In the mighty Kilshire empire of the Kale dynasty, near the western border, there was a town named Buren.

The town was old. No one knew exactly how old, but according to the general local consensus which had more to do with people’s superstition and the politics of the old gluttonous chancellor to have it declared as a heritage site than anything else, Buren had existed forever. And maybe there was some truth to the claim because all around the town there were traces and remains of antiquated buildings and towers, the likes of which had not been seen anywhere else. Even the people were like that, most following some long forgotten code of old. 

Being situated at a geographically disadvantageous place in terms of accessibility to other countries and located far away from the major inner cities of the empire, the livelihoods of the people were largely self sustained. But the townsfolk did not mind. The people of Buren were honest hard working individuals who loved their homeland and many believed that the land loved them too. This was not at all an exaggeration because curiously enough the inhabitants never have had to deal with droughts,cyclones or floods. Harvest was always bountiful while wild animals and monsters did not bothered them. The people worshipped nature and for once it seemed that the god cared too. 

With rolling plains and farms as far as the eye could see on one side and the ancient Va Eldein forest of legends on the other, Buren seemed almost isolated from the rest of the world. While traders and merchants did frequent the town with the occasional adventures and mercenaries tagging along, hardly anyone else bothered to visit it. Its remoteness might have had something to do with this, but it was not enough to explain why the few people who did visit Buren always left in a great hurry. Even if asked by some of their local friends to extend their stay, they would always come up with excuses, often far fetched ones, to get out as fast as they could. 

The situation was almost uncanny and although many academics and intellectuals including some well known warlocks and witches had tried to find out the reason in the past, it had done little good as they too always ended up running away. 

The circumstances had left the natives perplexed for a long time as they themselves were largely unaffected by the phenomena. But though it was something beyond their understanding, they decided to at least try to find a solution. And so they asked and enquired, forced and pestered the outsiders for answers until finally some people caved although not without a whole lot of reluctance and a fair bit of grumbling. 

It was hinted, sometimes suggested, but mostly hinted in carefully hushed tones after a lot of looking around between mouthfuls of beers in the darkest corners of the taverns that there was something ‘very wrong about this town’. 

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

‘What is it,’ people would ask quietly.

‘It...it’s something……I...I mean….you can’t put a finger on it but it’s just the way that……………..’

‘Yes………what is it.’

‘Th...there’s nothing about the place, it’s the atmosphere. I...I mean the people are not the problem. In fact they are some the nicest that i have ever known. 

But the trees…….yes, the trees are uninviting, the rocks under the feet are somehow harder and the air…. it’s stifling. As if someone or something is watching me, measuring my every step.

I am but a humble adventurer of some renown. Even so I have visited many distant and strange lands, gone through a myriad of adventures and seen things that I would dare not speak of. But this place is not like any of the others. It feels as if it’s alive. It does not threaten me. No...no that would mean that it’s somewhat wary of me. The feeling is more like how a peasant would feel in the presence of a king. I have never felt so vulnerable before. I would rather prefer to be interrogated at a bandit’s sword point than to have this feeling of helplessness gnawing at the back of my mind.

This is not right I tell you. Some kind of dark magic protects this place. Something old and powerful.’

It was usually around this time that the storytellers who were speaking in a sort of reverie until then, would suddenly wake up from their trance, look around frantically in panic and after gulping down their drinks, dash out of the building as fast as their legs would carry, leaving behind stunned audiences frozen in suffocating silences.

___________________________________________________________________________