Post by Avvy on Jul 29, 2014 17:31:40 GMT -5
During the fifteenth year of the King's rule disaster struck. People began to fall ill, it seemed that a plague had appeared and it spread rapidly through the isle. The King himself became bedridden. Physicians from across the isle came to the castle, herbalists, druids, clerics, mages, none could find a cure for him, none could figure what was wrong. For three days those who were ill got weaker and sicker, nothing worked. During the third day, those who had fallen ill died. Bells rang at midnight when the king himself succumbed to the plague. Throughout the isle they heard the bells chiming, a magical enchantment to allow all of Siranda know that the king had died. There was no time for mourning.
Reports show that it was within the same day that all across Siranda people fell ill on the same day. The same symptoms showed in every case; weakness and dizziness followed by black sores hours later. The next day the sores would burst revealing a foul smelling green puss. Around the burst sores the flesh would begin to rot and shortly after the flesh rotted they would die. Those who were not sick continued on with their lives.
It was on the fourth morning that all hell broke loose. When the sun was to rise only a weak light was there, the sky darkened by a strange cloud that seemed like a storm would break at any moment. The dead began to rise. Their bodies were twisted from the pain of their last breaths, flesh still rotted on their bones. Eyes were white and dull, lifeless, yet they walked. And they hungered.
The mourners were caught unawares. The dead attacked them, tried to eat them. Family and friend, stranger and lover, young and old, none were safe.
Reports show that it was within the same day that all across Siranda people fell ill on the same day. The same symptoms showed in every case; weakness and dizziness followed by black sores hours later. The next day the sores would burst revealing a foul smelling green puss. Around the burst sores the flesh would begin to rot and shortly after the flesh rotted they would die. Those who were not sick continued on with their lives.
It was on the fourth morning that all hell broke loose. When the sun was to rise only a weak light was there, the sky darkened by a strange cloud that seemed like a storm would break at any moment. The dead began to rise. Their bodies were twisted from the pain of their last breaths, flesh still rotted on their bones. Eyes were white and dull, lifeless, yet they walked. And they hungered.
The mourners were caught unawares. The dead attacked them, tried to eat them. Family and friend, stranger and lover, young and old, none were safe.