Gaderon definitely felt the difference of the climate he found himself in compared to his homeland. It wasn’t scorching, but he been forced to drape his long coat over the back of his saddle and take to wearing a shirt made of thinner material with shorter sleeves. Despite the heat, he still wore his leather and chainmail chest piece. He would rather suffer discomfort from the heat than a sword through his chest. He took a swig from one of his waterskins as Cinder carried him along, feeling the change in climate himself no doubt. Gaderon patted the horse in an attempt to comfort him. At least they had found some shade along their path to offer some respite, however little. Hanging his waterskin back on the side of his saddle, Gaderon pulled Cinder to a stop and dismounted. When his feet hit the ground, he pulled the waterskin back off the saddle and gave the horse a few drinks of water as thanks. Cinder replied by rubbing his muzzle against his owner’s hand. Gaderon allowed his gaze to travel over the landscape, taking in what he could. The smell of smoke drifted along the soft breeze and met his nostrils. It didn’t smell like a campfire or a wood stove found in a cottage. The smell was much more pungent and held an undertone to it he couldn’t quite figure out. Despite this, smoke definitely meant fire. Perhaps this would lead him to his quary: the dragon that was rumored to be around this area. He had never encountered a dragon before and was determined enough to get close enough to catch a glimpse of it and help the people suffering if he could, but wasn’t foolish enough to think he could kill the beast. With his horse pleased by the small break and drink, Gaderon pushed himself back onto the saddle and nudged Cinder into a faster pace toward the smell of smoke. As they neared the source, a pillar of smoke could be seen over a small hill. As the pair crested the hill, though, Gaderon laid eyes on a village in ruins. Even at a distance, he could tell this wasn’t the work of a dragon. He dismounted when they came to the edge of the scene. As the smell hit his nostrils, he quickly figured out what the undertone of the smoke had been. The bodies scattered around weren’t burnt. Upon closer inspection, Gaderon saw the wounds were caused by swords, clubs, axes, weapons of Man, not the claws or fangs of a beast. This troubled him more than if the dragon had killed the people scattered around him. He mumbled a prayer to Bael for the poor souls as he stepped past each body. The only sounds heard around him were the soft breeze knocking a sign against the side of a building and the carrion circling overhead like messengers of death. The scene only got more gruesome the further he walked into the village. Men hung from sign posts by their necks, women were bound by their hands to the same posts, and children lay facedown in puddles of what must have been their own blood. As he came to the center of the village where a well sat, he bent and scooped up a simple doll sewed by hand; a little girl’s doll, partially scorched and spatterd in blood. He could only guess at what they endured before death took them away from their suffering. The beasts he dedicated his life to hunting and destroying at least killed for the purpose of feeding. The creatures responsible for the ungodly scene around him did this with no purpose other than pleasure and greed. At this thought, hard look came over his scarred face as he held the tarnished doll.