| Six Months Ago - Somewhere to the west of the Kingdom
"Jonathan Tisbitt," cried out a voice. "Get your encumbered butt over here, right now!" The young man who was carrying the picnic supplies seemed not to hear, or at least he acted like he didn't. Instead of returning to the group of young gentlemen and maidens, he continued forward, running with the basket over his head, skipping over stones and leaping over rocks. The grass of the highland was only ankle-high making such sport possible. The one thing that poor Jonathan Tisbitt didn't expect was for their party to be crashed by a dragon. . . Three Months and Two Weeks Ago - Somewhere in the sea south of the Kingdom "Blymie," sighed a swab. "Here we be, searching fer the fabled Silver of Ophir and all we find are the bones of some poor bastard chained on some rock jutting itself from out of the lonely sea." "Aye," answered another of the pirates. "And a damn curious thing there is about those bones: there be a name etched into the left thigh bone." "Eh?" started the swab. "Name?" "Aye," continued the pirate. "Etched into the bone, as if by a knife, is the name J. Tisbitt." . . Two Weeks Ago - Not far from the Archipelago The sounds of crying could be heard throughout the hospice. The ScribbWifes were trying their best to ease the pain of the accursed sick. The plague had come to the tiny island principality of Normann - brought by the filthy pirates of the surrounding isles. "Aaaiiiieeeeeee!!!!" cried out a youth no older than twelve seasons. "The Spann'ysh be damned!' yelled one of the ScribbWifes. "How can we stop this madness when it comes from the very rot of their egotistical, egomaniacal, and bloodthirsty souls?!!?" Only one man seemed not disheartened by the cries, screams, and depression of the horror about them. He stood, eyes soaking in every detail; the huddled masses, those with the blisters and the puss, the dying screaming out curses and blessings, or reliving some moment from their past as if it were now. The man watched, passive, not caring, as if detached from it all. He took note of how the skin would bulge, stretch, and then turn unnatural colours; first a purplish, then a bland yellow, and finally black. The color black permeated the isle, and surrounded by the agony of the inhabitants, the man smiled. . . Present - What was the Principality of Normann Thirteen people huddled together in a lower cave below the main barracks. They were thirsty, hungry and mostly out of their minds. They had watched their families, their friends, even their enemies die - and their only comfort was to know that the pain suffered by their loved ones was over. As for them, they had been waiting, in some perverse form of hope, for the Daemon to catch them. That's what they called it, the Daemon. It was more than simply sickness, it was more than a wicked witch's curse, it seemed alive, following you, looking for you, lusting for your very soul. The Daemon had consumed every human being on the isle but for thirteen unfortunate souls. And in their unenviable survival they knew not if they were the last humans left in the world. . . Present - Isla de Malagua A group of werecats lay on the sandy beach, the sun warming their fur
in a delightful play of light and heat. They had been discussing their
homelands, and their families, and the Plague. They had wondered what would
become of the few straggling Human survivors of the Plague, if they would
go insane or become even stronger than before, if not in physical strength
then at least in their will to survive. After some time they tired of such
talk and returned to their sunbathing on the sands of the beach.
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