The Demon Lords of the third circle knew nothing of how the once majestic city laid waste. Perhaps the plague had gotten the best, maybe greed? The cities corpse attracted no flies, it had died a death long ago. An unknown Kindle lit the fire yet only ashes remain of the legacy. The citizens all mindless, nether rich or poor, none had the need for money in a grave. Corpse littered the street by day, walked by night. The houses gave little resistance to any weather. Sooner or later the city will just blow like the wind. The motto for the city had become an epitaph. The sun sweltered burning a crisp the skin husks of citizens. The guards died too, listening to old bones.
