"Bring out your dead! Bring out your dead!" the man called out as he pulled his hand drawn cart through the center of the cobblestone road. Several passersby hurried alongside him, pressing their bodies up against the buildings that bordered the street to stay as far from the man and his cart as possible. Heads down, legs walking briskly, they dared not speak to him or meet his eyes.

This man was a Corpse Hunter, the one who came for your friends, the one who came for your loved ones, and in time the one who came for you. He knew when that time would come, often arriving even before your family had become aware of your departure from the land of the living. 

But his Fate was not death itself, only that which followed closely behind it. The deafening silence that came after a dying man's last breath, the biting chill that entered a woman's body when her heart stopped beating, the palatable dread that filled the souls of those who set eyes upon their deceased kin.

This was the Fate of a Corpse Hunter, this was their existence, this was the world of the man who pulled the cart. While the others could shun him they could not deny what he truly was, an end to all that which had a beginning.