There have been signs of the plague around town. Everyone is beginning to fear the Black Plague is returning.
For now, I could not care less as blacksmithing has given me good business of late. It is strange, though, that the King's personal guard have put in an order of over four crates of swords and ten crates of steel arrows. I would have asked what for but the coin they are paying is just too good to ruin the moment.
Every now and then, as I return home, homeless beggars cry out to the crowd, "The end is nigh! The end is night!". They are sometimes shoved away into the dirt by burly workers who are off for a pint after a hard day's work. As had I, after filling in so many orders in a short period of time even with two apprentices at hand.
As I sit down and sip my ale, I hear mutters coming from the corner of every drunks mouths. Undead, demons, the walking dead, reanimated corpses. These are all the superstitious myths created by fathers to scare their children. There are actually some who believe these monsters exist.
To be honest, all I cared about right now was drinking my ale.
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