Zahra wore a poised smile as she surveyed the motley crew gathered around the campfire. As the great ogre Cormag introduced himself and his companions, she thought it fitting to do the same.
“I am known as Zahrat al-Kuthban,” she said, turning to the Peacock Gryphon.
“My entertaining companion is Samirah.” The bird had not spoken its name, though given the gaze of those present, it was clear that others would soon attempt to claim her plumage for themselves if they thought her unclaimed.
Her eyebrow arched ever so slightly at the elvish traveller’s curse concerning the arrival of a drunk nobleman. They had both travelled from Volenstul, the capital of the Empire. Despite their words to the contrary, they seemed strangely familiar to each other. It was a large city, but no surprise, a passing elvish girl would inevitably encounter the depravity and curiosity of the nation’s nobility.
Mari had shared her findings after scouting the area, reporting that the city was barred from the outside, a sign that a quarantine zone had been established for the outbreak. Zahra took a moment to flick through her notes, gathered from her own “research,” mostly hearsay and rumours from travelling merchants. The
Ta‘affun al-Ghasaq, more commonly known as Duskrot, was a magic-born plague sweeping through Vradia. Its victims exhibited symptoms resembling pneumonia, yet their skin would swell, blacken, and necrotise, eventually shedding from the body to leave only grey flesh behind, transforming into one of the
Qishūr (Husks).
Unlike the
Qishūr Ṣaḥrāwiyya (Desert Husks) she knew from the deserts of her homeland, regional variations existed. In Somerset, the
Qishūr Muta‘affina (Rotten Husks) moved differently. Locals referred to them as “Sluff” or “Slough,” for the wet, shuffling drag of decayed flesh across the floor as they moved. Records indicated that when infection pockets were contained, the victims would congregate and slumber, awakening only when disturbed, an almost voluntary behaviour, unlike the desert Husks, which were the bane of any opportunistic bandits seeking to pillage abandoned villages. These
Khānaq al-Ta‘affun (Choking Rot), or “Rotpits” as locals called them, were easily identified by the nauseating, putrid stench that filled the air.
Azir, her falcon, cried from above, prompting her to whistle in response. With her attention elsewhere, she had not noticed the creeping fog beginning to obscure the once-clear skies, bringing darkness to the gathering.
“It would be unwise to proceed further this evening. May the light of day bring clear skies and opportunity.” She then used the following moments, once the others had spoken, to set up a canopy beside the camp, preparing for the night with careful deliberation.
