This is the prologue for a story that I haven't written yet. We'll see how it goes. Enjoy
“Life is strange and elaborate. A Tapestry of Fate, made of millions upon millions of individual threads, interwoven to create an exquisite masterpiece, we seek knowledge amongst these threads…” The priestess trailed off, interrupted by the tolling of the bells. The sermon now disturbed by hushed murmuring from within the crowd, the priestess stepped down from the elevated dais and moved swiftly to the door, her robes flowing as if made of water. As she struggled with the great wooden doors, sound flooded into the room. The faint clanging of iron, screaming and yelling. Sunlight glinted off plate metal and weapons of the combatants lower down in the city. “May Vynora preserve us!”, the priestess muttered a prayer before calling for help in securing the doors. There was a sudden outburst of talking at hearing the fear in her voice. She commands that everyone return to their positions to complete their sermon. Around the golden altar, encrusted in precious gems, the followers called out to Vynora by all her names. They ask that they be blessed by her favours before kneeling in silence. They looked up expectantly, hope turning to despair in their mouths as their offerings rot with a horrible stench before their very eyes. Shock turned to fear and questioning yells danced about the vast hall church. The commotion stopped when steel was heard grating against the stone of the steps. An unpleasant quiet before the storm… the doors burst forth to reveal a soldier, equipped with a two-handed sword and steel plate armour, splattered in blood. The figure stood there for moments before calling out to the people residing in the hall. “Convert or die!”, the townsfolk were paralysed with fear. Seeing no response, the figure drew his sword but didn’t move. The townsfolk looked on confused, expecting him to act. Their eyes shifted from the man to the steps behind him, there were countless shambling creatures moved up the steps into the hall. Grotesque, unnatural beings, trolls, crocodiles, scorpions and men, all tainted by death but still animated; zombies. From a position by the mycelium tainted altar, a young boy, smiling as the rot twisted and crawled up his leg, watched the abominations advance; watched them begin the slaughter of his friends and family. The slaughter continued on until only the young boy remained. At the commanding sing-song voice of the soldier and a motion of his hands; the dead rose.