The sun was beating down on the group of human scouts as they rode across the barren wastelands. The land was treacherous, with rocky outcroppings and sand dunes as far as the eye could see. But they were seasoned adventurers, and they pressed on. They were here to figure out why all contact and trade coming out of this particular outpost.

As they rode, they saw smoke rising in the distance. The scouts kicked their horses into a gallop and soon arrived at the source of the smoke. What they saw took their breath away. The guard post at the mouth of the cavern that led to the hidden outpost, was in shambles. The reinforced walls were broken, and smoldering, the gate was dented and folded out. All that remained of the guards, were dried blood stains.

The scouts discounted and cautiously approached the entrance. As the scouts got closer, they began to be horrified. What corpses they could see were just smashed piles of bone and flesh. Veteran soldiers like them had seen plenty of death, but nothing could compare to the horror they witnessed today, it would haunt them to the end. They squashed their discomfort and continued into the cavern, hoping against all odds, that it wouldn't be a scene of slaughter.

The Slaver Outpost, which had once been a thriving center of commerce and industry, was now a smoldering ruin. The walls had been knocked down, the buildings burned to the ground, and corpses littered the ground. The stench of death hung heavy in the air, and carrion crawlers swarmed all over, fighting amongst themselves to get the best share of the feast.

It was clear that a brutal battle had taken place, and whoever had attacked the outpost had been merciless in their tactics. As the scouts made their way through the rubble, they couldn't help but wonder who could have done such a thing, and what their next move should be.

As the scouts traveled further into the Slavers Outpost to make sure they didn't miss a single detail, they approached the rubble of a fallen house. The debris shifted slightly and a faint voice came from underneath it.

"Hello? Is someone there? I thought I heard something. I mean it could just be me imagining things, I've lost a fair bit of blood. If you are real, help me, please. Friend or foe, doesn't really matter. I'm dead either way."

"Oh, hell, you gave me quite the fright. Hang on, we will get you out."

The scouts rushed towards the pile of debris and set to work on extracting the being behind the voice. They worked diligently and with haste, and in no time at all they had reached them. The leader of the scouting party knelt beside him, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. The man was in dire straits, he was covered in blood and ash, with wounds from head to toe. It was ghastly to behold, hiding his concern he spoke.

"What happened here? Who did this? What did this?"

The man's eyes flickered open, and he stared up at the scout with pain and fear in his eyes. The man's chest heaved as he struggled to take in a much-needed breath. Blood spurted out of the man's mouth, as a coughing fit wracked his body.

"Necromancer, a strong one at that. He raised the dead. They... They slaughtered everyone."

The scouts exchanged worried glances. They knew from the legends that Necromancers were dangerous foes. With the ability to raise the dead, they were nearly unstoppable. Necromancers and their dark magic had been wiped out many years ago. If Necromancy was making a return then they should be terrified, and rightfully so. It wasn't just villages that were in trouble, the return of necromancy could spell doom for entire Kingdoms.

"What's your name?"

"My name is Markus. I'm just a caravan master, trying to earn a living, just me and my boys."

The man paused as another coughing fit began, more blood spewing out. Tears poured out of his eyes, leaving streaks through the ash and blood covering his face. With a deep breath, he tried to continue.

"Oh, Lord! My boys! My poor boys are dead. That monster killed my boys. They came... I watched as they died, I watched their flesh fall off. I watched organs and blood splash to the ground. I sat there terrified, as my boy's skeletons were reanimated. They attacked the caravan, they attacked me. My own boys attacked me and left me for dead in this building."

"That’s horrifying!" blurted one of the scouts.

The Scout Leader glared at the offending scout and silently admonished him. The scout looked away dismayed, irritated at himself for his outburst. The scouts knew the man was dying, they also knew they couldn't do anything to help him, as they didn't have a Cleric with them.

"My boys... My poor boys..."

With that whisper carried on the last wisp of a final breath, the man's pain was finally over, he was at rest now. The scouts extricated his body from the wreckage of the house and put him off to the side, while they dug a hole for a proper burial.

After burying the man, the scouts finished the exploration of the outpost. Nothing else happened, so the scouts packed up and left the outpost. After exiting the cavern that housed the outpost, they mounted their horses and began the trip back home. The Scout Leader was concerned, he knew his superiors wouldn't receive this news well. He pushed the horses and his men as much as he could, without killing them, because this report needed to be made as soon as possible.

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The scouts traveled at a grueling pace for days before they arrived back at their city. Upon their arrival, the scouts were immediately taken to the command center to give a detailed account of what had happened. The commanding officer sat patiently, waiting for them to begin their report. The Scout Leader, a seasoned ranger named Tarian, stepped forward and cleared his throat.

"When we arrived at the Outpost," Tarian said, "we immediately noticed that something was amiss. The gates were smashed open from the inside, and the walls had been damaged. It was clear that a struggle had taken place."

Another scout, a young mage named Valtair, chimed in.

"As we entered the Outpost, the wanton destruction that we saw was unbelievable. The entire Outpost had been set ablaze, when we got there it was nothing but ruins and ash."

The Commanding Officer sternly glanced at Valtair, silencing him immediately, before directing his gaze back to Tarian.

"Continue, Tarian!"

"Yes, Sir! As we continued to search the outpost we encountered a survivor. He wasn't part of the Outpost, he was a Caravan Master. The man, no Markus, his name was Markus, was running a caravan with his two sons. He didn't say but I would imagine he was probably delivering supplies. Regardless of what he was doing, he was present for the massacre.”

"Where is this survivor?" the Commanding Officer interrupted.

"He died from his wounds, Sir! However, before he did, he told us what happened. They were attacked by the undead. Markus watched his boys get murdered by the undead. Then he had to witness them rise from beyond the grave as skeletons, just for him to be wounded, and left for dead in a collapsed building. In this collapsed building is where we found him, where he told us of this nightmare, and where he ultimately expired."

"Necromancy!" shouted the Commanding Officer.

"If this is true, then we are all in dire peril. It's not just a small-scale threat. This could affect the entire nation. We must have more information. We will mobilize more scout groups, they will scour this area for any signs of the abomination, and they will gather as much information as possible. We must find this threat and eliminate it in its infancy before it becomes something we can't handle. When the scouts find it, the Army will be dispatched. This I can assure you, I will lead that mission myself."

"Yes, Sir! Permission for a quick rest and resupply before heading back out to join the search?"

"Permission granted. Find this monster, bring me its location and I will kill it myself. Rest quickly, Tarian, time isn't something we have a lot of before this becomes a disaster-level threat."

With the debrief over, Tarian and his scouts took their leave. The scouts went to the barracks to get a few hours of rest before heading back out. Tarian didn't follow just yet, instead, he went to the Supply Commander to requisition a proper resupply. After a bit of a lengthy conversation with the Supply Commander, Tarian was satisfied with the supplies he got, and then headed to the barracks himself. After a short rest, they would be on the hunt for any sign of the Necromancer.

As Tarian entered the barracks, he noticed that the scouts were already asleep, exhausted from their previous mission. He quietly walked to his bunk and sat down, taking off his boots and gear. Tarian closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind and relax his body.

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that had been growing within him. He knew that finding the Necromancer would not be an easy task and that they were running out of time. Every passing hour meant the possibility of more innocent lives lost and more undead created.

Tarian knew that he had to act fast and make every moment count. He got up from his bunk and walked to the map room, where he spent the next few hours studying the maps and planning his next move. Finally, he had a plan.

Tarian gathered his scouts and briefed them on their new mission. They were to split into two groups, with Tarian leading one group and his second-in-command, Riordan, leading the other. They would cover more ground this way and increase their chances of finding the Necromancer.

As they set out on their mission, Tarian couldn't help but feel a sense of urgency. He knew that every step they took could mean the difference between life and death for the people of their kingdom.

The group scouted the countryside for days, searching for any sign of the Necromancer. They questioned villagers, searched abandoned ruins, and investigated reports of suspicious activity. Finally, they found what they were looking for.

As the scouts were nearing the edge of a forest near a lake, they discovered faint traces of footprints. Upon closer inspection, they realized the footprints were not made by any known creature in the region.

Further investigation revealed signs of unusual activity in the area. Broken branches, discarded food scraps, and even a small campsite were discovered in the woods. These signs didn't confirm that it was Goblins, but Tarian was pretty confident that it was the Goblins, he had a hunch that they were closer to their target than they knew.

With renewed determination, the group continued their search, following the trail of activity deeper into the woods. They knew that they should probably return to report this, but they wanted to be sure. They needed to be sure.

Tarian cautiously led his men silently through the forest, the deeper they went the more signs they found. As they kept going, Tarian grew increasingly unnerved, he couldn't quite place it but something felt off.

After a few more steps, the realization of what was off finally dawned on Tarian. The forest was too quiet, even a quiet forest should have sounds of life, but no this forest was silent as the grave. Tarian tempered his resolve and pushed down his fear.

Tarian slowed his breathing, focused his mind, and strained to hear even the faintest noise. After a single heartbeat, Tarian heard a faint woosh noise, he quickly unsheathed his sword and swung in an upward arc. He reacted on instinct and managed to deflect the arrow that was aimed at his chest.

Tarians eyes darted back and forth trying to discover where the arrow originated from. Before he could locate the source, several skeletons toward them out of the shadows of the forest. The skeletons charged toward the scouts, weapons drawn, and as they charged more arrows descended upon the scouts.

The loud clang of metal on metal rang through the forest as the living clashed with the undead.