"Almost two-thirds of our cattle have already died, along with similar numbers of our chickens, sheep, and goats," said a man gravely. This man, seated at a sturdy, well-crafted, but otherwise unostentatious oaken table, in a torchlit room of polished limestone walls, could be identified by his clothing as one of the Sovereign Councillors and current Lord of the Herds of Terrkarn. With him at the table sat several of his colleagues, deep in discussion about the current crisis devastating the city-state's lands.

"Good thing that our citizens have died in equal numbers, otherwise we might have a food supply issue on our hands," said an elderly man, to the collective snort of the other men assembled. Seated at the head of the table, and having the fanciest hat, this man was unmistakably the Council's Lord President, the closest thing Terrkarn had to a singular leader.

"Heh," snorted another man, the Lord of the Port, "If only we had had the foresight to close off all trade with Asor as soon as the rumours started coming in. Now we'll be meeting the same fate as they did."

"We may suffer, but Terrkarn will not fall to this crisis!" said the Lord of the Herds resolutely, "Our pig herds remain completely unaffected, and our efforts to stem this Death Fever will work."

"Pah! Burning the corpses of the dead is a foolish endeavor. And quarantines and curfews won't matter now that the disease has spread. We might as well start preparing our own funerals, since we'll all be going the way of Lord Volgash soon enough," the Lord of the Port gestured towards an empty seat as he spoke, one which the now-deceased Lord of the Fields once called his own.

"We may all die, but Terrkarn will live on!" thundered the Lord of the Herds, "Now, if you'll all excuse me, I have a meeting scheduled with the Board of Planning, and then one with the College of Sages. I'll bring my report on the situation to our next meeting."

"Best of luck to you, my old friend," doddered the Lord President, as he gestured his leave to the Lord of the Herds, "I still have a few years left in me, and I'd hate to have them cut short from some foreign fever."

The Lord of the Herds stood up and briskly bowed to his colleagues, before exiting the room. The Lord of the Port rolled his eyes at this foolish optimism. The other assembled councillors continued looking anxious and worried, but some appeared just a tinge more hopeful due to the Lord of the Herds' steely determination.