The main road that led to and from Braedon was barely discernible through the weeds and grasses that had reclaimed it. Random pieces of long forgotten possessions litter the roads and wild, overgrown gardens within this town. Remnants of packages and magazines still lay at some of the doorsteps, unopened and long forgotten. At least the animals got some use out of them. Many walls and balconies had collapsed. Without proper maintenance and cleaning it was easy for rot and water to do their damage. Braedon, once home to thousands of families and counting had become nothing more than a painful memory. An eerie silence had taken over and was only interrupted by the cracking of wood in the wind and the occasional bird who had made its home in one of the many collapsed roofs. Collapsed wooden walkways and a few sunken boats littered the relatively small docks. Some of the sunken boats had bird nests in them, but most were simply covered in shells and slowly reclaimed by nature. It was a strange feeling to be in the footsteps of so many lives now long forgotten and not knowing what became of the people who once spent their lives here. But there was something oddly poetic about nature reclaiming what was once theirs to begin with.