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Reference text ( Maintained text, used as reference ) :
Notes: (Nilstilar, 2022-12-23)

“

Introduction:
2481 was a fateful year for all of Hominkind and all people of Atys suffered deeply, but none suffered more from their own foolishness and arrogance as the Matis of old. It probably would not have mattered much, but surely many more lives could have been saved if not for the greed and paranoid thinking of old Matis nobles and military leaders.

As word got around that something was wrong in the deep desert and the imperial army completely occupied inside its own boundaries, Matis leadership only saw opportunity to settle old scores and to widen their sphere of influence. With the Fyros distracted, almost the whole of Matia’s standing army was set to march to the outer regions of Trykoth to wrestle valuable water sources from the small folk and snub their self-proclaimed protectors, the Fyros. As the great army left the deep woods, folk cheered them on and wished for them to return with glory and new land to settle. But then upon them came terror never known before and these few, long hours in the spring of 2481 became known as “The night of screaming shadows”.

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In my unending quest for new and or old stories to tell, I recently obtained permission to talk to one of the oldest citizens of the Verdant Heights.
After I had explained my endeavor to preserve what is left of our people's history to them, his family was kind enough to grant me an hour in the presence of this remarkable Homin,
A true survivor of the first Great Swarm. Someone who survived the terrible calamity back then and up to this day. By virtue of the blessed hands of Jena herself, I am sure.

As I arrived at the family's estate at the prearranged time I am greeted by a servant in a nice but not too ostentatious livre. The lady of the house welcomes me inside a nicely decorated reception hall and after we had exchanged the obligatory pleasantries we proceed deeper inside the house. Just as we had previously discussed, during the exchange of some few letters, so that I might conduct my business and leave the estate sooner rather than later.
It seems the dubious fame their ancient relative enjoys, is more of a burden than a blessing to the family.

I am led into a small room with soft green moss on the floor, beautiful hand-woven tapestries on the walls, depicting scenes from Jenas teachings - blessed be her name - and large, open windows, through which the daystar shines and paints gently moving shadows of leaves from the trees outside on everything.
The room smells of fresh flowers and a bit of incense.
Barely masking the smell of approaching death.
The old, nay ancient, feeble man on the bed, prodded up on soft cushions turns his gaze from the window and nods at me as I approach.
An impatient and rough gesture, as if to say:
“Get on with your silly questions and then get out.”
Though In his eyes I see something strange.
Sorrow and shame.

My curiosity piqued, I introduce myself to him with my most charming smile but he again simply nods. Though a bit kinder and less hurried than before.
As I sit down and his granddaughter, the Lady of the House, who is around my own age by the way, tells him again what I intended to do, he lets out a deep sigh.
I am here to listen, I gently say to him, to record his tale and keep it preserved for our people.
His chest rises and falls a few times then his eyes find the beautiful day outside again and he starts to tell his tale in a halting voice, cracking with emotion:

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“I remember … Yes, I remember.
It isn’t even hard for me to recall those hours and moments. For they’re burned into my mind forever and the sights of this night have been etched into my eyes with the sharp blade of a master craftsman.

I was a young member of the city watch. Just a few short weeks ago I had joined up and I was hoping to be promoted into the palace guard someday and from there eventually into the royal guard. Little did I know that my promotion was never to come.

I still don’t know if I’m to be proud of my deeds that night. Thinking of what came of them later. But that’s not our point here, is it?

You want to know about the last night of the old empire, the “Night of Claws”, or “Night Of Screaming Shadows” as some like to call it oh so poetically. Well, a night of claws it definitely was, and also many, many screaming shadows … My own voice among them.

The previous day our army had left for Trykoth to officially “reclaim” some territories that would guarantee our kingdom a steady water supply in the years to come. As the rearguard vanished around the first bend of the mighty “Nobles Road”, obscured from view by the forest’s ancient trees, I longed to be with them. To reach glory and claim heroic deeds that would ensure my name a place in the records of our people. Little did I know that the fourth night after the army had left and was now far away, would bring “heroic” deeds for me to last more than one lifetime.
That day passed with our normal duties.
As did the following three days and nights.
Peaceful and quiet they were, those last days of our empire.

On the fourth evening a few comrades and I were on our way to the watch house to begin our shift from dusk until dawn. It was warm and the streets were filled with the normal hustle and bustle of the hour just before the shops would close for the night.
All of us had been speculating on how long it would take the army to return and what might be keeping the Fyros from their duty of protecting the Tryker borders for the last, endless shifts of guarding a city we were convinced was impregnable and as safe as Jenas lap.

“Maybe the little crabs haven’t paid them lately.” One of my comrades mused aloud.
Another replied:

“No, they paid alright but the Fyros are tired of constantly watching that payment. For if not, the puddle-jumpers would steal it right back from under their sand clogged noses.” We all laughed at that, except for our squad leader, an older Matis with a spotless record in the service. He looked on with a thoughtful expression.

“I heard they're fighting. - Some speak of a new great fire, others of an unknown army that is attacking the empire from its southern border. Still others speak of monsters … ” His voice trailed off.

“Monsters!” I replied laughing.

“Surely these monsters will run from the Fyros upon first sight, for no self respecting monster will hurt something more ugly than itself.”

Everyone laughed at this and I momentarily felt proud. - Silly, I know.

We walked on to the watch house unaware of the change that went through the city at first. Then one of our comrades fell behind, walking slower, his head slightly tilted to the right, as if listening to something. We stopped our banter and waited for him to catch up.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Don't you hear that?” he said.

Now we all stopped and listened. A strange, low buzzing sound could be heard above the normal conversations and sounds of the marketplace. From far off, the cracking of branches was becoming audible, as if something huge was moving through the undergrowth. Before we could wonder much longer a blood curdling scream pierced the peaceful atmosphere from above us.

We all looked up and at first I wasn’t sure what I was seeing. People were running from the gentle arch of one of the walkways stretching between two hometrees. A large, dark shadow moved there with unnatural speed, flickering in the half-light of the canopy. Then something dropped over the railing, off the walkway and fell down right onto our path.

At first I thought it was a branch or part of the ornamentation of the bridge’s arch.
But when something wet splashed against my cheek, as the thing landed right at my feet with an audible thump,I realized what it was.

Dumbstruck we all stared at the severed arm that lay before us. Horrified I watched as its fingers moved in a last spastic clutch. When my own raised hand came away from my face it was red with blood.
Again we heard screams.

All around the city now voices were raised in alarm and abject terror. As I looked up again, what I saw almost made the blood freeze in my veins. The strange shadow we’d seen moved away from the archway. It flew through the air with predatory ease, its huge wings buzzing and trailing blood behind it, flowing in crimson streams from the struggling form of a Homin speared on its front extremities. Then the giant insect shook itself violently and the man dropped from its stinger, his limp form plummeting to the ground to crash into a shrub beside us.

The crash startled us from our shocked stupor. As one we began running towards the guardhouse, shouldering our way through the panic and confusion milling around us. Everyone was running somewhere or looking for someone, their panicked screams echoing through the streets. All around the city the forest seemed to move with unseen presences. The alarm bells of the guardhouse began tolling their shrill notes to summon every available man to arms, and when we arrived many of our comrades were already armed and ready to move out against our attackers. But still many more didn’t have a clue to what we were up against, and Jena, I wish we’d never known.

Over the confused din our Captain shouted orders for us to calm down and do our duty. We grabbed our pikes and ran after him, out into the streets again.

We tried to make our way to the outskirts of the city, but before we were even halfway across the town center people came running towards us. I had never seen - and never have seen again - so many terrified Homins. They were shouting and screaming something about the forest coming for them and snatching away friends, loved ones, and strangers alike. Some raved of monsters that suddenly appeared from the undergrowth and attacked whatever was in their way, others cried of flying beasts that tried to enter the upper floors of hometrees. We ran on, my lungs burning from the effort, until our squad finally reached the outskirts of town.

There everything was eerily quiet except for the buzzing that was becoming louder by the minute. No Homins were about, the smaller buildings abandoned and all hometrees and gates locked against the invaders.
The wall that was more of a glorified fence truth be told, seemed flimsy and somehow inappropriate to hold back the fear that was slowly creeping out of the dark forest into our hearts. The forest that had for so long protected and nurtured the Matis people. That in conjunction with the thick wall of woven fiber, bark and living branches had withstood anything that had tried to best it in the past.
Cautiously, we moved towards the forest’s edge. Never before had these woods seemed so dark, so malignant to me. I thought I saw movement there, between the tall trees and the lush undergrowth; something incredibly fast, scuttling about.
As we carefully approached the bushes a deep hiss emerged from them. Cautiously, against all better judgment, we took a step closer. I held my breath, my heart thumping in my ears and my throat. I heard some of my comrades do the same but still we all yelped like frightened Yubos as something burst from its hiding place.

It was fast as a falling star, its dark green carapace, speckled with light brown, glistening in the glow of the streetlights. It rushed at us with such ferocity, it took all of us by surprise. Four of its legs tapped a staccato on the hard ground as it raced towards us, front legs raised high, like vicious spears, ready to pierce us. Its flat, wide head was lowered like a shield to protect its strangely round torso. It was taller than a grown Matis, than even a grown Zoraï. It fiercely hacked and stabbed at us with its front legs. Growling and roaring horribly. Together the eight of us slashed it apart with our pikes, keeping our distance, avoiding its madly flailing legs.

As it lay twitching before us, in a growing pool of yellow blood, we gathered around it.

“What in Jena’s Name is that?”

“Damned if I know.”

“It’s a spider, see its legs?”

“A spider’s got eight legs, this one’s only got six. It’s some kind of bug.”

“It’s a really big bug.”

“Keep it together folks, we don’t know if there are any more out there,” our Squad Leader said cautiously, keeping his voice low.

“Right, we better keep our eyes open. At last they’re easy to kill…”

At that very moment the buzzing in the background again grew louder. Beyond that, the citizens' screams increased in volume as well. The frantic ringing of the guardhouse bells nearly drowned in the horrific cacophony.

A terrible, inhomin shriek pierced the darkness from beyond the limits of the city. It was answered by another and another a little to our left and right, followed by other unnatural screeching cries and deep growls.
Chattering, hissing sounds emerged from the forest all around the city.
From up above we heard the sound of breaking branches. Something big was crashing through the canopy.

Then the darkness beyond our sparse light came alive. I still only remember impressions of disturbingly thin legs and bodies dislodging themselves from trees where they had been crouching, camouflaged in the dark. All around us the forest came alive, and it was headed straight towards us.

Horrified, half of us turned and ran. Two others, our Squad Leader and I, remained behind.
We tried to keep them back.
But it was like standing against a raging river.
They flowed around and over us.
Within seconds my comrades fell beside me.
I repeatedly stabbed the body of a small, green Insect that had dug its claws into the Squad Leaders throat until it was dead and he lay beside it, unmoving. I say small, but only compared to those who kept stalking the night around us.
It was bigger than a young Mektoub.
I held a bigger one back from killing the man beside me, when another jumped into the fray from the side and dragged him away. His screams mingled with those of the dying city.”

Here the old man falters in his tale for a moment, his blue eyes fill with tears and he looks down upon his hands folded in his lap.
He remains silent for a span, then again sighs heavily and continues. His voice filled with deep sorrow.

“I freely admit it and I’m deeply ashamed of it, but after this moment, witnessing the futility of what we were doing, I ran for my life. All of us ran that night. There wasn’t a single soul that didn’t. We didn’t stand a chance. Those poor, brave souls who stayed behind to fight; they were never seen again. Most of us simply ran and never looked back, or ran right into the claws of the Kitin.

Of course back then they didn’t go by that name. Nobody had yet bothered to attach names to the different monsters. They were just there.
Nameless horrors that killed everyone and everything they got their claws on. Man, woman, child or beast of burden.
Those monsters moved through the city like reapers through a field of wheat, harvesting terror and blood. Streaming in hundreds or even thousands from the forest, dropping onto archways from the low canopy, climbing up and down hometrees or simply ripping away the bark like it was paper and crawling inside to get at the soft life hiding inside. They flew through the cold air, picking up people while in mid-flight, without even slowing, their pincers and stings sharp as swords, ripping and tearing, letting their bodies drop to join the mutilated remains of friends and family below.

I remember my first glimpse of what came to be known as a Kipesta. It swooped down from the canopy onto a group of Homins huddled beneath a great root. At first trying to reach them with the stingers at its back. Contorting itself in horrible ways to get at its prey. Then seemingly realizing the futility of this, deflating its strange secretion sack into the hollow. The small space where the people were hiding was immediately filled with searing flames. I was too far away to do anything, too surprised and appalled by this perversity against nature.
I was unable to do anything but stare.
The screams of those trapped and burning alive in that small space still haunt my dreams after all these years.

I saw the heavily armored forms of Kipukas crash through the brush outside, the wall and the city. Crushing any resistance beneath their massive legs. Trampling, piercing every living thing in their paths.
Kincher scuttled about their feet, cutting to red ribbons everything that still moved.

These weird things, shaped like mushrooms, sprayed a paralyzing mist around themselves.
Something massive, big, black and white, with glowing yellow eyes tore down the belltower of our headquarters. Burying those of my fellow watchmen that had barricaded themselves in there forever.

I’m not certain how and if I even should feel lucky that I survived. Jena knows it's more of a punishment to live with my shame.
I ran, dropped my pike and ran. Dodging other Homins and giant insects alike, fleeing headlong into the forest, running until my legs gave way and I dropped to the floor unconscious from shock and exhaustion. Days later I found another group of refugees and we made our way to a Karavan camp they had heard of.

That is my shameful tale and I will tell no more.”

一━══ ⧼⧽ ══━一

With that the old man goes silent and sullen again. I am unable to confirm his story, though we of course have encountered the Kitin in these New Lands again.
We can only hope that these horrors will never happen again and that these lands will be spared a second swarm.

  Lylanea Vicciona, Bard of the Four Lands