"Then let's hear it, little chief. What's going on here, exactly?" Eiro asked curiously. The young Orc child in front of him looked at the ground with a bitter, hopeless expression, "There is something attacking us... Every single day, the moment that dusk falls, one of us falls down onto the ground dead. We don't know how, or why... They never have any fresh wounds or anything like that."
"Do any of the ones that died have something in common? Age, Gender, abilities? That sort of thing?" The Demon inquired, but the Orc immediately shook its head, "They never had anything in common, no... They could be children or old people, men or women, guards or craftsmen... And it was never location-based either, before you ask that."
Eiro stared back at the Orc. He was telling the truth, and didn't seem to be trying to hide anything from the Demon either.
