Myrmicary
"A testament to Thanatorum's sins. Perhaps the people of Winter were already doomed without him, but inspiring unfounded hope was purposeless cruelty."
Deep in the lands struck by desolation, the Dorylindia roam: their colonies, numbering in the thousands, paint the land black with their bivouacs. An aura follows them through the desert. The rumble of their feet is the only audible sound for miles about, and the final marches of egress from their outposts drum the sand over abandoned scraps. Tools, carcasses, and food waste are subsumed by the desert, intended to be trampled underfoot for eternity. Of course, as with all buried things, greater purpose finds the dilapidated bivouacs.
So robust are these buried outposts that they create the foundations for life within the barrens. Moisture, nutrients, stable ground, and all the rest of greenery's ingredients are exploited within these derelict oases. Before long, resilient plants take root, creating a beacon of safety for animal life. Rising rodent and insect populations reinforce the soil as ornate grasses grow, trapping moisture. These, the greenmounds, are the isolated ecosystems which allure listless wanderers. The largest recorded was a mile across- a thing of legend that's reached the ears of all in Dandoleon, it was the site of a holy city antithetical to all others, for rather than reaching for the heavens, it bore beneath the earth. To its people, the mound was the heavens, and to go beyond was sunburnt demise. They called it "the Myrmicary," for its residents were Hymendia precursors of a similar name.
The Sphecomyrmia perished alongside their home, which was perhaps the species's last bastion of hope. On its final day, the residents unfurled the Myrmicary's security for reasons only myths try to contrive. Some claim to have visited the ruin, attaining gifts of youth, divine ordinance, and revelations that shake one's grasp on purpose itself. The tales often mark one as a charlatan, as the eradication of Sphecomyrmia was an apocalypse suffered eons ago. Below is Myrmicary's tale: just one example of the plight faced by Dandoleans caught by Winter's arrival. While they awaited emissaries of Thanatorum for salvation, none would find them, and none was intended.
"Those Without the Towers"
The Nymph by Whiteghoul Studio
Rumors
"Dandoleon broke without a quake, instead encroached by an invisible threat: one which no mortal could remedy. Perhaps more damning, was that no mortal could surmise any danger at all. Not until apocalyptic certainty arrived. What began as an insignificant chill crept upon Myrmicary, unfelt by its subterranean people. The residents were insulated in chambers deep beneath the earth, protected from the desert's heat and most other qualms above. Wanderers who frequented the greenmound were quick to inform the residents that a bitterness spread ubiquitously; be it from here or the foreign places they'd left. Whether desert, jungle, forest, or plains, all began noting the patterns with caution. Myrmicary, however, was a fortress and refuge. The cold would abate, and even a hypothesized months of presence didn't shake the Sphecomyrmia. The weeks moved along, and the wanderers began spreading tales, terrible tales, of divine ordinance put upon the world. The cold would not subside, but rise as a thalassic wave that portended extinction. The true horror came from the gods' callous sentiments. No prayer or sacrifice would sate the Justices who contrived this fate; their damnation was an oversight- an unintended consequence ignored in a higher court of judgment. The natives, enraptured by discord, argued about how to use their remaining time. Litigious priests devised contingencies for potential years insulated within their walls- rationing, security, and succession of authority. Meanwhile, indignant citizens challenged their plans, hoping to access food storage and migrate to warmer lands. Solemn, the knowledgeable travelers explained that once the cold was first felt, successful migration was a thought best abandoned. The only hope was isolation, for an order of charitable purpose had arrived in Dandoleon and sought to save the world from its regression. These prophets served the anonymous Thanatorum and were tasked with shepherding the forsaken folk from this new land they called 'Winter.'"Seclusion
"The gates of Myrmicary remained open for two months before the prophesied thalassic wave arrived, but the greenmound had shriveled and wasted long before. A final call was sent to the desolate surface, encouraging any who heard the message to seek its source, but few could find it; the desert was draped in darkness for days, but the moons' repetitive oscillation in the sun's absence made time's passage unquantifiable. A select few of diverse make and background scarcely managed to leap from death's door to Myrmicary's, and among them was the infant Nymph of crucial importance to the tale. Myrmicary was sequestered from the surface, containing any remnant integrity of the settlement. The newcomers weren't without their toll, and as nights grew colder and civilization hastened to burrow deeper, the natives began to revile whatever kindness had invited them. Myrmicary became a place of melancholic surrender, only possessing faint bioluminescence to elucidate the stone halls. Life became digging, eating, and sharing what little they had. Quarters that once housed authority ran empty, for those wielding dictation were the first to go. The only order was suppression by lethargy. It took months for the water to freeze, and all had accepted that blood would be next to join the crypt's silence. No help came from above, but salvation was found within."Salvation
"The Nymph, a loathsome creature to the natives for its insatiable needs (though the natives viewed all outsiders much the same), possessed a latent gift. In the cold, it did not freeze, but entered dormancy. In persistent cold, the secret by which this miracle occurred would seep and flow from its carapace. The infant, soon to be the subject of revelry, was placed in the highest of interiors. Canals were burrowed to Myrmicary's depths, and the frozen channels ran as they would in the warmest rivers. The Sphecomyrmia were satisfied for a time, subjecting the Nymph to endure on their behalf. Many prayers and poems were supplied with gracious intent, never to be heard by the inert idol. Though the ice dwelt deeper, blood never froze, and subjection to the conditions became a new mode of existence. Perhaps it felt no different than death, but survival and hope became alcohol in the true product's absence. For years, the remnants persisted this way. Even when growing sterile, blind, emaciated, and hunched, they were satisfied with escaping death. The Nymph had attained divinity of its own, becoming the core patron of Myrmicary's endurance. "Ruin
"Discontent grew nonetheless. Reticent survivors thought the Gift could be exploited, allowing for egress from Myrmicary in hopes of finding a livable home. Opposition was robust. Their reduced forms would neither survive the journey nor a future on the Other Side; even if the nearly forgotten Disciples arrived, many thought it unwise to welcome them. The walls were too small and seemed to shrink each day, leaving scarcely any room for the rising tension. Madness became an ever-present condition, and not a stolid mind remained to guide either party. Violence erupted in a manner unrecorded, aside from the catastrophic opening of the gates. Like tendrils, the snow climbed within the entrance before exploring the furthest caverns. The gust was so fearsome, exoskeletons locked in place. Though blood still flowed, their shells ensured each resident was supplied a coffin. The malcontents attempted to flee with the Nymph before their aspirations were swiftly resolved in the frozen dunes. One escapee, wiser than the rest, returned with the Nymph in his arms. In their destructive flight, the gates were rendered irreparable, and Myrmicary's fate was resolute. The events as they came to pass were of no matter to the Nymph. It perished in the catastrophe, never to experience another waking moment before the deed was done. The lifeless carapace, freed of Myrmicary's madness, reunited with its pedestal. The survivor, perhaps the last vestige of life in the mound, reunited with its god soon after. The scene was found by the Disciples of Thanatorum, but not before it was thawed by Summer. Of course, there had been no operation discussed or conceived to deliver the people of Winter from doom."
Type
City
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