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It happened in the fifth year of my training.

I had only been allowed home for the end of the week, to visit my family – rules for those aspiring to join the Silver Hand were quite harsh. Lessons and practice would stretch from morning till nightfall and I would usually sleep without dreams due to exhaustion.

The priest was dressed in white as he met me on the stairs of the house. I remember his face, good and warm, despite lines of age and worry. Maybe he had a feeling of what would come.

"I regret to tell it so…abruptly…but your father had passed away last night…"

It was impossible. Father had always been the healthiest of men. Despite working hard at the forge, sometimes out in the rain, he had not fallen ill once in his entire life. The door had remained open behind the priest and I could hear heart tearing cries from the inside. I recognized my mother and sister as they wailed, sobs mixed with incoherent words.

"May the Light have mercy of his soul and forever keep him in its glory", I answered instinctively. I had had a long practice day with the sword, but only then did I truly become aware of the weariness in my limbs.

"There's an epidemic in the city", the priest continued quietly. "I cannot spend anymore time here…other people are maybe dying as we speak." He placed a hand on my shoulder, in a reassuring way. "I trust you to give them some strength …Your father was a good man. I have no doubt he is happy now."

I had heard about the epidemic, but I did not imagine for a second it was so bad. Or that it could touch me…or my family for that matter.

I couldn't cry. The shock had been too great but faith steeled me. Whatever came had to be accepted in the name of Light, as just a test to measure if we were worthy of its blessings. My father had always thought so and I was not going to disappoint him. It took me some time though to calm my mother and sister, before we could sit down and think about more practical matters, such as the burial service.

I think they hated me then, because I was cool headed and able to accept what they could not. My father look odd laying on the bed, his expression contorted as if he had been in great pain to the end. I prayed that he was at peace, for whatever comes to our body must never touch our soul. The illness had started unexpectedly, mother told me…just the day before, after they had dinner.
None of them spoke of it, but I knew they were torn inside between grief and the worry that they might have caught the disease too…Haggard faces and red rimmed eyes followed me as I said the ritual prayers. They brought comfort to me, though I doubt to Mother and Lyssa as well. But they listened to me, and we set to the long night's watch over the dead.

Then, sometime after dark, the bells started to toll. I cannot write the horror of what followed. The city burned that night, yet before the flames swallowed the place of damnation it had become, many souls had been lost to the shadow. I had not seen all of it and though some details are vivid in my mind, most of it comes from stories I've shared with other people who had witnessed the culling of Stratholme.

First rose the rumor that something bad was happening. People ran this way and the other, carrying bundles and crying children. Screams started to shatter the midnight silence – one or two at first, then more, rising from almost every house on our street. The city was under attack – by the very army sworn to protect it - no, there where hideous, powerful creatures rampaging the streets - no, the dead themselves had risen from their graves to judge the living…

While this seemed the most impossible explanation of all, I felt a stab of uneasiness through my heart. I knew I was not strong enough to protect my mother and sister, yet I fingered the hilt of my sword hard as I paced in the living room watching the blaze grow over rooftops, to the east and north… They where so shattered by my father's death I doubted they could even think at that moment, and despite my being the youngest, the responsibility pressed on my shoulders as if it were wholly mine.

I was just pondering the idea of telling them to run – since the fires seemed to be moving closer and closer, somehow encircling our neighborhood, when suddenly I heard my mother scream. It was an awful sound, much worse than all the wailing she'd done before. A cry as if her chest was split open and her heart tore out while still beating. Me and my sister rushed into the bedroom where Father lay – to find him on his feet, a hand clenched around Mother's throat, squeezing it hard.

We both cried as one, dashing forward to stop him. I cannot describe in words how it felt - he was dead, we knew he was dead, and yet he stood there, slowly killing our mother…his wife... We flung ourselves at him, trying to pry his fingers open, but somehow it was as if attempted to move a wall. His skin was cadaverous and felt cold to the touch – and there was an awful fixity in his eyes – cold, dead eyes that gazed at us without blinking, without seeing. I have many times since faced Scourge – looked into decomposing faces and blank malevolent eyes, but never after did I feel so much horror as with my father.

He broke mother's neck as she was still gasping for air and let her fell – only to grab my sister's arm and tear it from its socket. She screeched horribly as blood burst in a fountain, uselessly flailing with the remaining hand. I tried to reach her and I couldn't. The world swayed around me. Lyssa screamed at me to run and she did so until her voice broke off…until, despite my futile attempts the…thing in my father's body put her down and ripped open her throat.

"Hunger", he growled. It was not his voice; nothing in that monster …reminded me of my good and righteous father. I remember clearly he started to tear Lyssa's flesh off her bones, using his fingers like claws. Her screams still filled my ears, although they had ceased moments before. I can't remember where that strength came from – maybe I prayed in my heart and the Light heard my desperate call…I took out the sword and drew it through his ribcage, as hard as my arms could push it. A gurgling sound answered…and he collapsed. Mother and Lyssa were already dead by that time. I couldn't stand it anymore. I ran. I remember dashing out madly and running, without looking back, without pausing to draw my breath. I remember Stratholme burning and dead lying everywhere…some drowning in pools of their own blood, others like my father. I do not recall much afterwards.