The fallen had laid siege to the town - if the collection of scrap metal huts could even be called a town - and had been picking off the exhausted defenders one by one. They came in the black of night, emerging from the inky blackness beyond the torchlight with shock pistols clutched in their bony hands and screams echoing from fanged jaws. The townsfolk had fought valiantly, driving back the fallen with whatever ancient weapons they had, but the nightly skirmishes had taken their toll.

Those who couldn't fight stayed huddled in their homes, clinging to their loved ones and praying to anything that could listen. The defenders patrolled the makeshift barricades that had been hastily constructed along the perimeter in what they hoped was a display of defiance, but in reality was a mummer's farce. Their feet dragged in the dirt, their eyes sunken and dim from sleepless nights and exhaustion. Their weapons were slung over slouched shoulders, or dragged in the dirt behind them. Many of them were unloaded.

In the darkest depths of their subconsciousness, each of them secretly wished for their own deaths. An arc bolt to the head, a shock dagger to the heart, something quick and painless...just so that they could finally sleep. But, despite these black desires, every night they had taken up their weapons and fought the fallen back. Every night watching their neighbors, friends, family fall around them.

Tonight would be their final stand. Despite their best efforts, their ammunition was nearly gone, and while of the defenders made a show of carrying their weapons, very few of them had any rounds left. When the fallen clawed their way over the walls that night, all that would be there to meet them would be hunting knives and clubs. The townspeople had discussed running, but they knew that they would never get very far, let alone to the fabled sanctuary that was being spoken of throughout the wildlands. Better to die fighting in their homes than in a ditch somewhere in the wilderness.

It was nearly noon when the alarm sounded throughout the town, the defenders rushing to the southern gate. A lone figure had stopped outside the town, a tattered cloak hiding his features from the defenders' eyes. They cocked their weapons, ordering the stranger to identify himself.

The stranger put down his hood and opened his cloak. A ripple passed through the defenders.

The stranger's armor was filthy and scarred, but that simply meant that he had survived countless battles. Clearly built for agility, their armor was a combination of lightweight metal alloy and leather, painted in woodland camouflage. The stranger's face was hidden beneath a helmet, adding to the aura of danger and mystery surrounding them. A black hand cannon hung at his hip, as did two belts of gleaming rounds.

The stranger asked why the town had been turned into a fort. The defenders hesitated before answering, calling that an army of fallen was in the area and that the stranger had better make himself scarce before nightfall.

The stranger was silent. The defenders kept their fingers on the triggers.

The stranger asked if he could enter the town to rest. The defenders ogled the stranger, dumbfounded. If you stay here you'll die, they called. The stranger didn't reply.

The defenders stared at the stranger, then looked at each other. They let the stranger enter.

The stranger took up in a home of one of the families that had been killed, staying there for the rest of the day. A few of the defenders guarded the hut to make sure that the stranger didn't try anything, but they never left. Soon word of the stranger's arrival had spread throughout the town, and a crowd of people waited in the street to catch a glimpse of the stranger, whispering to each other.

As the sky began to darken, the stranger emerged from the house and sought the defenders out. The stranger asked from which direction the fallen attacked. West, the defenders answered. We think they're living in the grotto on the other side of the hill, they said.

The stranger nodded, thanked the defenders for their hospitality, and walked out the West gate. They called for the stranger to stop, yelling that he was going the wrong way and that the fallen would surely attack soon. If the stranger heard them, he gave no indication of it, disappearing into the treeline.

Not too long after, the sound of gunfire came echoing through the trees to the town. The defenders sounded the alarm and scrambled to their posts, waiting and listening for the fallen to descend for the last time. They crouched behind their barricades, listening to the thundering of the fallen's guns along with an unfamiliar cracking report.

The defenders whispered to each other as the distant battle continued, unsure of what was happening and what to do. Eventually, the gunfire stopped, and the defenders prepared themselves for the end.

A cry suddenly sounded from one of the defenders. A blue light was making its way closer to the town from the Western forest. The defenders watched the treeline through the scopes of their weapons, their fingers twitching on the triggers. The blue light came closer...and closer...and closer...until it was just inside the treeline.

As the light was about to emerge, one of the defenders fired a single shot into the treeline, calling out for whoever was there to identify themselves. The blue light paused for a moment, then continued forward out of the trees. The defenders gasped.

There, with a fallen weapon slung over one shoulder and the hand cannon in their hand, was the stranger. His ammo belt was nearly empty, and his cloak had been slashed in the back and scorched from arc bolts, but that's not what grabbed the defenders' attention.

Floating by his side, radiating blue light, was a small white robot. The defenders gaped at the stranger.

The robot called to the defenders, saying that the fallen wouldn't be bothering them anymore. The defenders gawked, dumbstruck. They had heard the stories, but they had never once thought they were true. Stories of soldiers armed with magic and lead, raised from the dead and made immortal by small white robots, gifted with the power of the traveler. The Risen.

The defenders poured from the town, followed closely by the rest of the townspeople. They surrounded the stranger, thanking him with tears in their eyes, reaching out to shake their hand or touch them. The stranger held up his hands, trying to hold the crowd at bay.

What can we do to repay you? The town asked. You've saved us all.

The stranger was silent, and once the townspeople had settled down he spoke.

"What can you tell me about the Traveler?"