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*Some days ago...*
Run...
The night air is chilling to the old frail mans touch, his escape from "justice" behind him as he sat close to his camp fire, his mutterings continuous as he looked around in the deadly silent night staring into the nothingness. They blamed him for the recent robberies.. him... yes he might have taken some coins here and there but what self righteous banker wouldn't? Sure he had been bribed by some of the militia folk to turn a blind eye here and there, again, it was all business.
But who the hell robs all of the bank boxes and leaves them open with all the loot in it?!
The bald man curses and grumbles some more as he places his hand over the small camp-fire, heating his frozen flesh once more. his furry cloak seems to get colder by the second, almost unnaturally so, his cursing and general incomprehensible mumbling increasing to a constant pitch of noise as he hurdles beneath the cloaks furry inner lining as his teeth start to clack together rhythmically.
The old man thoughts start to wander, he knew if he had stuck around the deputy would have gotten him, dragged him in for a crime he never committed, yet he knew they would make him cry guilty with just a couple or prods. He hadn't become a banker for his bravery had he now? And with the militia being run by a absent sheriff and a corrupt command team he only knew well where he would end up if he had stayed. Ah well, he thought, everyone needs a banker...
A twig snapped, the man looked to his surroundings, the cold wind now entering his bones as the temperature dropped even further
They are coming..
The unmistakable moans of the living dead closed in, the man sat there, frozen, face slack in shock, the shambler approached him, it's rotten skin revealing putrid flesh barely covering it's inner organs, still the man just sat there... waiting.
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