RiaxhWith dreadful night approaching, the patrol around the walls is doubled in anticipation. Every night, the demons and shadows grow in power, and every night, they test it on the willful inhabitants of Urenda. Priests and militiamen come out in force, now brandishing weapons, and slink around the settlement’s borders with furrowed brows and twitching fingers. They watch the ruins of the city, starting to crawl with malicious shadows, through arrow slits and form atop the three small watch towers spaced around the the perimeter. The sun descends, the sky turning vibrant hues of ochre and then finally deep night broken only by the wavering torches. Lit against a desolate sky, for many stars had seemed to burn out completely in wake of the gods’ fury, Urenda announces its tasty inhabitants to the monstrosities that prowl just feet below.
The vendors packed and retreated, the civilians all huddled in their makeshift homes, Urenda fell into night. Piercing the darkness, a shrill shriek reverberates across the sky. Some flinch at the call, but those surrounding the city were already drawing weapons. Some in permanent positions in the watchtowers and at key points along the wall drew their weapons, others scurried to glimpse out of miniscule slits in the border. It was only a matter of time, now, until the nightly assault of Urenda began. The men and women defenders stood ready, but the fear in their eyes was almost palpable.
In the infirmary on the second floor of the cathedral, things were looking quite dire. Each of the dozens cots the priests had available had at least one person occupying it, some of them were double booked by close patients, and there were six piles of rags attempting to serve the same purpose scattered about the floor. Hacking coughs, desperate moans, and the sounds of retching punctuated the otherwise silence. It was late, and most were sleeping. Their forms were curled into fetal balls, clutching their heads or their stomachs. Their faces were flushed, eyes glassy, and they ran a fever. A red twinge around their eyes worried the experienced priests, as well as the sound of fluid in their lungs. Known only to those in the ward and the few select priests assigned to treat them, a dark, viscous fluid was in the patient’s vomit - not crumbled like vomited blood of the infirm, but thick and oily.
An elven woman with a regal bearing stood straight near the entrance of the ward, discussing things with a few of the experience healers that were allowed access to those inflicted with what the villagers were starting to call the shadow sickness. “Is he still resting? I heard the last he was awake he caused a scene?” Yuuril Eletha questioned the two healers standing near her, glancing inside the ward to the furthest cot, where rested their patient zero.
“Yes, for now. He will not sleep longer than an hour or two now. The last he was awake we almost had to sedate him. He wants to talk to you, understandably. but we keep telling him we don’t want you exposed to it,” One of the men answered her with a shake of his head. The other retreated inside at the sound of particularly violent coughing, followed by retching. “He is improving; he was starving, dehydrated, and exhausted when he came back to us. The sickness is weakening him, but not as fast as we first thought. He’s recovering, as much as he can, and is getting more continent..”
“I am not who you are protecting.” The woman said to him, despite it looking like he was going to continue. Her hard eyes stared into his, and he shifted uncomfortably. “You realize how dangerous this is becoming? And yet I was not told about his recovery?” She shook her head disapprovingly.
“We didn’t even bother telling you before because he was a bit… delirious.” The healer’s eyes were heavy with sorrow at the thought, remembering the previous episode. “His fever was much worse when he arrived, worse than any of the others. It was stronger in him, because he was so weak, but maybe also because he is carrying it. He made no sense; it was only babble. But now he seems in better straights.”
“Good. I want to know when he awakens. Immediately. We must know of this sickness.” The priest nodded curtly and returned inside, Yuuril watching him. Under breath as she turned away, she muttered hopefully, “Wake up, Delsaran. I need you to wake up.”
“Well, I’m heading upstairs, Bartin! I’ll see you in the morning!” The last of the day serving girls called cheerfully to the bar from the staircase, where the bartender was still wiping down glasses. He threw her a wave, ignoring the desire to comment on her choice of words. Setting down his glass, the man began to check the kitchen to make such the larder and liquor cabinets were all locked tight. There weren’t many thieves in Urenda, but people could be desperate, especially travelers that often stayed at the inn. He would still be at the inn for some time, seeing as how that was where he took residence, to keep an eye on those still in the bar. He came back to the front, leaning on the bar and keeping his eyes unfocused. The single barwench who stayed late with him was chatting to the few locals that still occupied a far booth.
There were only a few people left in the bar, and almost all of them were foreigners. At that thought, Bartin watched the two men he knew walk through the door while throwing him waves. He motioned back, but did little more. Inside the inn there were a few interesting characters. Bartin knew Harvey; the lycan had been there long enough and had earned his fair share of room and board. He was addressing a newcomer, a dwarf with a cough, and eventually approached Bartin to ask him to accommodate the dwarf. Bartin’s mouth screwed sideways; he appreciated the priest’s thoughtfulness, however, he could not spare too much to someone who had not earned more than the normal handouts. The dwarf will still be cared for to the best of Bartin’s abilities, and he would keep Harvey’s thoughts in mind for when he could cater to the dwarf. The dwarf’s malady would give him some quarter, as well. He instructed the girl to make sure the dwarf had enough blankets and hot water, as well as to leave a tray for tea in his assigned room.
Another dwarf was also at Bartin’s bar; the one who had very boisterously ordered a full tankard after barging through the inn doors. In this world, none were strangers to the scent of battle, but the effluvium rolling off of the dwarf’s loud armor was enough to make Bartin want to sneer. The room being prepared for him (normal procedure at the inn) already had a bath, but the bartender had told the girls to make sure that said dwarf had more than enough hot water. Two more foreigners lounged around eating meager meals, having not yet earned much more than that without payment. A large man in a large cloak had gotten more for giving payment, however, thanks to the depreciated value of any currency in Reath currently meant he hadn’t gotten what he could have in a world long passed. The girl at the bar sauntered over to both to see how they were doing, and offer to show them their rooms. Thanks to the small amount of travelers Urenda would have at one time, the once-great inn could house a great number of visitors without difficulty.
A cry sounded outside, loud enough to make it inside the inn albeit at a reduced potency, and the barkeep sighed. He knew he would shortly have to tell the visitors to either go upstairs or leave and join the priests. Bartin shut and locked the inn when shit started to hit the fan. He had not only the weaker visitors to defend, but also the workers who lived there permanently.
The vendors packed and retreated, the civilians all huddled in their makeshift homes, Urenda fell into night. Piercing the darkness, a shrill shriek reverberates across the sky. Some flinch at the call, but those surrounding the city were already drawing weapons. Some in permanent positions in the watchtowers and at key points along the wall drew their weapons, others scurried to glimpse out of miniscule slits in the border. It was only a matter of time, now, until the nightly assault of Urenda began. The men and women defenders stood ready, but the fear in their eyes was almost palpable.
In the infirmary on the second floor of the cathedral, things were looking quite dire. Each of the dozens cots the priests had available had at least one person occupying it, some of them were double booked by close patients, and there were six piles of rags attempting to serve the same purpose scattered about the floor. Hacking coughs, desperate moans, and the sounds of retching punctuated the otherwise silence. It was late, and most were sleeping. Their forms were curled into fetal balls, clutching their heads or their stomachs. Their faces were flushed, eyes glassy, and they ran a fever. A red twinge around their eyes worried the experienced priests, as well as the sound of fluid in their lungs. Known only to those in the ward and the few select priests assigned to treat them, a dark, viscous fluid was in the patient’s vomit - not crumbled like vomited blood of the infirm, but thick and oily.
An elven woman with a regal bearing stood straight near the entrance of the ward, discussing things with a few of the experience healers that were allowed access to those inflicted with what the villagers were starting to call the shadow sickness. “Is he still resting? I heard the last he was awake he caused a scene?” Yuuril Eletha questioned the two healers standing near her, glancing inside the ward to the furthest cot, where rested their patient zero.
“Yes, for now. He will not sleep longer than an hour or two now. The last he was awake we almost had to sedate him. He wants to talk to you, understandably. but we keep telling him we don’t want you exposed to it,” One of the men answered her with a shake of his head. The other retreated inside at the sound of particularly violent coughing, followed by retching. “He is improving; he was starving, dehydrated, and exhausted when he came back to us. The sickness is weakening him, but not as fast as we first thought. He’s recovering, as much as he can, and is getting more continent..”
“I am not who you are protecting.” The woman said to him, despite it looking like he was going to continue. Her hard eyes stared into his, and he shifted uncomfortably. “You realize how dangerous this is becoming? And yet I was not told about his recovery?” She shook her head disapprovingly.
“We didn’t even bother telling you before because he was a bit… delirious.” The healer’s eyes were heavy with sorrow at the thought, remembering the previous episode. “His fever was much worse when he arrived, worse than any of the others. It was stronger in him, because he was so weak, but maybe also because he is carrying it. He made no sense; it was only babble. But now he seems in better straights.”
“Good. I want to know when he awakens. Immediately. We must know of this sickness.” The priest nodded curtly and returned inside, Yuuril watching him. Under breath as she turned away, she muttered hopefully, “Wake up, Delsaran. I need you to wake up.”
“Well, I’m heading upstairs, Bartin! I’ll see you in the morning!” The last of the day serving girls called cheerfully to the bar from the staircase, where the bartender was still wiping down glasses. He threw her a wave, ignoring the desire to comment on her choice of words. Setting down his glass, the man began to check the kitchen to make such the larder and liquor cabinets were all locked tight. There weren’t many thieves in Urenda, but people could be desperate, especially travelers that often stayed at the inn. He would still be at the inn for some time, seeing as how that was where he took residence, to keep an eye on those still in the bar. He came back to the front, leaning on the bar and keeping his eyes unfocused. The single barwench who stayed late with him was chatting to the few locals that still occupied a far booth.
There were only a few people left in the bar, and almost all of them were foreigners. At that thought, Bartin watched the two men he knew walk through the door while throwing him waves. He motioned back, but did little more. Inside the inn there were a few interesting characters. Bartin knew Harvey; the lycan had been there long enough and had earned his fair share of room and board. He was addressing a newcomer, a dwarf with a cough, and eventually approached Bartin to ask him to accommodate the dwarf. Bartin’s mouth screwed sideways; he appreciated the priest’s thoughtfulness, however, he could not spare too much to someone who had not earned more than the normal handouts. The dwarf will still be cared for to the best of Bartin’s abilities, and he would keep Harvey’s thoughts in mind for when he could cater to the dwarf. The dwarf’s malady would give him some quarter, as well. He instructed the girl to make sure the dwarf had enough blankets and hot water, as well as to leave a tray for tea in his assigned room.
Another dwarf was also at Bartin’s bar; the one who had very boisterously ordered a full tankard after barging through the inn doors. In this world, none were strangers to the scent of battle, but the effluvium rolling off of the dwarf’s loud armor was enough to make Bartin want to sneer. The room being prepared for him (normal procedure at the inn) already had a bath, but the bartender had told the girls to make sure that said dwarf had more than enough hot water. Two more foreigners lounged around eating meager meals, having not yet earned much more than that without payment. A large man in a large cloak had gotten more for giving payment, however, thanks to the depreciated value of any currency in Reath currently meant he hadn’t gotten what he could have in a world long passed. The girl at the bar sauntered over to both to see how they were doing, and offer to show them their rooms. Thanks to the small amount of travelers Urenda would have at one time, the once-great inn could house a great number of visitors without difficulty.
A cry sounded outside, loud enough to make it inside the inn albeit at a reduced potency, and the barkeep sighed. He knew he would shortly have to tell the visitors to either go upstairs or leave and join the priests. Bartin shut and locked the inn when shit started to hit the fan. He had not only the weaker visitors to defend, but also the workers who lived there permanently.