A Death in Nysa - Part III

Life After the In-sewn

When the god’s influence was removed it was as if the fecundity that supported the plane was set loose. The once beatific forest has been overtaken by blighted and gnarled growths. The creatures of the wood have become similarly twisted, long-limbed and vicious. The steady flow of new arrivals to the villages has dwindled to a trickle, the screams of the unfortunate souls echoing through the shadowed groves.

The villages have become like small forts, the inhabitants fearfully looking out over their crude palisades for signs of monsters from the forest, wandering exiles or worse, war-parties from the cult factions who are always looking for recruits whether they’re willing or not. The vineyards are fonts of corruption, the grapes swell with foul tasting and toxic juices, while the vines resemble brambles, turning the former plantations into impassible thickets. The roads leading up the slopes of Nysa are littered with the aftermath of the many riots and battles which have spilled out from the periphery of the temple since the Thiasus lost control. The ritual sites in particular have become nodes of conflict as the former priests war with another for the privilege of restoring their spells that day, gaining the power to help protect their followers for a little while longer.

By the time one has come to the proximity of the temple, the bands of cultists have grown to the size of small armies, unruly mobs led by either handfuls of the remaining Thiasoi or one of the surviving demigods. They contend with another over the few artifacts that were outside the manse before it was sealed, the deific blood of the demigods, or the few breaches into the temple itself. The worst of the pitched fighting has passed and has given way to periodic raids, as one faction or another gains some slight advantage in new fighters or resources, only to be brought down as the others unite temporarily against them.

The inside of the temple-manse and the fate of those locked inside has remained a mystery to the survivors. Wild rumors of newly minted cults followed the demi-gods of the perished deity do nothing to arrest the fear that those outside hold for those still trapped within. Attempts to breach the god’s former home from the outside have resulted in abject failure; the stone itself resists any will other than a divine one.

Survivors face more than a home which has fallen to lunacy and overgrowth. The mutations became apparent after only a few short weeks after Dionysus’ death. The bodies and minds of every living being have begun to warp in pace with the supernatural world which surrounds them. The wracking changes come upon the inhabitants during sleep and they grow in severity and occurrence the closer they are to the Temple. The villagers fear madness that grows within the most severe mutants and they cast them out once they become unable to control themselves. Exiles wander near the remains of the broken vineyards or make their way to join the war bands. The only reliable way to arrest these changes is divine power, either naturally occurring due to one’s heritage or through consuming someone who has such blood. Even this solution carries risk, as mortal souls aren’t designed to contain such power, and the feasters often find that they become twisted just as severely had they simply let the mutation run their course.