Plaga Mother of the Pest

The Sky, the very air of Night, has become unnatural thick. It carried an heavy essence, an special touch what promised nothing good. An Mixture, an special crafted poision from Something very old and long forgotten. The Decay itself has returned to this World. Its smell was also embedded in the Sky, in the Air. Like an Parfume made of Poison everywhere. Without any Place to run or hide.

This Magic has even swallowed the Stars, the Moon. Everything has dissapeared into an everlasting and eternal Darkness. Whispers and Rumors begann to spread, among those with the Knowledge of the Ancient Scrolls. An Name of an Ancient Goddess. Not even the scrolls have known her Name. Plaga herself the Goddess of Decay has begun to Touch the City. To fortify her grip on this so beautiful to the Gods themselves bound City. Her Grip had Lotringen away from the Heaven.

Once the Streets of Lotringen was an blooming Paradies of Trade and Wealth. The City of all Citys. Often The City was called an Paradies on Hearth. An Paradies? No not for everyone. For some it was already before an Prison. But now with Plagas touch, it shall become an Prison for everyone. No Matter if Young or Old, Men or Women, King or Priest, Rich or Poor. They all found themselves now in an Graveyard. Even the Wind had Plaga poisioned. The Howl of the Wind, was an silent whisper. In that whisper was Something, what creeped slowly in the Ears of the People. Begining slowly to corrupt and change them.

Like on an magical and themselves an unknown Command, the People have come together. Everywhere in the City. It was like they couldnt resist to watch the Nightmares what was about to begin.

An Promise, so old that time itself had forgotten it. The People kneelt in the bload soaked streets of Lotringen. Their faces was blank, an hollow shell of the horror they stepped into. The Color, their Hope in their Eyes had dissapeared.

Now they are the broken Ones, the Lost Ones and the Forsaken Ones. Those who dared to speak her Name out, was the first People she claimed. They all Thought she was just an Illusion, an trick of their Minds. Now she shoves them the true meaning of her Name, desperation and madness. Now they would be hers, bound to her.

Plaga had answered, the call of Injustice. Everyone could feel her presence. An coldness so heavy, it gone through Flesh and Bones. The pressure made it so hard to breathe for the People. She was there, right between them all, even when she was unseen through their Human Eyes. Her whispers crowed stronger and begun to fill the minds of the faithful ones. An Sound like the rustling of dead leaves. The clearer her whispers got, the more unclear it was. Her words was like an song, made of riddles, going like an Knive through their heads. An Voice what didnt wanted to dissapear. No her words was worser then that, then they touched everything. Mind, Body, Heart until she reached their Souls.

The whispers dissapeared, just to be followed by her full devine Voice. Full of hate for the People of this City. "Look what you have brought yourself into," her voice murmured, both distant and close at once. An own miracle for the Mind, as the though of it came from the ground beneath their feet, but also from the Skys itself.

"See the Empire, the Paradies, the Heaven you have built, from the Bones of the Fallen. It is not in your Rights to claim, not for you to hold. Not for you to own. You, who have slaughtered your own, who have poisoned the Earth. Do you really seek now my favor. Do you think I will save you? That i will grant you any mercy?"

The City gone silent, as the words sank deep into their hearts. But they didnt flee. They just could not. The Plague had already taken an hold of their Spirits and their Souls. Plagas Gift and Curse at once. It was not an illness of the Body alone. No but of their souls. Something what gone so deep until their very essence. They had called for Vengeance, for Justice. What they got was far worser. Cause in her eyes they all was the Plague.

"We have done the unthinkable," a voice whispered from the Crowd. One of the many broken voices that had once shouted and yelled for Liberation and Justice. "But what else is left now for us instead of embracing her? What else but her touch, her Gift of Death itself?"

There was no Answer at first, only the sound of the Wind. The rustling whisper of the dead leaves. Then, the Earth itself had opened its Mouth, Plagas Voice returned.

"Yes," she breathed, her voice like the wind in the Trees. An cruel mockery of live itself, like the sigh of a thousands of dying Stars. "You are mine now. You who have thrown away your humanity, who have drowned in the filth of your own Creation. I will take you, body and soul. I will stain you, as you have stained this world. But do not think for a moment, that I will spare you or grant any mercy. You will serve me, not as slaves, but as Instruments of my Will to heal this World from its Plague called Humanity."

Like an Shake itself runned through Lotringens Earth, the Bodys of eberyone trembled under her Words. They could feel her Power, Ancient and terrible, how its weaving through the bones of the Earth itself. The city, with its crumbling walls and its darkened Sky, seemed to Pulse with the Rhythm of her wrath. The heartbeat of something raging and uncaring.

"Let the Plague take you, let it consume you as whole," the voice of Plaga rang out. "You are already dead, in ways more than one. Your Minds are broken, your Spirits are tainted. And yet, you will march forward. Because now I am the breath in your lungs, the blood in your Veins. The Kings have fallen, and you, the Forgotten Ones, will rise in their place. The world will know the weight of my Judgment."

The people did not resist. How they could. Their Flame to Fight was long gone. Their wills had been crushed beneath the weight of their own Sins. Now they stand ready to embrace whatever came next. They had asked for her, begged for her, perhaps even loved her. In some twisted way, for what she offered and what no one else could give. A chance to be something greater than themselves, a chance to wield Power, to burn the World and start a new true Paradies.

But in the depth of their desperation, they had forgotten the cost. The dead do not rise to rule the living. The living who serve Plaga become like her, consumed by the very Plague which they had summoned.

And so it began. The Earth quaked once more, but this time, it was not a tremor. It was the opening of the Gates, the Veil between Life and Death splitting wide. Allowing the Spirits of the Fallen to move forth, their wails a chorus of Anguish and Fury. The dead of Lotringen, who had long been forgotten, who had once been Soldiers, Farmers, Parents, Lovers begun to rise. Not as they once were, but as twisted, rotting husks, bound to the will of Plaga. As their empty Instruments.

Their bodies were her vessels, their souls her servants.

The living watched, horrified but helpless, as the dead took their place. Moving through the streets with an eerie silence. Their eyes was empty and their hands reaching for the living. A new order had been established, one built on the backs of the dead and the forsaken. Lotringen was no longer a City of the living, it was Plaga’s domain.

And as her wrath spread, as her influence grew, the skies above Lotringen darkened further. Until it seemed as the sun itself had abandoned them. A pale, sickly light flickered over the city, but it was not the light of hope, it was the Light of Decay, of Death.

Plaga had risen.

And with her rise, so the death also had rise in Lotringen.

Plaga, the Mother of the Plague, had come to claim her Children.

The Streets fell into a hushed stillness, a silence so profound it was as if the city itself held its breath. The living, came together, stared at the grotesque procession of the dead with eyes wide in Terror and reverence. The scent of rot thickened. An suffocating reminder of the line they had crossed and the price they now pay.

Among them, a child whimpered, clutching a broken Doll to her chest. Her Mother, gaunt and hollow eyed, pulled her close. Whispering prayers to a goddess who offered no Salvation. The dead turned their heads as one, their movements was synchronized.

Plaga's Reign had begun.