A series of mountains stood in front of a small village some miles form the nearest city. Huts, hovels and only a tavern that could sit fifteen made up the whole place. Harvesting barley and a small collection of sheep, nothing of note ever occurred at the village. The people who called the village home preferred it that way. With the war going on and the king desperate for soldiers to fill his armies, the people worried that even their insignificant home would have to heed the call of their lord. So far, no call had come.
Even so, a general sense of unease filled the people of the village. Their stomachs churned in fear and anxiety, dreams were nothing but nightmares of horrible things and, strangest of all, the sheep had ceased to make any noise at all. The mountains standing before the village, to the north, also seemed more quiet than usual. Goats were known to make calls every so often or a large cat would stalk the hills for prey making some noise to confirm a kill. It had been a week or more and nothing was heard. The people didn’t seem to notice the quiet of the mountains at first or the quiet from the animals but soon there was no noise whatsoever.
People couldn’t speak, they would stamp their feet and nothing would be heard. Children would scream with mouths open, tears filling their eyes, but nothing. Parents would try and reassure their children with kisses and hushing. The children continued to scream with no sound.
It was around this time that a fog began to creep down the silent mountains. The thick pure white cloud seemed to encompass everything it touched. A brave young man decided to scale the mountain trying to see if he could find anything at all within the fog or perhaps over the mountain. Was their village the only one affected thusly? With a timid first step, the man began his ascent only to fall back down to the earth an hour later covered in his blood and punctured many times by claws and spears.
The people of the village began to fight amongst themselves, unsure of what was happening. What had killed the boy? Was the war going so poorly that the gods saw fit to punish them all? Were the witches and wizards, the fae folk to blame? No one knew and all pointed fingers and scribbled down what they thought onto paper so others could read. Most of all, they hated the quiet. It was impossible to hear anything aside from the dull pinging of utter silence.
The fog continued to roll into town slow and unstoppable. It enveloped the town soon after the arguments began, the cloud consuming everything and for the first time in weeks, the people heard something, ears perking up trying to make out the sounds: a horrible clatter of metal against metal and screams in a language meant only for evening rituals around fires.