Hoat, Lavender, and the remaining Erenlond members burst through the gates of the Krimlond embassy, their faces pale and eyes wide with urgency. The usually calm and calculated Hoat was the first to rush inside, his breath ragged as he made his way toward the central chamber where Baroness Lina often held court. The ornate silver and emerald-decorated walls of the embassy blurred in his periphery as he focused solely on delivering the grim news.
Sensing the urgency in Hoat's demeanor, the guards immediately opened the doors, allowing him to enter without question. Inside, Baroness Lina stood with Gauge and Teric, their conversation halting abruptly as Hoat stormed in.
“Go on the defensive!” Hoat’s voice echoed through the chamber, tinged with fear and anger. “We’ve been ambushed!”
Lina’s sharp eyes narrowed, and she stepped forward, her twin silver swords glinting ominously at her sides. “Explain,” she demanded, her voice as cold and unforgiving as the icy winds of Krimlond’s coastline.
Hoat took a moment to catch his breath, his eyes meeting Lina’s. “We fell into a trap,” he began, his voice laden with grief and frustration. “A lord of necromancy was inside the keep. He slaughtered Runner and Talich before we could react. It was... it was Elias, the Lord of Ghouls. His presence alone paralyzed half our forces with fear.”
Standing just behind Hoat, Lavender lowered her head in sorrow, her hands still trembling from the encounter. The other Erenlond members who managed to escape looked equally shaken, their clothes torn and stained with dirt and blood.
Hoat’s voice broke slightly as he continued, “He’s taken Zavet, Lina. We tried to protect him, but Elias was too powerful, and... now he’s gone. We barely made it out alive.”
The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of the news settling on everyone present. Lina’s expression hardened, her eyes blazing with fury and sorrow. “We will not let this stand,” she said, her voice cold and resolute. “Hoat, gather your forces. We’ll mobilize immediately.”
Lavender’s heart pounded as she turned to Lina, her voice steady but laced with urgency. “We must inform the Grove and the High Druid. They need to know what’s happening.”
Lina’s eyes, sharp as ever, met Lavender’s. She nodded, her voice low and commanding, “The more reinforcements, the better. Go, quickly.”
Without another word, Lavender spun on her heel and hurried out of the keep, her mind racing with the gravity of the situation. She barely registered the intricate carvings on the embassy walls or the guards who stepped aside to let her pass. Her focus was singular: reaching the forest as fast as possible.
The embassy’s heavy wooden doors slammed shut behind her as she emerged into the cool night air. The moonlight cast eerie shadows across the cobblestone path leading to the forest line. As she neared the edge of the woods, she noticed a figure emerging from the darkness—Flynn, one of the more enigmatic members of Erenlond.
“Are you heading to the Grove of High Druids?” Flynn asked, his voice calm yet probing.
Lavender nodded, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “Yes,” she replied, her voice tinged with the sorrow of the recent events. She took a deep breath and recounted the harrowing ordeal at the keep.
Flynn listened intently, his expression darkening with each word. When she finished, he looked at her, his eyes sharp with suspicion. “Lavender, there’s something you need to know. Zavet, Talich, Runner, and Gauge—they’re all necromancers. Krimlond has been aiding them, knowingly.”
The revelation struck Lavender like a physical blow. She staggered back, her mind whirling as she pieced together the overlooked signs. Talich hadn’t turned undead like Runner had when he died. Zavet’s armor—ghoul flesh, she now realized with a shiver—and the fact that poison did not affect him. It all made a sickening kind of sense now.
“Were they putting on a show?” Lavender murmured, more to herself than to Flynn.
Flynn nodded grimly. “They claimed to have killed a lord of necromancy. But you and I both know that’s impossible for just two people. Two living people, anyway.”
Lavender’s resolve hardened, and she squared her shoulders. “We need to tell the High Druid. Now.”
Without another word, she approached a nearby tree, placing one hand on its rough bark. “By the power of nature,” she intoned, her voice filled with authority and reverence, “bring me to the place of creation.”
The tree responded to her command, its bark rippling like water. Before Flynn’s watchful eyes, the tree’s surface opened up, swallowing Lavender whole. A moment later, Flynn, a sly grin tugging at his lips, followed suit, vanishing into the ancient wood.
The world shifted around them, and they reappeared in a vast, serene meadow bathed in soft green light. At the meadow’s center stood a colossal oak tree, its leaves shimmering with an otherworldly glow. Treants, unicorns, and other mystical creatures roamed the area, but Lavender’s attention was drawn to the figure before the tree—a towering entity made of leaves, branches, and vines. His massive frame was crowned with elk antlers, giving him an imposing yet regal appearance.
“Lord Julian,” Lavender began, her voice filled with both reverence and urgency, “we are in dire need of help within Tiaghaneth.”
Julian, the embodiment of nature’s power, regarded her with wise, ancient eyes. He slowly lowered himself to sit on the grass, bringing his formidable presence down to their level. “What has happened, my faithful druids?” His voice was deep, resonating with the very earth beneath them.
Flynn stepped forward, his tone smooth but laced with deception as he recounted the events, ending with a pointed accusation. “The kingdom is knowingly aiding necromancers, Lord Julian.”
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A heavy sigh escaped Julian as he absorbed the news. “I thought we had destroyed the Forgotten, but it seems the undead and necromancy have grown stronger and more numerous.”
Julian rose, his massive form towering over them once more as he approached the ancient oak tree. Placing a hand on its trunk, he spoke with grave determination, “Mother, we seek the power to destroy all necromancy. Now that they are all on our playing field, lend us your strength.”
Deep within the oak, a voice echoed, ancient and resonant, “We shall make the world tremble. This spell will bring many casualties, but it is the price we will pay to rid the world of necromancy once and for all.”
The ancient tree's roots began to hum, vibrating with a force that grew stronger with each passing second. The ground beneath Lavender’s feet trembled, the vibrations spreading from the oak in ripples. The air grew thick with the scent of earth and ozone as the power of nature was unleashed.
The vibrations intensified, escalating into a full-blown quake. The very ground seemed to groan under the strain, and the trees in the meadow began to sway violently. Then, with a deafening roar, the earth split open, cracks racing across the meadow and far beyond.
Back in the city, the effects were catastrophic. Buildings shuddered and swayed, their foundations cracking under the relentless force. Once proud and steadfast, the ornate spires of the Krimlond embassy crumbled like sandcastles, raining debris onto the streets below. The cobblestones buckled and heaved, sending people sprawling as they tried to flee the collapsing structures.
Screams filled the air as the earthquake continued to rage, the ground beneath the city tearing apart with relentless fury. Whole city sections sank into the earth, swallowed by the gaping chasms that opened up without warning. The once-grand city was reduced to chaos, its people struggling to survive the wrath of the earth itself.
Still in the meadow, Lavender and Flynn felt the reverberations of the devastation they had set in motion. The ground beneath them quaked with violence that mirrored the destruction unfolding in the city. His eyes closed, Julian stood resolute, his hand still pressed against the oak tree as the spell continued its destructive course.
Finally, the earthquake began to subside, the ground’s violent shaking slowing to a tremor before stilling altogether. The meadow was eerily quiet, the air heavy with the aftermath of the spell. But in the distance, the distant wails and screams from the shattered city could still be heard—a grim reminder of the cost of their actions.
Julian opened his eyes, the weight of the spell’s consequences evident in his gaze. “The world has been purged of necromancy, but the price... was high.”
Lavender and Flynn exchanged a glance, the magnitude of what they had done settling in their hearts like a stone.
Julian, Flynn, and Lavender stood in the meadow, unaware of the true extent of the devastation they had unleashed. They believed they had taken a necessary step to cleanse the world of necromancy, but they had no idea that the kingdom would never fully recover from the consequences of their actions.
Back in the city, chaos reigned. The once-thriving metropolis was reduced to a nightmarish landscape of rubble and despair. Merlot, the powerful leader of Razlond, was on his hands and knees, frantically digging through the debris. Dust clung to his sweat-drenched skin, and his usually composed demeanor had given way to panic.
He had been on top of the building when the earthquake hit, waiting for the queen to join him on the roof. She had just stepped inside when the ground started to heave, and the entire structure had collapsed within moments. All that remained was a mountain of shattered stone and twisted metal.
“Your Majesty!” Merlot’s voice, usually so strong and commanding, was hoarse with desperation. He clawed at the rubble, his hands bleeding as he tried to unearth any sign of life. “Please, someone! Anyone!” His cries echoed through the empty streets, but there was no response. The city, once bustling with activity, was eerily silent.
As he dug, Merlot’s mind raced. How could the world be so cruel? The lords of necromancy had been attacking the kingdom relentlessly, their undead armies overwhelming the defenses. They were losing, and he knew it. But now, in the earthquake's aftermath, the undead were nowhere to be seen. The threat had vanished, leaving only the devastation in its wake.
Merlot’s heart pounded in his chest as he tossed aside a large chunk of stone, hoping against hope to find the queen alive beneath it. But all he uncovered was more debris. His panic grew with each second, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He couldn’t lose her—not like this. Not after everything they had fought for.
“Please!” he shouted again, his voice breaking. “Please be alive!” But there was no answer, only the sound of the wind whispering through the ruins. The world felt unbearably empty, and a deep dread settled over him. He was a man of immense power, a warrior who had faced countless enemies, but now he felt utterly helpless.
Tears stung his eyes as he continued to dig, refusing to accept the reality slowly becoming undeniable. The queen, his queen, the woman he had sworn to protect, was gone. He had failed her. He had failed the kingdom.
Hours passed, but Merlot kept searching, his strength waning with each futile attempt. He ignored the pain in his hands, the exhaustion threatening to overtake him. All that mattered was finding her. But as the sun began to set, casting long shadows over the ruins, it became clear that his efforts were in vain.
Merlot slumped to the ground, his body trembling with grief and despair. The city lay in ruins around him, a testament to the horror that had befallen them. He had always believed in his ability to protect those he cared about, but now he realized that even his power had limits.
The queen was gone, and with her, the hope of the kingdom. The devastation wrought by the earthquake was beyond anything he could have imagined, and the future of Tiaghaneth was now shrouded in uncertainty. The lords of necromancy had been a threat, but now, as Merlot looked out over the broken city, he understood that the true danger had come from within.
Deep in his heart, the world had changed irrevocably, and he knew nothing would ever be the same again.
The city of Tiaghaneth was not just devastated by the earthquake—it was cursed. Iscariot's spell lingered, a dark cloud over the city that twisted death into something unnatural. As Merlot searched desperately for the queen, he couldn’t have known that the true horror was yet to be revealed.
Beneath the piles of rubble, those who had perished in the catastrophe were not at peace. The spell woven by Iscariot ensured that death was no longer the end but a grotesque continuation. The citizens who had lost their lives in the chaos did not simply die; they became trapped in a state of undeath. Their hearts no longer beat, their lungs no longer needed air, and hunger was a forgotten sensation. Yet, they lingered, entombed beneath the debris, their bodies cold and still, but their souls tethered to their decaying forms.
As the dust settled over the ruined city, the eerie silence was occasionally broken by the soft rustle of movement from within the rubble. The undead stirred, but they did not rise. Iscariot's curse was insidious—it kept them bound, neither fully dead nor alive, leaving them to rot in their stone and metal prisons.
This cruel twist of fate compounded the tragedy. The earthquake had taken countless lives, but instead of rest, these souls were condemned to a form of stasis, buried alive in a state of perpetual limbo. Their families, those who survived, would face the unimaginable task of digging through the ruins, not just to mourn the dead, but to find them, destroy their undead bodies, and release their spirits so they could be resurrected.