Bodies laid strewn across the streets as they passed through the small town. Some were still alive, reaching out a hand while rasping a plea for assistance. The sight of the blood soaked land strewn with corpses sent a shiver down Nya's spine as she drew closer to Sevren.
Nya was not prepared for the sight they came upon in the village square. Piles of bodies were heaped in the snow, their frost covered hands reaching outwards for any help. Any cries they had made would have only been heard by the wind and falling snows.
"What happened here?"
Severn surveyed the street, and saw no smoke came from the snow covered roof tops. Normally by this time of year every hearth was lit, from Winterhaven to the strath of Eladamear. Nya joined in the scanning of the grey sky for plumes of smoke, but the chimneys were silent as the cold, dead streets. Only the cries of the damned and the wind mourning them could be heard as they walked through out the village.
Men, women, and even children laid dead in the streets, their skin frosted over white with bright red droplets of blood that had spurt from their mouths. Not a soul seemed to be spared.
"Nya, over here!" Severn called from the fountain.
Nya walked over to the fountain craning her neck over the ledge to see what his was pointing at. Lining the base of the fountain, barely visible in the weak sunlight, were thousands of clear, tiny crystals, cracked open. "I think this what killed them."