The Veyndralis Rot

TCOSA does not say "Veyndralis" out loud.

It was once a kingdom, a gem of the southern marches, gleaming with trade and knowledge. Its marketplaces extended for kilometers, its libraries were filled with music, and the sun itself was shown on its banners. Then, without any warning, without starvation or conflict, Veyndralis was engulfed by decay.

Not a single messenger ran away. No survivor hobbled over to a nearby hold. It was thriving one year and silent the next when caravans passed its boundaries.

Scouts were dispatched by the Hunters Corp. Only a few came back, feverish, vomiting, and with black blisters on their tongues. They described things that were part nightmare and half sense. Carrion-choked streets with liquid flesh that gathered in gutters. The weight of the fungus that grew overnight caused the towers to collapse. Never buried, never grieved, corpses sagged in windowsills and doorways, arms extended as if they were grasping for air.

It wasn't only the sight, though. It was the smell.

The scouts reported a strong smell that burnt the eyes, stuck to the skin, and gnawed at hair. Horses screamed and ran away. To avoid retching, men tore at their own throats. A stifling, noisy fog that carried sickness in every breath, the air itself appeared alive.

What swept over Veyndralis is unknown. Priests said that because the people had tainted Gaethara's gift of life, it was a punishment from her. Although there has never been another plague like it, scholars proposed one. Darker things were spoken by soldiers: that it was hunger, not illness. That creature slithered through the city, consuming everything and leaving behind nothing but decay.

The ruins are still locked today. The stones have crumbled and the flags have vanished, but the stench remains. According to travelers, the sweet, putrid, and decay-laden stench is carried across the plains by the shifting wind at night. Inhaling too deeply causes people to wake up with rib sores and memories that are not their own: images of feasts where food writhes, dance halls where bone oozes, and laughing that is drowned in choking fumes.

Veyndralis is described as a tragedy by the Calyra.

It is said to be cursed.

The troops refer to it as noisy.

And nobody is brave enough to go back.

The Missing Veyndralis Throne

The destiny of Veyndralis' royal dynasty is the most talked-about of all the things that happened to the noisy ruin. The people's testimonies contradict that Calyra's narrative that the royal house "died in mourning" after the city collapsed.

According to others, the King was the first to decay. His laughing turned to a scream at a feast in the crystal hall, which was illuminated by lofty lanterns. When he stood, his skin sloughed from his bones in sheets that dripped, his tongue turned black, and his teeth fell into his goblet one by one. Before the stench hit and they began to claw their own mouths raw, the visitors applauded and clapped, believing it was a play.

According to others, the Queen is still alive beneath the palace. That while her children were crying outside, she shut herself in her quarters. No corpse was discovered, and her door was never forced open when the rot arrived. It is whispered by travelers that occasionally her voice rises with the wind as it howls through the remains of the palace, a long, deep keening that calls for unanswerable rescue.

The children's story is the most graphic.

Soldiers broke into the nursery and reported that the beds were vacant. Little shoes and ribbons were all that were left. No dead bodies. Not a bone. This was deemed "unconfirmed" by the Calyra. However, the villagers give more sinister accounts, claiming that the rot itself, not death, took the children. That the obnoxious fumes entered their lungs, twisted them, and transformed them into something else. The halls are still populated by little, eyeless creatures that laugh in voices other than their own.

According to traditions, the youngest prince was buried alive in the vault of the palace. He was labeled "unclean" by Gaetharan clerics, not by adversaries. it is reported that his stone casket continues to drip blood.

If any of these tales is true, nobody can tell. Maybe all of them are. Maybe none. However, every adventurer, scavenger, and soldier who ventures near Vendralis is aware of this:

The bones are not chilled by deserted streets.

In the abandoned palace, it is the sound of footfall.

For warriors, it is too light. Men can't fit it.

And occasionally, at night, a child's wonderful, brilliant laugh can be heard coming from the windows.

"The story of Veyndralis is therefore doomed. Its crown is ash, and its throne is dust. TCOSA also persists."