The blacksmith Hans' house is on the east side of the town, a two-story stone house with a yard.
The anvil sign at the yard's entrance is already rusted, and half-finished farm tools and some scrap iron are piled in the yard.
The lively sound of iron forging is completely absent, only the wailing of the wind through the eaves remains.
Old Herman walks in front, his hunched figure casting a long shadow on the stone path.
He stops at the yard gate, turning to look at the nine wizards behind him.
"Hans' youngest son is inside." The old man's voice is hoarse and calm, "His name is Carl. Fourteen years old. This morning, he watched his mother and sister breathe their last, and now he stays alone, refusing to come out."
The warlock in the deep blue robe nods: "Let's go in. Be careful not to startle him."
The group crosses the yard and pushes open the slightly ajar wooden door.
The first floor is the kitchen and the living room, with a salty and fishy smell permeating the air.
