[center][h1][color=dimgray]Caractacus[/color][/h1][/center]
Out of a swamp, near the border to the Dark Lord's domain, a slight, pale young man strode, followed by a small horde of a dozen zombies. The smell of smoke, and the sound of screams were in the air, even Caractacus could not ignore it. Fire and battle meant the Dark Lord's forces were near, and were they to take him by surprise, it would surely be his death. Even still, he had his apprehension. A mob of orcs or mercenaries he could handle well enough, but if more of those so-called heroes showed, it would be a far more unpleasant experience. 

The town came into view as he marched on. The screams had stopped by now, any chance of the locals surviving was unlikely. That would also mean that whoever killed them had likely had their fun and moved on. Caractacus grimaced. While he had little care for the townsfolk, their fate was a reminder of the cruelty of their fellow living beings. The necromancer and his thralls entered the town, walking down the main street. 

[color=dimgray]"Search the area."[/color] Caractacus waved his arm, ordering his minions. [color=dimgray]"Bring me any survivors. Alive."[/color]

The zombies fanned out the town, following their master's orders.