On the approach to the city, countless corpses lay on the ground. They covered the entire area around the city's stone walls as far as the eye could see. Some were in armor, others were not. Some were intact, others were missing arms and legs or torn apart. The Cursed walked along the road among them, and the ground around him howled with a sinister atmosphere.
The city gates were open. The Cursed entered, then quickly slipped behind one of the nearby trees. Three ominous figures were approaching from the darkness. Tall, with long black hair, eyes burning with malice, and snarling mouths filled with long fangs. Dressed in black garments, they drifted forward through the air, their bodies upright above the stone pavement.
The Cursed moved deeper into the grim streets. No light burned in the windows, but the doors of the houses were locked—except for a few abandoned ones he passed. Their doors stood wide open, and a cold wind blew in through them.
The inn, too, stood abandoned and lifeless.
The Cursed reached a nearby house and knocked on the door. From behind it came footsteps, then the click of a lock, and a wild shout:
"Get out of here, fiend! Or I'll start shooting and blow holes through your damned undead skull!"
He knocked on another door. Silence fell behind it, and no one answered. The same happened with several more doors. At last, one opened. A thin, exhausted man with disheveled hair stood on the threshold, looking at him with a sickly gaze.
"Is there a place to stay for the night?" the Cursed asked. "I didn't see an inn in your city."
"Our city does not take in guests. It does not like them. It is not hospitable."
The man stepped aside.
"Get inside, quickly, or we'll all die."
The Cursed entered the house, and the door closed behind him. The man secured it with two bolts.
The man led the Cursed to a table where his wife and two small children were gathered. There were no windows in the room. A candle burned on the table.
"In our city, the Enclave of the Dead, dark forces reign," he said in a low voice. His wife listened, dark circles under her eyes, while the little children sat with their mouths open. "Ever since the Demon-King took the throne. By day we drag out our ordinary existence and do what we must to survive, but at night terrible creatures appear in the streets—mostly vampires. With magic and hypnosis, they lure people out of their homes and take them. Then they place them in iron capsules, which carry them to the tops of the high city walls, from which they are thrown down. The people die, and the Necromancer who rules the city raises them again. His power over the dead and the living is limitless. No one can escape this city, because the Necromancer's magic will catch them and destroy them."
Strange sounds came from outside. The man fell silent for a moment, then continued.
"Every night he raises the dead that cover the land around the city, so they can fight in a grim, unending battle. And while they fight, the Necromancer stands atop the wall and watches. Artifacts emerge and come to life under the terrible forces of battle and destruction as the dead tear each other apart. These are artifacts of dreadful and unknown power. The Necromancer gathers them after the battle and drags them to his dark castle in the center of the city."
At that moment, someone knocked on the window outside, and the man jumped, trembling with fear, and snuffed out the candle.