Ishgria found itself consumed by an endless night. The skies themselves were blotted out: replaced by an inky black. There were no clouds, no stars, no sun: only the dim light of a small, pale moon. A disquieting stillness held sway over the land, as even birds dared not fly into the ethereal expanse of perpetual night. Terror gripped the hearts of the common folk, their eyes helplessly transfixed upon the unimaginable calamity that had befallen their realm.
Castle Arstella bore the brunt of Phaedra’s mistake. The once majestic fortress now laid in ruins, its rubble infused with a dark, crackling energy, which caused the shattered stones to emanate a sinister glow. The air throughout the broken castle was now filled with a thick miasma that would choke any living creature that tried to enter. No life could possibly survive in the ruins of Arstella, and yet, there were all too many “people” who tread its surface.
Warped, maligned, scarred, these are just some of the words that are most aptly used when describing the poor souls who walked in the ruins of Arstella. The castle was now home to chimeras: monstrous humanoid entities that appeared as if they were the result of a mad mage trying to fuse several humans together. Each one of the chimeras bore multiple sets of heads, dozens of arms and legs, and eyes that covered almost every inch of their bodies. To be a chimera was a pitiful existence: where one is forced to walk in constant pain as they desperately wrestled for control over a shared body against the wills of many others. It meant being tortured by the pained screams of dozens of people whose heads have been joined together, constantly screaming together, causing others to scream in turn. To be a chimera was to not live at all.
Sir Falkner wasn’t sure where he was, all he knew was that he had been trying to get as far away as possible from Castle Arstella for quite some time. The Knight Commander found it difficult to track how far he had gone, or where he was going, for it seemed that the landscape around him had changed so much. Where the Ishgrian north was once home to droves of snow-capped pine trees, crystal clear rivers, and small animals who would call the land their home. Now, there was none of that left. The pine trees that once dotted the landscape all appeared as if they were shriveled up and left to die centuries ago, their ashen bark crippling under the slightest touch. The once clear rivers were now flowing with a disgusting blackened liquid, one that smelled so rancid it made sewer water seem like perfume in comparison. None of the animals seemed to change at least: for none of them survived.
It was ironic, to Sir Falkner: he was the Hero of Ishgria, but now, his homeland was as unfamiliar to him as his name would be to the barbaric tribes of the far north. Alas, it did not matter. The knight commander knew that all he needed to do was to keep walking. He needed to escape, to get away, to run. Of course! Sir Falkner thought to himself, running was the key. He needed to return to Ishgria as fast as possible so that he could alert any survivors of what had happened. Yes, he must run.
Running was so easy. Sir Falkner could feel the chilling breeze of miasmic air waft through him as he ran at a pace he never thought was possible. The knight commander felt exhilarated, he was moving incredibly fast: faster than even when he was on horseback. At this pace, Sir Falkner knew that he could make it back to the capital of Ishgria in just a few hours. There, he must find survivors, allies, anyone else at all.
After some time, Sir Falkner began to notice some oddities. First of all, his point of view from the ground seemed much higher than before. He had always been a tall man, yet, it was jarring to see that the ground looked so distant than what he was used to. Yet, the knight commander dismissed this as just his mind playing tricks on him. It must have been all that miasma from before. He thought to himself. And so, he continued to run.
Run. Run. Run. That was all Sir Falkner could think of, and he was so close, so very close, his destination was near. When he would reach the capital, all he needed to do was tell the guards to let him in, for he was bearing urgent news. Yes, they would surely understand his predicament and skip all the usual niceties and bureaucracy. It was only natural after all, for them to let him in, he was the Hero of Ishgria, who slew countless enemies on his sword. My sword? Sir Falkner was confused, he could not find his weapon of choice anywhere. He frantically tried to look around and scan his surroundings for any trace of his blade: nothing.
Fortunately, when the knight commander turned to look downwards, he found his sword! In fact he saw that he had many swords. They were odd-looking, yes: all crooked and curved, and covered in a strange leathery hilt. But it was of no matter, he found his weapons, and now he will be prepared for the hunt. Yes, the hunt, it was the entire reason he wanted to return to the capital. It was his sole purpose for existing. He needed to eat, for he was hungry. It was natural for any living thing to want to eat, and out of all the things Sir Falkner enjoyed, he knew that a hearty serving of human flesh would be most delightful to his palate.
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The heart of Ishgria: the capital, was in a state of utter chaos. Though the skies above were devoid of any features apart from an endless void, the situation on the ground could not be in higher contrast. Tens of thousands of people were frantically scurrying throughout the streets, while those with carriages or horses were all too eager to trample over any who had the misfortune of getting in the way. It was every man, woman, and child for themselves. There was no room for sympathy, everyone was afraid.
“Heather, come on, we need to go!” exclaimed a gruff, middle aged man, desperately trying to saddle a woman onto a horse.
“Sorry dear, I… I don’t feel so good.” the woman replied weakly, still struggling to raise herself onto the saddle.
The man continued to desperately try to push her onto her saddle, “Come on just a bit more! I swear by my family name that I will get my wife out of this blasted city!”
“Thank you… Fritz.” the woman muttered out, just barely able to sit on the horse.
“There, hold on tight to me dear, we’re getting out of this.” Fritz declared, raising himself onto his horse, before grabbing the reins. With a swift motion, the man set his horse running. It was just in time too, for when the man looked back: a mob of people had just turned the corner to where he and his wife were. Horses were all too valuable in a time when everyone wanted to run as fast as possible.
Fritz was a simple man, but he felt as if life held a grudge against him at times. Just a few years ago he lost his only son: Joey, and right after he had just seen him blossom to adulthood. It was a painful experience for him. Fritz loved his son dearly, and his son was a golden child. Always wanting to help, if a little clumsy. Yet, he knew that it was Heather: his wife, that suffered the most through it all. She was nigh-unconsolable when Joey passed, it took several months before her tears would stop. Even after that, Fritz noticed that Heather became sick much more easily than before, catching colds more often, having higher fevers here and there, and whatever ailment she had now which caused her to cough blood.
Fritz could not help but let out a bitter laugh as he rode across the Ishgrian capital. How was it fair that life seemed all too content to take away from him all that he held dear. He was always devoted to the gods, eager to help his fellow man, and a gentle person at heart. Fritz tried to live a simple life without much ambition but that of happiness, and yet, he now felt as if he was paying the price for some old sin he committed in the past: or perhaps, the sin of whoever caused the catastrophe that now beset Ishgria. So lost was Fritz in his thoughts, that he did not notice when his horse stopped moving suddenly: causing his wife to fall off his horse.
“Heather!” Fritz exclaimed, a pained expression wracking his visage.
“I…I’m alright, dear.” Heather replied in a pained voice, she had injured her knee in the fall, and was clutching it tightly.
Fritz immediately dismounted from his horse, “Hold on, I’ll get you back up,” he said, placing one of Heather’s arms over his shoulder.
“Ok, slowly, slowly, slo-,” Fritz froze, fear seeping into his very core at what he saw.
Mere steps ahead loomed an immense, colossal creature. Its towering form eclipsed even the loftiest of buildings, casting a darkened shadow upon Fritz's trembling figure, its ebony fur mirroring the ink-black skies above. A grotesque fusion of wolf and nightmare, the beast had a multitude of eyes that constantly swirled and glared in every direction. Rows upon rows of teeth, dwarfing the claymores once brandished by passing knights, lined its gaping maw. Before Fritz stood a monstrous entity, a grotesque amalgamation born from the depths of his deepest fears, as if every monster he had ever known coalesced into a single abomination.
Agony lanced through Fritz's body, causing him to convulse violently, coughing up rivulets of blood. Gritting his teeth, he mustered the courage to cast his gaze downward, only to behold the wolf-like monstrosity impaling him with a menacing claw. Lifted high into the air, he dangled helplessly, a plaything for the creature's insatiable hunger. Through its yawning maw, Fritz caught a harrowing glimpse of the beast's stomach. This was to be his final act, the culmination of a life destined to fade into oblivion, remembered by no-one: not his son, not his wife, nobody.