The old man sat on his wooden chair in the middle of the market square, as he did every night. The townspeople had built him a shelter years ago to protect him from the occasional drizzle. Four wooden pillars and a fancy pyramid-shaped roof. Svendalf, the best shingle maker in town, had covered it with small wooden shingles.

A young woman came out of the nearby inn and brought him an earthenware jug with a steaming liquid in the cool night air: "Well Ulf, you must need something warm to drink in this weather."

"The gods will repay you, Huldra. But you can't bring me mulled wine. What if I fall asleep on guard duty?"

"You sit here every night that the gods have given you. For thirty years. When they put the chair down because of your bad knee, you railed that you would fall asleep immediately. When we built you the shelter, you said you'd never be able to keep your eyes open without the constant drizzle on your neck. None of that ever happened. The day you fall asleep on guard duty will be the day Nistrul leads you to the underworld."

"Being the plague watchdog is a responsible task."

As if on a secret command, they both looked towards the slightly raised round stone slab. Four steps in diameter, made of gray stone and without any decoration. Four man-sized magical torches illuminated the platform from all sides.

"Let's hope you never have to ring the bell."

Ulf nodded: "That's the gods may give, my child. After so many years of the spawnpoint remaining dark, we can hope that the plague has ended once and for all."

"Strange term, spawnpoint. Where does that actually come from?"

"It's from the language of the revenants. It means origin of the scourge."

The maid was impressed by his knowledge. She wished him a pleasant night and then left again, back into the warmth of the crowded inn.

Ulf looked after her with a smile. If only he were a few years younger...

A creak made him move around. The girl had not exaggerated when she praised his attentiveness. Nothing escaped his notice. Not a month went by without a youngster trying to sneak up on him and scare him or steal the bell or something similar. No one had managed it yet. Not once. He searched for the source of the sound. A light breeze came up. He raised an eyebrow. Wind? Here? Behind the wall and between all the houses?

A glow made him move around again. Right above the center of the spawn point, a tiny firefly hovered in place. Except that there had never been fireflies in the city before. Only in the forest on the Alliance side. Fireflies didn't glow so evenly and for so long. More lights appeared. Ulf's hand went to his belt, where the iron rod was that he had to ring the bell with. If he was wrong and it was just a joke from the little strays, he would have to listen to this for the rest of his life. He couldn't make a mistake. Maybe it was just...

The lights flew off in all directions and disappeared through the streets. They left long yellow-green trails in the air on his eyes. Only one dot of light remained and slowly sank down onto the platform. With a flash, it disappeared. Then the entire spawn point began to vibrate.

Ulf no longer hesitated. He took three quick steps to the bell and struck it. A bright sound emanated from it. He sounded the alarm again and again in quick succession. Dogs began to bark in annoyance. Shouts were heard and soon the first shutters were opened. The landlord of the nearby inn hurried out in his nightshirt, a broom in one hand and a bucket of water in the other. He seemed undecided whether to fight a fire or chase away a couple of drunken ruffians.

After one last powerful stroke, Ulf silenced the bell. Silence fell over the marketplace. Then the air above the platform flickered and a man appeared. Tall, broad-shouldered. Skin the color of dark tropical trees shimmered in the torchlight. A face with an aristocratic nose and a prominent chin. The neat goatee framed his mouth and provided a fascinating contrast to the bald head. He turned his gaze left and right appraisingly, then the man strode calmly forward and down from the spawn point. Behind him, the air rent again and again as numerous small hunched figures appeared one after the other. Heavily laden with suitcases and bags, they lined up in formation behind the bald man. The newcomer relaxed his hands on the hems of his fine velvet vest and waited. Citizens streamed out of the houses. Some with buckets, as they expected to see a fire, others armed. Gradually, a crowd gathered in the streets around the market square. However, they avoided entering the square itself. Only Ulf stood there, somewhat lost and unnoticed next to his bell.

The voice of the newcomer echoed effortlessly across the square: "Citizens of Mulnirsheim. Rejoice! The years in which you were governed by a governor are over. Your lord has returned to help you in your hour of greatest need."

"What need? What is this guy talking about?" The voices of the citizens blended into an acoustic mash. The newcomer continued to speak, his voice cutting through the din like an axe through a stick of butter: "I am Baron Othello. Ruler of this city. I am here to warn you of the Krigesti invasion."

Confused silence fell over the crowd. One of them called out timidly: "Is that one of the desert tribes?"

The answer echoed confidently across the square: "It is a union of all the desert tribes and others. They want to resurrect one of the old gods. The Devourer. The adversary! But fear not! Heroes from a distant world will appear in their thousands to help you."

He posed to receive the cheers of the crowd. To his disappointment, the reaction was unexpectedly negative.

"Revenants? Thousands?"

"A plague! It's starting again! The bards have been prophesying for months that another scourge is coming."

"Maybe they'll leave again when we close the brothels and inns?"

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"And what about these Krigesti then?"

"Let's just let them conquer the city. Still better than a few thousand revenants."

"Maybe we'll just burn the city down and leave."

"Take the torch away from him! He's crazy!"

The crowd slowly dispersed, leaving the disappointed baron behind. Then he shrugged his shoulders and beckoned his servants to follow him: "Let's go to the castle and move into our new quarters."

Meanwhile, the small points of light flew through the city and placed themselves in predetermined locations throughout the city. Then they drove vertically into the ground. First, concentric circles of light spread out from the impact points, then stone platforms rose up from the ground. Spawn points. With a diameter of three steps, smaller than the spawn point on the market square, but otherwise the same.

Where it was usually very quiet with the exception of the night watch, the city cleaners and a few thieves, this night there was a flurry of activity. Prices on signs were raised, goods safely locked away in chests and cellars and houses secured as if for an invasion of barbarians. The city guard drafted in reservists. Old veterans of the Alliance army squeezed into their cramped uniforms, pulled dusty weapons from their lockers and reported back for duty.

Alchemists interrupted ongoing distillation processes and began mass producing ever-burning oil to light the streets at night.

Guild leaders picked yellowed folders from the bottom of chests and attics and gathered their guilds together.

Travis, head of the Guild of Blacksmiths, buried his face in his hands: "Three years. Three more years and I would have moved into my well-earned retirement and left this madness to my successor."

He moaned for a while before Terrek, one of the older blacksmiths, interrupted him: "Master Travis, it's not so bad. We all learned in our apprenticeship what happens at the start of a plague. The revenants bring their starting equipment with them. Only simple weapons and light armor, but enough for the usual low-level quests. They also only bring a little gold and have to earn it here first. So we still have time to stock up on supplies."

"Where should we get the material from? We don't have that much iron in stock. The baron spoke of a war. That means we'll soon have to make arrows and bolts by the crateful. We don't even have enough raw material for that. Not to mention hundreds of swords and shields."

Terrek stroked his beard thoughtfully, then grinned: "Then let the revenants take care of it." A glowing red line with a dot underneath appeared on his forehead. His eyes crossed as he tried to find the origin of the suddenly appearing light. "Is that what I fear?"

Travis nodded: "Congratulations. You're a Questgiver from now on. Have fun."

Terrek walked away with an absent look on his face, cursing quietly as he explored a newly appeared menu: "My Llurd-cursed cheeky mouth. I wish I'd kept it shut. So... Crafting quests to fix problems in the mines and increase production... Hunting quests? What's that got to do with... I see... Hunting iron beetles... Too bad there are no slag snails here. Treasure hunting quests in the old forest..." He stopped and his eyes darted back and forth as he read on: "There's a meteorite in the old forest? Where is that supposed to be... Well, the revenants will like that. You'll have to write down all the bard songs and follow the clues the library contains. As if the librarians would let someone in just like that. But that's their problem. Let them come up with quests that you have to solve to get in. A plague is terrible, but if we get a lump of meteoric iron for it... I'll have the workshop in the Long Alley rebuilt. There's enough room there for the extra bellows we need for a higher working temperature. Although... That would also be a good quest..."

A mage sat in one of the large leather armchairs in the study room of the mage academy, which was brightly lit by magical lights. A few thick books were stacked on a small table next to it. A book hovered in front of him at a comfortable reading height. His eyes wandered relaxed along the lines while he occasionally stroked his long gray beard with his hand. At such a late hour, the academy had finally quietened down. The students and teaching magicians were in bed and so the head of the academy could finally enjoy the silence. The ringing of the plague bell and the burgeoning noise in the city were drowned out by the protective spells in the study room. But even the protective spells, which had been optimized for decades, could not prevent the adept from storming in: "Archchancellor! Archchancellor Kosmaran!"

The Archchancellor rolled his eyes in annoyance and looked up from his book: "We can assume that everyone here knows my name and knows that I am the Archchancellor."

"Archchancellor! The plague bell has been rung!"

"So, why are you bothering me with this?"

The adept opened his eyes and stared at the Archchancellor. After a few failed attempts in which his mouth opened silently, he managed to get the words out again: "But, Archchancellor..."

Kosmaran interrupted him: "We teach every novice what to do at the start of a new plague. Every year the contingency plans are discussed and explained during a full academy meeting. Where the plans are and who has to take care of them. Have you always been absent?"

The adept, who had always spent his time in the back of the meeting room talking to his girlfriend about more important matters, looked guiltily at the floor. The Archchancellor rolled his eyes again, murmuring an invocation to the god whose assistance seemed most appropriate in this situation: "Cofefe, god of the mad and senile. Patron of fools and the incompetent. Stand by me in this hour of stupidity."

He looked sternly at the adept until he began to tremble. Then he sighed: "Good, I'll take care of it." He rose and walked to the door. As soon as he had passed through it, the noise of footsteps and shouts became audible. Unperturbed by the numerous adepts and novices bombarding him with questions, he walked to the entrance of the library. Right next to it, he looked with keen interest at a red lacquered cabinet. He read the inlaid inscription aloud: "To be opened in case of a plague by revenants." He raised his hand to his mouth in mock surprise: "That we have something like this... How practical."

He opened the cupboard, took out the first notebook and pressed it into the hand of the closest adept: "Read this. These are the tasks that a revenant must complete if he wants to gain access to our academy. Find five students from the third year and organize a rotation plan with them, with one of them always standing at the entrance to receive new arrivals. Then tell the academy guard that four men must always be posted at the entrance. I'm almost certain they know this and are taking care of it right now, but do it anyway."

The student reached for a pencil in one pocket and searched the other pockets for his notebook. The Archchancellor took the pencil out of his hand, annoyed, and put it back in his breast pocket: "It's all on the first page. You just have to check off the points in order. Go on!"

More clades were distributed and adepts hurried off with tasks for the Dean of the Faculty of Alchemy and the Librarian. After the third, the adepts had begun to disperse. A wave of the hand and a spoken word pinned the slowest to the ground. Calmly, the Archchancellor pulled out another notebook and pressed it into his hand: "This is the list of protective spells that we will maintain from now on. Some revenants already know a few spells. The protection spells counter clairvoyance, silence, darkness and climbing spells of all kinds. The librarian personally takes care of protecting the library. The rest is an assignment for the graduating class. The current list of adepts is at the very back. Get them together and hand the notebook to the first person on the list." A wave of his hand ended the sticky spell and the adept sprinted off.

The Archchancellor took a look at the remaining documents and decided that they still had time until the morning. Then he set off to get a few more hours' sleep.

The head of the Beggars' Guild placed his guild in strategic locations around the spawn points. In some places there were discussions with traders who wanted to set up their stalls, but these problems were also quickly resolved.

When the spawn points lit up at dawn and revenants poured out of them, the city was ready.