'In 1347 the black plague had reached it's peak. Across Europe thousands perished as this vile disease, festered in pestilence, showered the landscape with death. No one rich or poor, nor learned or simple, nor strong or weak were spare from it's putrid touch. In the inner cities, so many had been wiped out that there wasn't enough room to bury them all. Mass graves had become common as well as the unfortunate souls who had to collect the corpses. One such man was Phillipe Deitre and this is his story...
A man of sorrow he was. Calloused and bitter. For there once was a time in his life when he had known better days, but not now. The ravenous plague had stolen from him his one true love and had left him in a state of continuous indifference. Originally a farm hand by trade, he now found himself carting numerous bodies left in the plagues wake. Ironically, it was a job he volunteered for. Each day was the same to him, as did not care if he continued living or joined the dead. To each neighboring village he would walk carrying his death stained cart behind him...'
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