Approaching the Garden
Searing 68, 124
It was once said that the land of Ecith wore a crown of three jewels, and each jewel was a city. To the north was Ailos, the shining beacon of hope, light of a thousand ages. In the center, Drathera, the Three Cities, nest of the Red Dragonflight and home of heroes and sages alike. And in the south...
Kythera.
A storied place, built with the sort of intentionality cities rarely got to benefit from. From the first moment, Kythera was envisioned as a celebration of life, a living monument to all the works of Raella and Aedrin. Its stone walls had been sculpted to flow in and around a thousand seedbeds, each one pregnant with the rich loams of a hundred lands. The Orks had boasted that every plant ever grown had some example in their garden- trees and flowers of the jungle, certainly, but also foreign biomes. Cacti and brush from the deserts of Ataraxia, volcanic flowers from the northern reaches, rare trees of Atinaw, and even strangely-colored displays of xenoflora which had never evolved upon Ransera, but instead survived the fall of the Boundless Empire.
And all of it had been lost. Worse than lost, really. Sacrificed. The jewel of an empire which had endured for centuries, detailed accounts of life which had been kept for countless generations... all of those things had been left to the onslaught of the Imperium, so that the Orkhan might survive. A canny maneuver, to be sure, a strategy worthy of the followers of Raxen and Skar. But many wondered if, in the end, it had not been mostly a gift to Grandfather Malgar.
Strangely, though, the Imperium hadn't been the ones to claim that prize. Trapped against the Gardens, they had turned on it with all of their beasts of war and smoke-belching engines of destruction and been repelled by something much worse.
It is said that the Queen of Kythera ravaged the city when she awoke, slaughtering Orkhan defenders and Imperial invaders alike by the hundreds, then the thousands. Her roots dug throughout the earth of the Gardens, touching every plant which had ever been and taking their essence unto herself, until she swelled with power and treachery. Her vines spread through the city, spearing soldiers and gardeners alike; and when that blood watered her vines, she bore fruit, filling the place with wooden simulacra of her victims.
Some feared, in those days, that they had somehow unleashed an apocolyptic catastrophe. Sages and ancient dragons alike watched the birth of this new Primal, and wondered if it would simply grow and spread until it had encompassed the entire continent, an unstoppable tide of assimilation. But the Queen's growth slowed as she neared the edges of the Gardens, and while her minions infested the surrounding forests, they seemed uninterested in any broader horizons.
Still, the Commonwealth did not trust this pause in the Queen's progress. For the past twenty years, a large camp has remained stationed on the edge of the newest primal's territory, using careful magic and spycraft to observe Kythera, to ensure that the Commonwealth is not taken by surprise... and perhaps, some day, to take back the lost jewel in Ecith's crown.
That is, until the Eclipse, when all communication was lost.
By the time the expedition reached Base Camp Kythera, it was an ex-Base Camp. Although the stone houses and small watchtower were intact, they were also overgrown, choked with vines. The doors were splintered, and the splinters were twisted into stunted, dead growths- all around the Base Camp were signs of chaos and struggle, though none seemed recent. Strangest of all, the whole camp was covered in a dusting of yellow powder which felt rough like sandpaper against the skin.
All of this was reported to the main expedition by the time they reached the Base Camp, of course, with the scouting team having gone ahead days prior to ascertain the situation. Still, although the Base Camp was decimated, Ooklo was unwilling to simply return to Drathera without first ascertaining what had happened.
"If they remain alive, we must aid them. If they are gone, we must mourn them. But we cannot suffer to leave their fates unknown." the veteran told the assembled expedition, mouth firm. This was met largely with agreement, for no Orkhan would abandon their brothers over a little danger. Then, too, some of the expedition's more unusual members had their own reasons for coming.
No sooner had the expedition begun to set up camp outside the Base Camp's walls, however, than disaster struck. Two of Norani Windwalker's scouts came down sick with some manner of fever and fell asleep. Neither died, but they could not be roused. Ooklo set up a quarantine, intending to care for them himself without risk to the rest of the members, and the next day, Major Alua summoned several of the Expedition's members, including Evandria the cartographer and Laebirus, the stranger. This time, the Great Witch Imogen also made an appearance, though she looked decidedly unwell, and kept herself upright by means of a brass staff topped with the largest pyrolith most of the members had ever seen.
The group assembled at a pavilion on a hill just below the yellow-coated walls of the Base Camp, and with a direct view of Kythera beyond. Even in ruins, the city looked unbelievable, like a scene from a dream. Not like something which people had ever been able to live in, walk about in, work in.
"Good morning." Major Alua said, though she didn't sound like her heart was in it, "I imagine you've all heard by now about the scouts who have taken ill. Ooklo is still tending to them, but he hasn't been able to figure out why they won't wake, except that they're filled with... an overabundance of life, he calls it."
Alua cleared her throat, glancing back at the Base Camp.
"For the moment, nobody else has gone in. We can't risk... well. But we also can't just sit here. I'm looking for any suggestions for how we find out what happened here, and whether there's anyone left to rescue, or if we're better off running back to Drathera with our tails between our legs."
