The Sealing of Lotringen
The sealing of the lower ring of Lotringen began at dawn, the sound of the cathedral bells ringing ominously across the city. The King and the Church had united in their desperation, and their plan was clear: wall off the lower ring to contain the plague and protect the rest of the city. But this was not salvation—it was an act of abandonment. The lower ring, where the poor and afflicted resided, was to become a sacrificial tomb, a price the King and the Church were willing to pay to protect the upper rings.
Lotringen was a city of concentric rings, each rising higher and shining brighter as one moved inward. The lower ring, now sealed off, was a place of decay and despair. But beyond it lay the other rings, each representing a different facet of the city's society and power.
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The Lower Ring: The City of Shadows
The outermost ring was a realm of misery, the streets choked with filth and despair. Narrow alleys twisted like veins, their cobblestones cracked and slick with grime. The buildings, once colorful and vibrant, were now faded and decayed, their shutters hanging loose. Fires burned in makeshift barrels, their smoke mixing with the stench of rot that permeated the air.
This was the realm of the forgotten—the poor, the afflicted, and the outcast. The afflicted roamed the streets, their eyes hollow and their bodies gaunt, marked by the curse of Plaga. Some clung to scraps of humanity, huddling together in desperate attempts at survival. Others had succumbed entirely to the plague, their forms twisted and their minds lost.
The people here had long been abandoned by the Church and the King. Now, with the gates sealed, they were truly alone. The crimson "X" painted on countless doors was not just a mark of infection—it was a death sentence.
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The Middle Rings: The City of Commerce and Faith
Above the lower ring, separated by towering walls, lay the middle rings. These were the lifeblood of Lotringen, where merchants, artisans, and scholars thrived. The streets were wide and bustling, lined with shops and stalls that once overflowed with goods from across the kingdom. Silks, spices, jewels, and exotic wares had been traded here, their scents and colors filling the air.
The buildings were sturdy and well-kept, their walls painted in bright hues. Balconies adorned with flowers overlooked the streets, and the sound of bells from chapels and churches filled the air with an ever-present sense of piety.
But the middle rings were not untouched by fear. Though the gates to the lower ring were now closed, rumors of the plague’s horrors spread like wildfire. Merchants whispered of infected goods, and artisans feared the arrival of customers from the lower ring. The priests here, though still visible, had grown distant, their blessings more performative than heartfelt.
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The Military Ring: The Bastion of Steel
Beyond the middle rings was the military ring, a fortress within the city walls. This was where the King’s soldiers resided, where their weapons were forged, and where strategies were planned. The streets were orderly, lined with barracks, training grounds, and armories. Soldiers in gleaming armor patrolled with disciplined precision, their presence a constant reminder of the King's authority.
The military ring was a stark contrast to the chaos of the lower ring. Here, the air was filled with the clang of hammers on steel, the rhythmic march of boots, and the barked orders of officers. The walls were higher and thicker, reinforced with iron and stone, their battlements bristling with archers and siege weapons.
But even here, unease lingered. The soldiers had been tasked with maintaining order in the lower ring, but now that it was sealed, their focus had shifted inward. They prepared for the possibility that the plague—or worse, Plaga herself—might breach the gates. The King had ordered the military ring to stand as the city’s final line of defense, but whispers among the soldiers spoke of fear, not confidence.
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The Church Ring: The Seat of Piety
Above the military ring was the church ring, a sacred space devoted entirely to the clergy and the worship of God. It was a place of grandeur, where cathedrals and monasteries rose toward the heavens, their spires piercing the clouds. The streets were paved with smooth white stone, and every corner was adorned with statues of saints and martyrs.
The largest structure in the church ring was the Grand Cathedral, its massive doors carved with intricate depictions of divine judgment. Inside, golden chandeliers hung from vaulted ceilings, and the walls were adorned with murals of angels and miracles. Priests and bishops moved with an air of solemnity, their robes of crimson and gold flowing like liquid fire.
This was the heart of the Church’s power, where prayers were said not for the afflicted but for the city’s salvation. The clergy here had distanced themselves from the suffering below, choosing instead to focus on appeasing a silent God. The Church ring was a sanctuary for the elite of the faith, a place where fear was masked by opulence.
But beneath the surface, doubt had begun to fester. The priests whispered of Plaga, of her growing power and the inability of their prayers to hold her at bay. They spoke of the lower ring not as a place to be saved, but as a place to be forgotten.
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The Inner Sanctum: The City of Kings
At the heart of Lotringen was the inner sanctum, the King’s domain. This was the pinnacle of the city, a vision of divine splendor untouched by the decay and despair below. The streets were paved with marble, their surfaces polished to a mirror-like shine. Fountains of crystal-clear water sparkled in the sunlight, and golden statues of the King’s ancestors stood as monuments to their legacy.
The King’s palace, a sprawling structure of white and gold, dominated the inner sanctum. Its halls were lined with tapestries depicting great battles and divine blessings, and its gardens were lush with flowers that seemed to bloom eternally. The nobles who lived here moved with an air of confidence, their lives untouched by the plague or the struggles of the outer rings.
But even here, fear had begun to creep in. The sealing of the lower ring was meant to protect the inner sanctum, but the King’s advisors whispered of Plaga’s growing influence. The shimmering walls that separated the inner sanctum from the rest of the city felt less like protection and more like a gilded cage.
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The Sealing
The gates to the lower ring were shut with a thunderous finality, their iron bars reinforced with chains and locks. Soldiers stood guard, their faces grim, as priests blessed the gates with holy water. The people of the lower ring gathered near the gates, their cries of desperation echoing through the streets.
"Please, let us in!" one woman shouted, clutching a child to her chest. "We’re not infected! We’re not—"
Her voice was drowned out by the clang of the gate being bolted shut. The soldiers turned their backs, unwilling to meet the eyes of those they had condemned. The priests muttered prayers, their voices hollow.
From the shadows, I watched as the people’s hope crumbled. The gates were not just a physical barrier—they were a symbol of the city’s abandonment of its own. The lower ring had been sacrificed, its people left to die.
The whispers returned, soft and insidious. "They seal you away like vermin, Gerald," Plaga’s voice said. "But the walls cannot hold me. Soon, they will learn that there is no sanctuary from the truth."
I clutched my cross, my heart heavy with despair. The sealing of the lower ring was not the end—it was only the beginning. The King and the Church had drawn a line, but they had no idea what awaited them on the other side.