Global Effects
Solinar: Farmers speak of failing crops and sick, if not dead cattle. Their soils, they claim, are tainted by a substance that no plant can survive and grow in, not even sand dwelling plants such as tha cactus. The cows, sheep and pigs bread nearby that have eaten imperfect grass have been noted to fall ill within several days. No humans are yet reported as stricken by similar effects, but were one to feel nausea strike them, the hospital urges they approach the experts there for further examination.
Messengers have been sent along trade routes with a handful of guards to fend off the restless dead to deliver messages to each of the major cities with which they deal, but only where food is considered. So far:
Hinshire has had word of the tainted food. Westport has had no word from Solinar Nherazkar has had no word from Solinar Zheradan has had word of the tainted food Crossroads have had word of the tainted food. The barbarian lands have had word of the tainted food.
Stone slabs, brick walls and iron gates have begun to show signs of erosion, even after this small time. Tiny bubbles have bitten into the substances, but this can hardly be considered structural damage. Thatched roofs have begun to leak rather constantly in times of rain, and woods within houses begun to creak and bend, evidently weakened. Those who were forced to slum these conditions with little more than a bag to cover their form and a tin roof will wield great scars and cuts and sores, assuming of course they can still struggle to breathe. The dead have been taken to graveyards and morgs for further study.
Nherazkar:
Ever pressured by the threat of marauding dead outside of their walls, Nherazkar has been silent for many moons. Their frigid temperatures seem to protect them from the falling acidic rains, the great kingdoms defences as strong now as they ever were, but this does not stop the terrifying cries of infected tundra drakes throwing their tainted voices across the baron snow-blind plains night after night, nor the threat of a thousand dead creeping just out of eyes reach in the tenacious blizzards. Trade has all but been cut off from this area, but the people who live there are a hardy group, only toughened by each and every challenge brought their way. If there is no deer, they will fish, if there is no wood, they will use drums of oil to stay warm.
For those who live in Nherazkar, or have been there for an extensive period since the dead have begun walking the lands
Life has indeed been hard for you. Prices within the walls of food and furs have risen, where prices of weapons and armours and ores have dropped. Among the most expensive of trade materials are coal, wood, food and fur, be it mink, rat or yak. Fires during the night time seem to be few and far between, only the rich and the noble have the fortuitousness to be blessed with the flames of the lord of terror of late, but you know that as long as your heart beats, then his flame is still rithe within you.
If you are not a noble or not rich, or you are, but do not wish to sacrifice 6,000 gold coins to represent three months of buying things to burn at the increased rate, then the cold of every night have bitten you to the brink of giving up. You are lucky to achieve three hours of sleep a night before the bitter winds leech through your thick stone walls and into your very flesh. As a result -1 constitution will be taken from you until further notice, but you will receive a hardiness bonus of 5 resistance vs cold damage due to prolonged exposure to the bitter winds.
Westport:
Only an idiot would use undead against such zealots as these. Lady Scyla and her finest would certainly not take kindly to being attacked in the night by the gnawing teeth of the dead and yet, through the marshes rise corpses which march to the scent of flesh as with any other town. Arrows and swords easily see these abominations slaughtered, and flame vanquishes them as they would any other man, creature or beast, though still they venture from between the trees towards the nearest meal.
The surrounding swampland is very resilient to the falling acids, many plants and flowers shrug off the effects of the falling rains. Scouts report that the nearby gremlins and lizard men rejoice daily as these acidic rains tumble to the ground and partake in shamanistic rituals to their most beloved of gods, sacrificing their own in thanks and casting the corpses to the swamps, that they might be graced by their gods touch. Such actions have seen reptilian abominations waltzing with the men and elves that tumble towards your gates.
Foods imported from Solinar seem as regular as normal, though some perhaps a little wilted and damaged by the rainfall. Citizens are wise enough to know a good turnip from a bad one, however, and those which are damaged are thrown to the dogs and the rats. As with solinar, the stone structures and iron gates show signs of damage, and thatched roofs may as well not exist at all, merchants canvas even shows signs of tearing and weakening as the acidic storms continue.
To those who play a Westport citizen:
The rain bites as hard on your everyday life as it would in any other city. Your houses are beginning to suffer and the dead wander your trade routes. People you once knew, or even just glimpsed from afar no longer wander this city and there are times in which you have taken to celebrating the memories you shared with what friends remain, and give thanks to the gatekeeper for seeing them safe behind the gates.
Scouts that leave the gates, trained as they may be oft return fewer in number, this is something you have witnessed personally, and each trade load of supplies, be that silks, canvas, linen, spices or ores comes with its wounded. The walk to Westport from any other town is a long and dangerous one, even without the threat of the damned.
Despite losing friends and allies, you are not stricken by loss of moral, nor do the surroundings plague upon your body.
Crossroads:
The crossroads perhaps suffer the most from the rains and the dead. Foliage begins to wilt and seep tears of sap from its stems and branches, despite the druids best efforts to keep the shrines and woodlands cleansed of the hateful spittle that falls from above. The dead roam easily between every tree and your tiny walls and gates are no issue for them at all. The structural damage to your wooden gates threatens to grant access to any two or three zombies or skeletons who might push against them. Thankfully, however, druid initiates and hinshire crossbow men are working around the clock to see the crossroads a safe sanctuary to all who would happen across them. Even the drow would be welcome here, say some of the inhabitants, be that in a spiteful tone or in a serious one, in this time of need.
To those who are a crossroad/hinshire citizen or militant.
Citizens are often kept up at night by the groans of approaching marauders and the release of heavy crossbow bolts firing from behind gates and walls, as well as druidic chants and natural elements seeping from their finger tips. Your moral is down, but your heart is high and you have faith in your people and your god, and you will never surrender or give up. The result of your sleepless nights and low morale is a -2 against bluff checks and -5 against perception checks (spot, listen), you are in a groggy state of mind.
Militia and guardsmen and druids who wish to have aided in the fight to keep the crossroads safe will suffer an additional -1 constitution. You have perhaps achieved an hour of sleep a night. Once relieved of your post you crash and get as much sleep in as you can before the sounds of combat wake you from your slumber and you lay restless. Your muscles ache, you can't remember the last time you ate, nor the last time you were forced to wench your crossbow or bow back this many times, but your heart is strong and will never cease to beat without aid of claw or knife.
-- more to come --
_________________ Never under estimate the power that language imparts. Sticks and stones may break your bones, but words can break hearts.
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