The small fort was impregnable. In fact, from recollection, Ursca couldn’t remember the last time it had even been attacked, which did beg the question as to why it was there. Apparently the Realm of Silence was nearby, tunnels dug beneath the ground by rat-like creatures, but he didn’t believe any of that, it was all just an excuse to keep them penned up in the uncomfortable old garrison.
A shout snatched his attention away from the mundane task of chopping firewood and he looked up to the wall where one of the guards was waving vigorously.
“Bowmen, we need bowmen up here now!” the man cried.
Ursca forgot what he was doing, dropping the axe and running to the wall, excitement at what was on the other side dispelling any hint of alarm or panic. When he reached the palisade and looked over, he was met with the strangest of sights. It appeared the forest had sprouted legs and was shambling towards them, led by a peculiarly dressed woman and a shuffling…was that some kind of mushroom? As they neared though he could see it wasn’t a woman at all, more like some sort of infected witch, and the other thing was white and rubbery looking with fiery hair, bright eyes and a white lattice work that blossomed out behind it.
Moss and rotten spores began to appear across the wood stockade, creeping up the wall, prompting Ursca to edge away. Some of the guards fired arrows at the approaching throng but they all turned in the air at the last moment, striking the white fungus creature at the front. None of it caused any damage though and the rotting horde continued, inexplicably on. He wanted to turn and run away but his limbs felt suddenly leaden, the energy sapped from his body. Then a guard screamed and Ursca looked along the wall. He watched in horror as the fungal spores reached the poor man, quickly absorbing the life from his body and turning him into a rotting husk within seconds.
Closing his eyes, Ursca dropped to the ground and began to sob.
Lore:
The wild brown Unicorns of Anumün contrast the white Unicorns of Khymeria in many ways. Unicorn Mustangs travel in herds, while Sacred Unicorns are only seen alone. The brown Unicorns are not considered sacred like the white, but they are still protected from hunt and slaughter by a superstitious stigma that no Lyverian dares challenge. When approached in the wild, Unicorn Mustangs act as though anyone and everyone but fellow Unicorns are their enemies.
Journal from Qui, Merchant from Blue Harbor
Entry 7: Early Afternoon.
“If anyone finds this letter, please, I beg you, flee from this cave and do not linger in the Jade Thicket. Something protects these caverns, the woods outside, perhaps the whole island. My name is Qui. I'm a scribe from Blue Harbor. I took shelter during a rainstorm to protect my latest work Prae Tell, Rumors of Praetoria.”
Entry 8. Mid Afternoon.
“I didn't believe the stories of the Jade Thicket, so I ventured in to add to my book. I swear the trees, mushrooms, and bushes were watching me. It was only after I hunkered in this cave I learned the truth. The plant life is alive. Like alive, alive. It moves. It speaks. It hunts.”
Entry 9. Early Evening.
“Fungus-covered trees blocked the entrance and a few followed me in here, but I hid. They lumbered by, without noticing me. The only thing that remained was strange dust particles. For research purposes, I studied them and placed them in a vial. Silly me for not using gloves but it's perfect for my book! I'm pressing deeper into the cave in hopes of finding another exit.”
Entry 10. Late Evening.
“I've been trekking through these caverns for hours. Or has it been days? Thankfully, I've not seen anymore fungus creatures. They sicken me, but they are fascinating. Being deep beneath the ground for this long has given me a headache. A constant buzzing now resides in my head. To deafen the noise, I've taken to stuffing mushrooms in my ears like a sort of earplug. The strange thing is I can't recall where I found the fungus. There doesn't appear to be any in these caves at all. She told me to do it and I'll listen to her.”
Entry 11. Night.
Dirt and fungus are smeared across the page
Entry 12. Night
“I've decided to abandon my book on Praetoria and focus on writing about Her. Her. Her. Her. Her. Her. My Queen. Our Queen. We are called to the Realm of Silence. We see through Qui eyes. Qui is us, and She is pleased.”
A cloud dust foretold the approach of the legions of chaos as they charged across the plains. The gates of the besieged city swung open, and a series of massive, wooden towers rolled forth, spreading out in a line before the attackers.
The towers stood several stories high, with a tangle of green-skinned limbs and heads protruding from various openings. They wielded a mismatch of weapons ranging from swords and daggers to pots and pans, brooms and rakes, boulders, cauldrons of oil, and anything else the goblins could gather that would stab, bludgeon, maim, and kill.
Each tower was topped with a massive cannon, which the goblins loaded with case shot—projectiles packed with lead and iron balls around a high-explosive charge that would detonate above the enemy, showering them with shrapnel.
As the sun bore down and the legions of chaos closed the distance, a war cry went up from within the Goblin Towers. They would fight to their last in defense of their home.
Lyberg rubbed his eyes and squinted around the dimly lit alley. He thought he’d seen… what? He wasn’t sure, but when he looked again, it was gone.
He shook his head. The day had been long. It was probably a trick of the light or his overwrought imagination.
As he started down the alley again, he heard a whisper of movement behind him. But when he spun around, there was nothing but darkness and shadows.
A series of sharp pains pierced his back in rapid succession.
Lyberg let out a cry and fell forward. He rolled over and let out a gasp. His attacker was humanoid, hairless and pale, with large ears and wide eyes. A Venari dressed in leather. From its back, six hinged metal rods protruded, each tipped with a wicked blade. In the moonlight, the blood dripping from them looked almost silvery.
Before Lyberg could so much as beg for his life, the rods pistoned forward, all six blades striking at once. Contract fulfilled.
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