Darycian Water

An act of kindness is a blessing. A hundred acts of kindness are a curse.

Everyone who once lived in Old Lavella is dead. Their bodies laid slumped in the streets, festering with plague and baking beneath a radiant sun. First, the scavengers descended. Crows and rats and wild dogs picked them clean of putrid flesh, feasting like gluttonous kings at a repugnant banquet. Then, the flies arrived. An incessant droning hung in the air as maggots writhed in every crevice. Then, there were only bones littering the streets and homes. Those too are gone now. All that remains are ruins. Empty stone shells, crumbling and cracking piece by piece, year by year until they will also return to nothing. The tale of Old Lavella is tragic, but most remember it for one peculiar detail - every last one of its inhabitants died with beaming eyes and warm smiles.

Before the pestilence befell the town, Old Lavella was a jubilant place. Food was abundant, people were gracious, and pain was an oddity. It was simply perfect. This bliss was assured by a holy blessing. Darycia, God of the Pious Dead, looked down upon a world fraught with misery and could not bear to witness such despair. As a remedy to the turmoil, they imparted the mortal realms with water from their own heavenly realm. Darycian Water was crystal clear, refreshingly cool, and had an otherworldly sweetness to its taste. However, its most impressive quality was how it allowed one to forget.

Even for those who pass to an afterlife of peace, death can be a harrowing experience. The waters of Darycia are a balm for such pains, but they were never meant to quench mortal thirst. When the people of Old Lavella took the drink to their lips, all of their worries and doubts began to subside. Their sorrows vanished as the reasons for their woe became unclear. Old enemies reconciled as their grudges decayed and distant strangers could not help but to see one another as kindred friends. For a time, the town was a paradise. However, the natives grew dependant on the Darycian Water's soothing comfort. At the slightest inconvenience or annoyance, they would dash towards the blessed fountains and guzzle down flagon after flagon of the drink, until the world seemed perfect once again. Where the generous deity sought to offer a reprieve from hardship, all that became of their gift was a means for one to bury their head in the sand.

Then, the sickness came. It swept through the town, infesting all that it touched. Perhaps the outbreak could have been contained had the infected, at the first feeling of illness, not dashed towards the fountains to numb the pain, rather than share their concerns. Perhaps also, the malady could have been cured if the healers had focussed on the remedy rather than alleviating their own stresses in the water. One must also wonder if a quarantine could have stifled the spread if the mayor could have pried his lips away from the euphoric nectar. Alas, the entire town had become reliant on the drink.

As the disease progressed and the bodies began to fall, the people of Old Lavella still refused to do anything but drown their sorrows. Boils burst from their skin, their vision blurred, and their blood began to clot, but they hardly seemed to notice. All they felt was ecstasy. The worse the disease got, the more Darycian Water they would drink, and the more they would drink the worse the disease would get. For such a gentle balm, it created such a vicious cycle.

When the first outsiders arrived the town was eerily quiet. Smiling corpses slumped awkwardly in the streets, their mouths dribbling like leaky taps as the scavengers picked at their flesh. To them, it may have been a mystery, if not for one damning clue. The ever-flowing fountains, for which the town was renowned, were now dry as bone. Finally, the well-intentioned god had seen the error of their boundless generosity.