At the time I was serving my apprenticeship with the Collegium, just a young man at the time, and part of a delegation who were helping record the history of this momentous occasion, as our diplomats tried to finalise the deal that would have seen the Grismarans take their place as part of the dominion. A place they rightly deserved, too, they were eloquent, graceful, intelligent, and some of the greatest hosts I have ever had the pleasure to break bread with.
Our lodgings at the time were close to the administrative district in the capital, a stoneâs throw from the proceedings, yet just far enough so that we did not seem to be pressuring them. It was truly beautiful. Even in hindsight, Iâd have not traded those few weeks, the opportunity to have seen with my own eyes the civilization at its peak, in exchange for what was to come next.
It was quick. Even to this day, Iâm not exactly sure how quick, our hosts did their best to hide the coming storm from us, it could have been minutes or hours before it reached us.
We were sat for dinner, a table filled with Grismaran delicacies, an attempt to show off, but, heh, not as if I was going to complain.
Two of our hosts were talking in hushed tones in the corner of the room. One seemed angry, berating the other through gritted teeth, trying not to draw our attention. That's when the chef entered.
They fell silent as they noticed him stood by the doorway, apron sullied, his posture awkward, like a man who had just awoke. They clearly knew something was wrong, but they did not have the time to voice their concerns. The chef threw himself at them, catching the angry one, and throwing him against the wall, laying blow after blow on him, knocking him to the floor. Some of our group started towards them, in the hopes of helping, but the quiet one called for us to run. We did, and he followed.
He tried to explain as we were shepherded out of the building. There had been reports of people going crazy, attacking everyone around them in a bloodthirsty rage. He did not know why, or where it started, but more and more of the crazed were being reported every minute, no one is to be trusted, friends and loved ones were turning on each other, with no motive or reason. Outside, the devastation was apparent. Smoke was rising above their once resplendent city, the streets filled with the ravenous, Grismara was in its death throes, and we were at its heart.
We spared no time heading to the shuttle which had brought us to what was slowly metamorphosing into a living hell.
We clambered aboard, and as I buckled myself into my seat, I saw our host at the entry hatch. One of our delegation said the last six words he would ever hear, without malice, or hate, just matter of fact. âNo one is to be trustedâ.
He pushed him off the loading ramp, and slammed the door.
As we took off, I watched from the window. Our host stood staring up at us, right until the last moment as the ravenous reached him.
I looked away, but I will never forget that look of betrayal in his eyes."
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stormborns
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