains, when the faint but noticeable smell of burned meat and hair betrays the fate of the villagers. They do not speak as they walk home. Zephyr struggles to think about anything else as the faces of the crowd and the distant screams are etched into his mind forever.

Mazin breaks the hour long silence. We should do something about the Necros forces. They are unjust in their ways and they don't seem to dissappear on their own. Everytime a group rebels against them, they are swiftly eliminated.

Something will be done in the future Mazin, right now we can only wait, Zephy says.

Mazin desires to know more, but he insticitvely knows Zephyr would tell him if he could.