The people of the County of Trism were bewildered. The news of Velent’s destruction stunned them. They gathered in the town squares, taverns, and inns, wanting to know more, to find out it was not true, to learn they were safe, and Velent alone was threatened. A mass of people congregated in the massive square in front of the city hall.
Count Trism was present, with High Lord Father Alixin of the Church of Jonath. They calmed the crowd, saying that the news was exaggerated and Trism was safe. Even if such a threat did exist, even if it did come this way, they were prepared for it, and would deal with it quickly and efficiently. They were still making speeches when the first swarm hit.
The temperature crept up and the weather changed from snow to a light rain. Yearl Marshlord rallied the people, calling for them to hold their places and defend as one. They ignored his pleas, and in a panic, pushed past him, knocking him aside, rushing to get into the solid stone building that housed the government. Clouds of minuscule biting gnats swarmed the crowd. As they descended on the people, they left barely perceivable traces of digestive acid wherever they bit. A woman was bit, and it left a red mark. Another bite left a small dimple. As thousands bit her, her skin became a pitted, burning landscape in a matter of moments. She slapped and crushed the bugs, but it did nothing more than release extra acid from the insects onto her skin.
The press of people jostled the Count, and he was heaved off the stairs, falling to the wet ground under the great statues that bracketed the marble steps. Relieved to be out of the throng of maddened people, he looked around for his guards. He spotted them, but they fell victim to the black clouds of insects. He saw the Lord High Father calling upon the power of Jonath, bringing protection from the insects for the mass of panicked townsfolk. He saw the priest’s silver aura glisten in the falling rain as the he called upon the powers of the earth to destroy the invaders and save his flock.
The attack intensified. Mosquitoes the size of squirrels flew into the crowd, unaffected by the spells of the priest. Alixin called upon the power of his god once again. His prayers were ignored. Instead, all he received was the attention of the new wave of pestilence. The blood-sucking insects had already fed on dozens outside the building, and now turned their bloated hunger towards the being that slowed their feeding with his magic. The priest called upon Jonath again, screaming for the god to protect his most valuable priest, to save the one man who could allow the church to survive.
The result was astounding. A flash of light shook the square, magic shot upward and out from the priest, and died without a sound. The church of Jonath that stood across the way began to tremble and the keystone fell from the overhead archway that led into the temple. The god had spoken; as the magic faded from the cleric, the church collapsing, dust rising into the sky.
The Count stared in horror as the priest turned and began throwing people out of his way, forcing his way into the safe haven offered by the building. He rose up to tell the Lord High Father to stop, and to help the people. As Marshlord stood, the ground opened up, and hard-shelled black beetles swarmed over him.
Fog formed and rose from the cold cobblestones of the streets as the warmer water fell. From the murky haze, came more bugs. Rising from the sewers and crawling from rotted wood throughout the city, they came. Silverfish longer than a man’s arm swarmed across plazas, snapping at people with their thin mandibles. Cockroaches the size of cats flew from rooftops and landed on people’s heads and backs, biting and chewing, their rancid stench surrounding them as hundreds covered a city block.
The mutated insects of the Talisman arrived next. Long thin flying insects that radiated heat and crackled with energy flew overhead, alighting on buildings. They pressed their abdomens to the wooden shingles and the thatch of roofs. Steam rose, and the wood and straw dried smoldered then ignited. The wind fanned the flames as another horror slithered across the cobbles. Centipede-like creatures glistening black in the fire’s glow glided by, leaving a slick trail of what appeared to be mucus. Anyone who crossed the path of one was attacked. The beast would wind its way up their body, a thousand tickling legs clinging to flesh, then sink its cruel barbed maxilla into softer tissue of its victim’s throat and neck.
The sparks from the flames on the rooftops rained down on the slick trails left by the giant centipedes, igniting them. The rain flowed through the gutters, carrying the gelled flaming liquid to alleys where trash lay. Soon the city was ablaze. The guards trying to fight the insect invasion now were needed to man bucket brigades to douse the growing inferno. Townsfolk abandoned their homes, carrying children and their most prized possessions, only to be brought down by the man-eating insects.
It was into this chaos that a rider from the east rode, to deliver his news of the approaching undead army that had claimed the Earldom of General the day before. The city would have to face two armies that could not be routed or demoralized. Two behemoths of unstoppable death were about to meet.
The undead horde shuffled into the city on cats’ feet. Silent in the moist night air, their fetid stench announced their arrival. The zombies trundled through the streets, dragging down anything warm blooded and moving. Swift predatory shapes leapt from rooftop to rooftop and slid down darkened alleys, pulling out humans who tried to hide and devouring them, ripping into flesh to satiate their unquenchable hunger, and savoring their victim’s struggles. Their appetite never ended, but they only ate until their prey no longer moved. They preferred a warm meal, and death only brought cold.
Rondarius’s generals moved through the crowds, picking and choosing their victims from the strongest. The hero who stood in the mouth of an alley with a line of archers behind him soon fell, as Omega took possession of an archer behind him and fired arrows into his back. The Wizard who burned the undead and insect armies with flames turned to find the cold lips of Choulidiat waiting to drain his very soul. Lord Emite swept through the city with his three progeny as shadows that rose up to kill, feeding as they went.
The necromancer sat just outside the city, finding the dead inside of it that had the seed of magic and raising them to join his army. He cackled from his divan, then screamed and beat at Vicktor, “You filthy dog eater! Why does it always rain when I destroy a civilization?” He immediately laughed again and sent forth the command to his legions to save the pretty girls for him. Winter was the time for warm bodies to share his bed, not cold ones.