Fiafia leapt to her feet and ran. She didn’t bother with stealth. She only hoped to get as far away as fast as possible. She raced between the boxes and the crates and burst through the door and out of the warehouse. The night was chill. She pushed herself faster. Up the hill. Her foot caught on a root, and she went sprawling. She dared a glance back. A green glow moving toward her, or a trick of the moonlight? She struggled to her feet and barreled down the far side of the hill.
She reached the village at a full sprint. Her feet kicked up dust as she raced across the street and threw herself through the door of the first building she saw. The Seaside Tavern. The music came to a discordant halt. Conversations cut off. From around the room’s tables, faces turned to stare at her. Some looked confused, others annoyed. She wanted to scream at them. Tell them to run. The Creeping Death was coming. It was here. But all she could do was stand, bent over with her hands on her knees, and gasp for breath.
—From Creeping, an entry in the Tome of CHAOS