The walls shuddered with the impact of another projectile. Massive boulders rained down on the city launched by siege engines Falion didn’t think were within the technological imagination of the Laorin. As the midday sun beat down, he could make out their long, spindly forms massing in the fields beyond the wall. Laorin wasn’t the name they had for themselves, rather it was borne of disregard for a subjugated race. Falion didn’t believe anyone in the city knew their true name or cared to at this point.
The price of that hubris crashed into the city walls again and again, sending shockwaves through the streets.
For generations the Laorin had been nothing more than howling brutes, reduced to keening in the forests to the east. They would occasionally venture out in raiding parties, preying on merchants traveling the Royal Highway and the woodsmen in the logging camps at the border, but such attacks were sporadic and disorganized. Falion stared in awe of the engineering marvels in the distance and the single minded malice that must have spawned them. Like all Laorin structures, they were planted and grown, their purpose sung to them as they took root, their shapes tended by the scions of the forest. Primitive, but effective.

The living constructs were a divergence from anything Falion knew about the Laorin people. Despite their arboreal appearance, these atrocities lurched forward as their roots plunged into the soil and propelled them forward. They were monstrous in appearance, no doubt twisted by the distilled hatred of oppression.
He could hear the din of battle far away, but slowly drawing nearer. He imagined the clamor and chaos of the general populace gathered in terror at the docks, the unimaginable press of bodies fighting, clawing, tearing at each other to board the evacuation ships in the harbor. He didn’t know how many ships were in port, but it wouldn’t be enough. It would never be enough. The Laorin would descend upon them in wrath and fury.
A boulder crashed into a building near him, shards of stone pelting him and choking him with dust. He wouldn’t be caught like so many of the panicked masses. His path took him up to the castle keep and the secret escape tunnel his guild had been tasked with cutting into the foundation. Many months of digging a path through the rock to cut a path all the way to the cliffs and from there, a sharp descent to a hidden cove from which the prince’s skiff could quickly catch the currents north toward the capital. Falion himself had drafted the plans for the mechanism that released the hatch on the false wall in the armory. He had no illusions that the prince’s boat would be waiting for him, but a few rowboats that had carried supplies to the ship would still be lashed within the protected alcove.
Falion ran along the main avenue toward the castle until his lungs burned and his legs ached. He wasn’t out of shape by any means but he was accustomed to leisurely errands across the city for his master, not endless sprinting the guild halls like the early days of his apprenticeship. Shouts erupted from the square ahead and he ran faster. Shouting meant soldiers, soldiers meant safety and safety at the moment meant one more thing between him and the city walls.

A command post had been set up hastily in the center of the square. From there, dispatches and reinforcements could be sent down the three main arteries of the city, the western road toward the docks, the southern road toward the living quarters and the eastern road toward the walls and the heaviest fighting. Nobody paid Falion any mind as he ran through the square, another refugee scrambling for cover.

Suddenly, boulders crashed into the street he had just come from. He dropped to the ground and covered his head as rubble and debris showered down around him. Susurrations filled the air followed by a low moaning. A sickly sweet scent drifted his direction and made him gag, like orchids rotting in the sun. Shambling forms lurched forward toward the massed soldiers who stood in shock. The Laorin were a tall, graceful people and these monstrosities had clearly been made in their image. Standing as tall as two men, twisting branches and vines formed the carapace that held together a soft, spongy substance that formed the bodies of these creatures. Two blotches on the head made for eyes and tendrils and gills fanned open to form a sort of mouth. From within that maw came a hissing gurgle, like water through a broken, rusty pipe.

Arrows whistled through the air and sank deep into the soft flesh causing the creatures to recoil, but continue their charge. Their arms were a tangled mess of vines that suddenly lashed together to form dagger points as they thrust into the shield wall with tremendous force. Pikes stabbed deep gouges but the creatures flailed back and forth, batting them away. Their trunk like legs kicked into shields, breaking arms and sending men flying. From atop their heads, more vines wriggled in the sunlight, then bound together tightly into sharp spikes and whipped forward, piercing through leather and mail.

Falion turned and ran as fast as he could.
He rounded a corner and skidded to a halt. He had distantly wondered what he would do if he reached the portcullis and found it closed. In all his life he had only ever seen it raised, but what he saw before him made him start. The seemingly impenetrable iron wrought gate was twisted and ripped from its housing. Vines like ivy sprouted from the flagstone itself and climbed the stone archway on either side and wrapped around the thick bars. He knew the Laorin were capable of commanding plants to spontaneous growth, but this was different to the shambling horrors he had left behind in the square. Even with their immense strength, it would have taken hundreds to rip the gate down, much less warp the metal into scrap. To Falion’s eye the vines had peeled the gateway open like an overripe fruit.
Falion stood in mute amazement, then looked around wildly. There were no signs of battle, no bodies littering the courtyard, no disorder at all. Suddenly feeling very exposed, he hurried through the gate. As he passed underneath the archway, he noticed the ivy was speckled with red and brown spots. Pushing it from his mind, he continued to run until he was able to enter the keep through the smaller side door just beyond the royal stable.
Once inside, he was struck by the utter silence that assaulted him. The keep was usually heavily trafficked, dignitaries and diplomats clogging the main halls and a veritable army of servants rushing about their errands. Silence greeted him, the halls empty and abandoned.

There was an eerie heaviness in the kitchens, a sense of wrongness about the room. No sounds came to his ears, even the ever present crash of projectiles had fallen away.
His footsteps echoed loudly in his ears as he gingerly picked his way across the kitchen.
When he approached the far door, he noticed something amiss.
From one of the high windows, ivy spilled into the room, spreading out across the wall and behind the cupboards. Falion peered closer at the red and brown spots on the ivy leaves, as if it was afflicted by some kind of blight. There were no signs of dramatic destruction like at the gatehouse, Falion wondered why the plant would have spread in here. He shook his head, he had neither the time nor expertise to theorize about such matters.

Falion moved into the hallway and quickly made his way down the spiral stairs to the armory. There were no torches lit in the sconces and he cursed himself for not thinking to bring one from the workshop. He debated returning to find one, but remembered that even the ovens were extinguished and none of the braziers he had passed were lit during the day. Huffing with annoyance, he continued down the stairs into the gloom. There would be windows in the armory if he remembered the technical drawings correctly, but the stairwell was shrouded in darkness. Another renovation project to add to the list, assuming the castle was still standing after the battle. Assuming he ever returned.
As he descended, the air became fetid and warm. He held a hand to the wall and it came away slick with some viscous liquid. Falion felt a pit in his stomach, suddenly unsure if he’d prefer a light to see what he was touching. He wiped his hands on his jerkin and stepped into the armory.
His heel slid from underneath him. Whatever had coated the walls was covering the floor as well. A noxious stench wafted up and he nearly retched. Twin beams of light shone sickly and dim from the slitted windows on the near wall to his left. He looked to see the windows were choked with the same ivy he had seen before, wending its way across the walls and wrapping around the arms and armor stored against the wall. The steel blades, bucklers and breastplates were crushed and bent at horrible angles, faring no better than the iron gate he had passed through before. Some sort of brackish brown liquid was dripping from the ivy, oozing across the flagstones. He stepped cautiously, careful not to slip in the muck underfoot and made his way to the hidden alcove near the furthest corner. Storage crates had been stacked to conceal the opening, but they now were pushed aside with reckless abandon exposing the open portal, no doubt by the prince and his entourage as they made their way to the tunnel. An unlit torch hung in a sconce nearby with flint and a steel knife on one of the crates that hadn’t been upset. Falion lit the torch and stepped inside.

Falion dropped from the entrance into the tunnel. He was below the foundations of the castle now, brick and mortar which rested upon the very bones of the earth. When he had reviewed the blueprints for the castle keep, his mind filled with angles and dimensions, materials and counterbalances that would erect the tallest spires that one might stand atop and brush the face of god. There was no consideration for the land his construction sat upon other than was it stable and could it potentially be quarried. When they had broken ground into the abandoned catacombs beneath the city, it was a curiosity at best, tested for its structural integrity and then blocked off to secure the passage for the prince. That blockage was pulled apart now, and a soft light flickered within.
Falion was eager to put the horrors of the day behind him and breathe deep the salty air of freedom, but something pulled at him. He felt his senses dull and his head become foggy. His limbs felt heavy and he dropped them to his side, his fingers letting the torch fall to the ground. His feet carried him into the opening without his conscious involvement. He looked down in lethargic stupor and saw the ivy covering the floor of the crypt, covering the skulls of a long forgotten people.
He was compelled forward, entranced by the light dancing on the walls. He saw a golden orb floating before his eyes, then another one. The air was filled with hundreds, thousands of the delicate puffballs. They were ushering him forward, pulling him against his will into the light.

And then he saw the prince. His body shredded, his retinue impaled on massive thorns rising from the floor in a circle around a carved symbol.
A Laorin loomed over them, his golden eyes narrow slits fixed on Falion. His elongated skull was crowned with a ring of flowers and leaves. Falion saw his pale skin was mottled with the same red and brown splotches he had seen on the ivy outside, the same ivy that surrounded him now, growing from his very limbs. A Scion.
“Ah. Another human.” The Laorin’s gentle lilting voice chimed in Falion’s ears. “You spread like an infestation. No matter. You have followed the enticement spores like an insect to a pitcher plant, now you will bear witness to the downfall of your people, as I have borne witness to the downfall of mine.”
Falion’s tongue felt numb, he struggled to make words. The spores continued to surround him.
The Scion peered into Falion’s eyes as if studying a new species.
“Your presence upsets the natural order of things, human. I am here to restore the balance. This is inevitable. I am inevitable.”
The Scion took a dagger from one of the guards and ran it along his arms until milky white fluid began to spill from them, mixing with the blood in the circle.
He held out his hands for Falion to see the pustules and decay eating away at them. “The blight will consume us all. Too long have your people ripped apart this world with your iron and fire, turned the water toxic, the air foul. See what your hatred has done to this world, see what our hatred has done to us. A balance must be struck, through blood and through chlorophyll. The land will purge the toxins and the pattern shall begin anew. We will regrow, and that is enough for us. See the remnants of your ancestors around us, this cycle has transpired countless times before.” He gestured to the rows and rows of skulls all around them.
The Scion regarded Falion with an unknowable gaze.
“I am glad you are here, human. Perhaps we may end this cycle in time.”
A delicate lattice of pink flowers grew from the Scion’s hands. “Take this, it will protect you from the miasma. Go now, and bear witness to the truth you have seen.”
Falion took the daisy chain lattice and held it to his face. He felt his senses come rushing back to him. A deep rumble echoed through the tunnel and the effluvia upon the ground began to bubble and roil. Black roots spread and writhed along the ground, burrowing into the soil, cracking stone and forcing Falion to retreat.
A low moan emanated from the ground and from the center of the symbol a flower sprang forth and grew wild and recklessly from stalk to bud in a moment. The petals swelled and shuddered in their labor pains. All at once, a torrent of white spores burst forth, filling the chamber and exploding violently through the layers of rock above them. Where they settled on the bodies littering the ground they began to dissolve the flesh and reduce the forms to mulch. As the walls began to collapse around them, the Scion held up a hand in final farewell, blossoms sprouting from his arm where the spores landed.
Falion turned and ran through the tunnel, his feet finding their way unsteadily as the earth rumbled its protestations. He ran headlong scraping and banging off walls in his desperate flight. A light shone ahead, beckoning him out into the sunlight and with one last effort he was on a cliff overlooking the sea.
From the tunnel behind him, white spores drifted out and caught upon the wind, falling softly, gently to the harbor below. Where they brushed past his face, they were repelled by the daisy chain the Scion had given him. He couldn’t see, but imagined the last survivors looking to the sky in awe at the sudden deluge, then wonder turning to horror as they watched their skin turn splotchy and black, nutrients for a ghastly crop. He fell to his knees and began to sob. He imagined human and Laorin standing face to face and dropping their weapons as their conflict was rendered meaningless beneath the white flurry blanketing the earth in the appearance of fresh fallen snow. All the hopes and dreams, ambitions and prayers of both peoples blanketed in an empty canvas for the world to start anew.