It was a dark, and stormy night-

What, too cliché? Well this is my story, so pish posh, and don't interrupt me again.

So where was I?

Shuffles some loose papers aside, mumbling "Sir Stanley was right, finding the story is not as easy as you'd think... Aha!"

Right, once more...

It was a dark and stormy night (*Glance sternly at interrupter), but the torches strategically placed around the Mousoleum helped the hunters find their way back to their campsites. The daily community meet-ups to take their meals were not something that was forced upon everyone, but considering the dullness and gloom around, the local Hunter's Association had decided that having everyone meet up now and then was a good idea to maintain morale and sanity among the Hunter's ranks.

After all, seeing the dead rise every day was a grim reminder that without a constant opposing force, the lands around would have been long overrun with the undead.

As I slowly made the trek back to my own campsite, the recent night's dinner idling comfortably in my belly, I laughed at a joke an old salt had cracked. Passing by a tombstone, the group's atmosphere became quiet, almost... Respectful. Intrigued, I stole a glance at the tombstone.

"Here lies the body... Of Thomas Lowes, ranked Hero." I mutter as my lantern illuminated the carved words etched upon the aged stone.

"A real hero, not some lofty title handed over just because of experience." Recovering from that near-death experience, I caught my breathe back and looked for the source of my embarrassment.

A wizened man, in his 60s, stood silently beside the tombstone. Wearing well-seasoned traveling clothes, he looked like someone who had been here for quite some time. Being a recent addition to the ranks of Whisker Woods hunters, i introduced myself.

"Jeremy Tucker, at yer service." He replies, nodding in reply. We stood quietly for a while; me in respect to the deceased, him... Why was he standing here?

"You mean other than scaring the newcomers?" He replies, chuckling to himself. I stare at him, slightly annoyed. However, seeing the humor in the matter, I couldn't hold it for long and soon laughed beside him.

Sharing a drink, I asked him about the grave. Drink in hand, he seemed to mull over his thoughts for a while, before starting.

"How much of Gnawnia's history are you aware of?" He asked.

"The sinking of S.S. Huntington the second?" I offered hopefully in reply. History was never my strongest subject.

"Right, not much then." I shrugged in reply. He adjusted his spot on the roots of the nearby oak tree, and begun.

"Before the Great Rodent Enlightenment, which caused every rat in the kingdom to gain sentience... You are at least, aware of the GRE?" I scoffed at his question. Who didn't?

"Right. Before GRE, Gnawnia had a massive rodent problem. The shortcomings of a prosperous kingdom, with food aplenty and readily available, resulted in a huge population explosion of pests, especially rats. They were a problem easily dealt with though, put enough Tacky Glue traps around and voilà, mice managed."

Taking a sip, he continued. "The real problem were the remains; what to do with it all? A few were taken for research purposes, but the majority being the leftovers became a real issue. We couldn't burn the remains, the pollution resulting from it stopped that idea immediately, and we wouldn't want it to wreck our beautiful country's landscape."

A second sip. "The answer? Bury them. With the help of the King's mages and a sizable number of drillbots, the largest pit was excavated. The location? Right here."

I looked around, considering the size of the mousoleum. The realization must have been evident on my face, as he chuckled again. "Didn't know that, did you?" I shook my head.

He stretched. "Well long story short, when the GRE occurred, we were not ready. The first batch of defenders were quickly sortied, but facing a Ravenous Zombie then was a lot more frightening than it is now."

He stood up and taking the remains of his drink, he doused the gravestone liberally. "The mettle of many men and women were tested that day, and the grave of that you currently tread on could be considered one of the true heroes of that time."

With such a serious tone in his voice, and the realization of such an offense I was committing (albeit unaware of), I sprang away, nearly tripping over myself. Seeing my clumsiness, he laughed heartily.

"I jest! I jest! There is no grave here." Annoyed, I marched back, about to give him what for. But curiosity overcame my annoyance, and I just muttered "continue".

"Thomas Lowes wanted to be buried here, to forever maintain a close vigil on the undead. He disappeared however, never to be seen again once the undead were finally quelled. In his remembrance, the hunter built a tombstone to mark where his old campsite was."

Jeremy then got up, packing his belongings. Seeing actions marking the end of the story, I did so as well. "We'll you've been a good sport and company, I'm happy to meet another as understanding as you are." He spoke, offering a handshake. I stared at that hand for a moment, half expecting a joke buzzer nested hidden in his palm, before throwing caution to the wind and shaking it. A little mischief danced through my mind as I started.

"Listen, I know a place..."