World of Warcraft®

It started like any ordinary evening in the dusty, warm night of Westfall. Families settling into their beds, men coming home from the tavern to sleep off the night's inebriation. Carts laden with supplies, coming and going into the towns, villages, and farms. Children soundly sleeping to the crickets outside.

The next morning, after a hearty breakfast, the day's work began. Men went to till and weed the fields, sowing seed and churning up the fertile land that had always been integral to the people's livelihoods. Wheat, flax, okra, herbs, grains, vegetables, and livestock were what these people knew best. So as the day drew on, and the aches and pains of the day set in, not a single one was concerned, it was just another ordinary day. Carts laden with ground up grain, made their way from home to home. The people continued to work, and as the aches and pains grew stronger, they felt it was just a bad day, perhaps the weather was about to turn.

Men came in from the fields, asking for the herbal remedies from their wives. Remedies that had always soothed the pains of honest days work. Wives and husbands, sons and daughters had always found these simple elixirs and teas soothing.

Yet, the pain continued. The men did not go to the taverns that night, the wives did not prepare the next morning's laundry, children groaned and fought back teary eyes. These were Westfall people. Strong and hardy, simple, yet proud. As they went to bed, hoping for the rest and recovery that sleep would bring them from these pains.

Yet their strength of labor, their simple minds could do nothing for the nightmares. Horrific nightmares, the greatest fears they knew, endlessly hounding them. Dreams of darkness and agony, of fire and fear, of loss and helplessness plagued them in their sleep. They tossed and turned in their beds, children and adults alike crying out to wake in vain.

The next morning offered no respite, they woke in cold sweats and shivers despite the heat of the morning, and the blankets of their beds. The aches of yesterday had become agony, the pain of breathing made them weep. Something was here in Westfall, something had afflicted these people. The tavern was filled with men, who as a testament to the strength of humanity, had dragged themselves to figure out what was happening. Their lack of knowledge, did nothing but worsen their fears.

Days filled with pain unrelenting, and nights of unrest, of their greatest fears come to life. Westfall, was suffering.

(('Ello, just your average story of dismay and darkness. Feel free to post here if you want to take part, or contact me in game on AllianceOOC, or whisper any of my toons. Arlston/Tyvian/Ethansus/Ilthorn. I'll answer any questions.))

She had not ran like this in years, not since she was a child. Yet there she was, running as fast as she could, along the road from Westfall, to Stormwind....

It wasn't unusual for her to travel to her former home town of Moonbrook as lately she was spending time trying to help rebuild the town to a more livable condition, and distributing the many supplies donated to the town by the Stormwind Union, and the Pia Presidium. But this time had been different...she did not arrive to the course of happy children waiting to see what treats she had brought with her, or greeted by hard working women hoping for the few household goods need to mend torn clothes and linen.

No, she had arrived to a nightmare...The entire town was engulfed by the moans and cries of dozens in pain and terror...they lined the street, unable to move an inch as the sun beat down on them. Megwynne dropped her bags and sprinted to the closes body..and man no older than 30 years, laying still. His face was contorted with fear and pain..horrible burn marks and cuts covered his body..blisters were beginning to form. Megwynne jump back as the man suddenly reached for her, screaming in agony...And she fled..as fast as she could..

Megwynne could see the Headquarters as she ran into the Cathedral District. She nearly knocked over one of the Officers out on a patrol as she ran for the door way. Gasping for breath as she stood in the doorway, she looked about the room, terror and urgency in her eyes. As she expected, Commander Orwyn was present in the room, though the guest he was conversing with was not someone Megwynne had expected.

Jataa Lightsworn frown and stood up with worry in her eyes as she moved to Megwynne. "Miss Brooks? Whats the matter?! You look like you have just witnessed a death!" Jataa said as she rushed to Megwynne's side, as Megwynne began to fall forward from sheer exhaustion. With tears running from her remaining eye, Megwynne told them what she saw...Jataa's face grew grave with fear as she caught eyes with Orwyn...

Sometimes she just walked. The streets of Stormwind often had a very interesting tale to tell. Each district had it's own personality and like many personalities each had it's own sides. A duality of contrast. In this way she was finding that she and the human city were much alike. Complicated. She also noticed that each district had its own cadence. A rhythm of life. By day the city was mostly benign. Friendly. Even helpful, sometimes kind and also generous. But as the hours passed and the light faded the its more sinister side awakened.

Sometimes the gnome just walked. Her raven hair wrapped in two tight bundles atop her head. Her book satchel strapped across her chest, bouncing off her left hip with each step. Hands clasped behind her. A group of children ran by, playing and laughing. They stopped at the gnome toy tinker's cart he pushed each day to see what new and fun things he might have for sale. All so innocent.

Lilith stopped by the side of the tailor shop. She pressed herself up onto the stoop and pulled free a book. Perfect moment to rest, catch up on some reading for classes tomorrow, and do a little stalking.

A little boy handed over a small satchel of coin over to the tinker gnome who in turn handed him a small mechanical gorilla toy. The kind that clapped its' hands and did flips. Lilith noticed he had been arguing and playing rough with a few of the other children. On of the others, a little girl, pulled the toy from his hands and began running away, taunting him.

"I have you dolly! I have your dolly!"
"It's not a dolly! Give it back!"

The little girl was running Lilith's way. She wasn't looking. Without making it look deliberate, The raven haired gnome tossed her book satchel out in front her the little girl. Her legs got tied up in the strap and she fell. Hard. Serves her right. Cruel little thing. The little boy ran by and picked up his toy gorilla. He stood over her, glaring down. "Serves you right!"

Huh. Lilith arched an eye brow.

Lilith hopped down from the stoop with a perfect expression of shock. "Oh my! You poor little thing!" She rushed to the little girls side and helped her up. The girl fought back crocodile tears but when she stood eye to eye with the gnome she couldn't keep her young and tender emotions at bay. She ran back to the group of children sobbing.

"Little girl! Wait! Your knees are skinned and bleeding!"

The little boy waved her off. "Oh, you never mind." He smiled at the gnome. "She's suffered through worse."

"Playmates?"

The boy nodded with a proud toothy grin. "She likes to steal my things and throw them into the canal, but that's only because I keep pulling her hair and socking her in the arm."

A little sadist in the making. He will work better. "Lilith." She said, holding her hand out. The boy smiled and tucked his toy under an arm. With the other he reached out and took the gnomes hand for a shake, eager to prove what a big strong boy he was.

"Ow!" the boy pulled his hand back. A small puncture in the middle of his palm began bleeding. He held it out in a panic, unsure if he should cry, scream, yell or all three. Lilith quickly took the boys hand and wrapped a clean bandage around the hand.

"Oh! I'm sorry my dear. Sewing is a hobby and I sometimes forget I'm carrying a needle. How careless of me." When she had finished the boy pulled his hand away and sneered at her before running to catch up with the other children. Lilith held the needle up that she had palmed. It glistened with his blood. It should be enough to satisfy the ritual. For now.

A commotion from behind made her turn quickly. A tall woman wearing an eye patch and obviously fatigued burst out of the Trade District corridor nearly bowling over a few pedestrians. The look on her face was of sheer panic. Intrigued Lilith watched the woman arc the canal bridge like an athlete... an exhausted athlete... and disappear into the Cathedral District. The raven haired gnome's interest was peaked.

Calmly Lilith packed her satchel, carefully stowing the bloody needle in a wrap, and casually made for the Watch Offices. Surely that is where she was headed. Perhaps I can eaves drop a little.

The streets were crowded, but she had the advantage of standing a head taller than the tallest man. Clad in gold and white armor, she was certainly not inconspicuous and most made a point to get out of her way. The advantage of having hooves. No one wants you to step on their boots She grinned as she made her way to the Dwarven district of Stormwind. The forge awaited, she had some repair work to do after her last foray. It would be good to feel the heat of the forge and the blacksmith's hammer in her hand.

Two children raced about, playing and taunting each other. Eventually the chase ended when one took a spill on a gnome's satchel, left curiously lying immediately in their path. Zephilyn smiled to herself, trying to remember when she had been that carefree and young. Something was off about that little gnome. Unable to put her finger on it, she dismissed it as just one of the oddities of a big city and continued on her way.

As she continued towards the bridge, something else caught her eye. A woman running, racing between the crowded foot traffic and nearly bowling over a guard. Her curiosity drew her eyes to it, and as she focused she noted the woman's face contorted into a mask of fear and exhaustion. She's traveled a long distance, or she's not as athletic as her movements say she should be. Something is very wrong.

For a moment, she held a debate with herself as to whether she should follow and offer assistance or if her armor repair was more important. The debate was over quickly and the paladin followed purposefully as the woman rounded the corner to the watch offices.

*lounges in a sunbeam, seemingly not a care in the world

The small unassuming gnome made her way across the canal and into the Cathedral District. She kept her distance behind the tall draenei woman, careful not to draw in particular attention to herself. A few priests passed by an Lilith gave each a cordial grin and a nod.

She stopped on the opposite side of a planer surrounding a large tree and watched as the draenei disappeared up the ramp and into the Watch Offices. She peered around the courtyard trying to come up with an excuse that will get her closer.

She witnessed a crime? No. She hadn't. Other than of course setting those two kids up so she could prick the hand of one and draw a small blood sample. But that wasn't so much a crime as it was just insidious behavior. She thought. Not to mention completely deniable.

A dwarf riding a chopper exceeding the speed limit? Rediculous. Dwarfs don't ride choppers, everyone knows that.

She strained in thought. An idea popped into her head and she snapped her fingers. That's it! Unsupervised obnoxious children out running amok and on my way to report the disturbance I saw a panicked woman enter. Naturally being a good citizen I was concerned what the problem might be. She nodded to herself.

If anyone asked that was the line she would use. She would be totally inconspicuous. Just another nosey neighbor. She dusted herself off and pressed down her robes making for the Watch Offices, curious to see what the might discover had that woman all in a panic.

Three days pasted since the encounter with Miss Brooks. Jataa frowns as she made her way carefully to Ironforge for her usually duties for the Clinic. She had more than one purpose tonight, to speak with Rhudarn.

Surely Rhudran will know what to do...She says silently to herself as the Clinic house came into view. But before she could speak with Rhudarn, a large dwarf with leg plates welded to his skin distracts her attention.......

Oh my..that was interesting to watch.. Jataa says to herself as the newly freed dwarf thanks Rhudran just outside the Clinic. I will have to ask Rhudran as soon as I can..I hope Miss Brooks is alright. Poor girl..I can't believe she has fallen ill now too. This sickness affecting westfall spread so fast through her. Its incredible.

Jataa coughed, and suddenly felt dizzy. Rhudran, noticed her paling face, rushes to her side and is speaking something inaudible to her. A sudden intense pain fills her as she coughs so violently blood begins to leave her lips...Her eyes widen in terror as she falls forward...No...I...Can't..be...

Rhudran was up to his neatly trimmed beard in trouble, with two two "helpful" volunteers and a very antsy, and injured, patient between them. He had been asking for help for nearly a half hour by now, and there is no way he could cut through the chains of that plate mail without some real smithing shears.

Then, suddenly, Dame Jataa appears in the Clinic, as if an angel of mercy. She seemed a little pale, but someone had to keep the hexer and the amputater at bay!

He hurried to the Great Forge to grab the cutting tool he needed, and set her about assisting him in cutting off the poor Dwarf's welded legs. Perhaps the lesson would sink in to be polite to Mages, going forward. It was a little odd for Jataa to cough during her duties, though. He knew that Draenei were susceptible to an old fashioned Azerothian cold, but he thought that the hardy Nether race was a little better at suppressing them.

Rhudran was determined, after the last few fumbles, to not alienate even the most misunderstood of squires. He pulled aside Gondorinn Ragefang to try to involve the old fighter in the healing around him, even if his skills are mismatched. He picked the most neutral task he could think of to give the man, and sent him off. He needed a little peace and quiet to carry out inventory, anyway.

Just as he began his task of counting medicines, Jataa's little undead pet tugged his robes so hard he was worried that she would pop a stitch. Confusion and indignity vanished as Jataa's condition registered.

Another violent cough brought thick, alien blood to her lips. Consumption? This looked wrong for consumption. Too many missing symptoms with the wrong breathing pattern. Ragefang said something to him about the supplies on hand being a little low, but Rhudran dismissed the man as more coughing brought unusually dark blood past her lips again. He sent the squire off to bring samples of the illness to Sir Merral.

Hoisting the poor thing, he laid his new patient on the bearskin rug common in Dwarven buildings, and began examining her. These symptoms just don't go together; bleeding airways are actually rather rare when a lung has not been perforated, and are easy to diagnose when it happens. This set off alarm bells in the back of his mind, but nothing quite fell into place. After clearing the bed, the Sepha helped transfer her to the one bed once it had been vacated; in time for even more forceful coughing and a blackened blood that did make things fall into place. That is when things became worse.

The fever- and pain-addled Draenei managed to grab him before he could move away, and the blood drained from his face.

"Westfall...Three...Days...Brooks...Storm..." Jataa managed, before she lapsed back into a screaming, squirming heap.

In an effort to buy himself time, he grabbed some potent herbs as Jataa's pet began barking with a purpose. As luck would have it, a Beastmaster was summoned very rapidly, and managed to discern the creature's thoughts. Plague. It was, indeed, a plague. A quarantine must be established...and he had touched her, as had his commanding officer.

Ragefang was sent off to aid Merral; perhaps his experience and exposure could help the apothecary find a cure in time. At least, it was certain, Rhudran would have plenty of free time to pray.

"What a bright moon, luck is with me it seems."

The campfire illuminated the sleeping figures of the traveling traders and merchants. The black robed, sinisterly garbed man with a slight hunch picked his way through the dozing camp, his well used leather herb pouch and vials of strange liquid jingling softly in the night. A small imp trailed behind, the soft crackle of fel flames causing one of the traders to grunt in his sleep.

As the robed man examined the traders, he paused beside each wagon, the black void of his hood staring intently at the cargo. Crates, more crates, not what he was seeking. So he pressed on, moving to the next wagon as the pack horses looked at him dolefully. Turning the bone mask to peer into the storage bed, a slight chuckle was heard as the man discovered his goal.

Sacks.

Sacks upon sacks upon sacks of foodstuffs, from grain to apples. Dried meats to cheeses, each stored carefully and so ripe for the tampering. Unclasping the satchel, his hands worked deftly as the vials of liquid were uncorked, a tasteless, scentless formula he had devised himself. Using the nectar and life fluids of horticultural marvels he had spent years breeding and infusing in his home. The virulence of plague, expanded upon with the chaotic, corrupting nature of pure Fel infusion, hidden with the normalcy of herbal remedies. Each vial was slowly emptied into different crates, where it would lay, and infuse with the important food.

Undetectable with the Light, he had made many alterations over the years, no taste to tip off the victim, no aroma to attract the keenest hound, he added his vile concoction. Boredom, produces the most devious devices, the most terrible tools for the idle mind.

As he worked, the campfire cracked, the trees rustled in the wind, and he spread small traces of his Fel magics into the diseased grain, further shielding them from detection, but most importantly shielding them from the curative effects of the Light. Those who added more Light to the shadow, would only provoke a painful, reactive process in the magics. Speeding along the plague, worsening symptoms.

A chill that had nothing to do with the cool night air ran down the man's spine. A chill of both excitement, and fear of his own creation. With his work finished, the vials returned to their place in his satchel, and he checked to ensure the scarce antidote he had cultivated from the plant was still intact. It would be a shame if the wrong kind of people were infected, people like him. Shadow wielders. They would have a natural resilience, but even they were susceptible from prolonged exposure.

Turning to take one last look at the completely unsuspecting troupe, a hoarse, dry chuckle escaped the hood. "Go on gentlemen, be at your ease for ignorance is indeed bliss. Enjoy your merry journey...."

The man turned and with a bright flash of Fel green was gone. With a last whisper on the wind of his passing.

"...To Hearthglen."

She had been there to answer the initial call for help at the clinic, presumably for the dwarf with the welded legplates, but when they did not truly need her assistance, Ciellia left without a word. She had a few errands to run in Ironforge anyways; mainly, her son Eillan as in need of a new set of crayons. He was just about to turn three, but besides that, Lia encouraged his love of drawing and the best crayons, the mother had found so far, came from Ironforge.

Perhaps, it was the heat and the forges they used. Being so skilled in blacksmithing meant their fires were hot enough to burn away any impurities.

The second call came for help, again Ciellia answered it but this time the scene she walked in on was dire. Jataa was ill, on her back and coughing up blood. Sepha and Rhudran moved her and got her propped up on the bed, ensuring Jataa would not choke. Lia did what she could to lessen Jataa's pain and thankfully never came in contact.

She informed her soon-to-be husband to stay away (an of course he did not listen to her) and the next day her son's instructor, a Kaldorei priestess named Traelle, was told of what was developing. On the other-hand, her son was feeling the tension growing within Stormwind - even more so with being kept away from his friends at the orphanage.

Ciellia could only hope this was a passing out-break, but until an antidote was found, she would protect her family as much as possible - while not denying aid to others.

Her ploy had worked better than hoped! Actually, she had no need for a diversionary excuse to be there. The offices of the watch were so abuzz with activity since the woman's arrival that most officers overlooked the presence of an unfamiliar gnome. Rather literally in some instances, as Lilith had to remain on her toes as not to be one an officer tripped over. The unassuming little gnome stepped right in and stood against the wall, out of the way but close enough to overhear enough of the incident.

Incredible. Unbelievable. Inconceivable! She had to see for herself. Wide eyed and fighting off an excited grin as not to seem entirely out of place, the little raven haired gnome slipped back out the door and bolted for the griffin roost. Reaching it in record time she discovered she had only enough to fly her to Goldshire. Upon her arrival however fortune smiled upon her, it seemed, as she caught up with a small party in a wagon on their way to lend whatever aid they could to the sick and dying homeless.

Barely containing her enthusiasm she hopped down off the wagon upon crossing the bridge into Westfall and hurried to the nearest farm house. She had learned from those on the wagon that it had been set up as a kind of hospital for the desperately ill. As she neared the farm house reality smacked her square in the face and she stopped dead in her tracks.

The stench was horrendous. It stopped Lilith in her tracks. She fumbled through her pack pulling out what linen wraps she had and held them over her face. Approaching the farm house a pale woman, weak and ragged from lack of sleep addressed her. She stood at the fence line.

"If you're here to help, all the sick are being held in the barn. Those ill but not dire are in cots just outside the doors there. " She pointed with a gaunt are and boney finger. "All the rest of them on the ground and in the fields show some signs but ain't so sick yet."

Lilith paused. "Have you been inside?"

The pale woman nodded her weary head, her hair a matted mess. "Indeed. A dismal sight." She caught Lilith's eyes. "Stay out if you can. That's my advice. The people inside are at deaths door. If they ain't coughing up blood then they're leaking so many other bodily fluids out..." Lilith interrupted her with a wave.

"Stop. Stop. I get the picture." She stood at the fenceline for a long moment, handful of linen bandages over her nose and mouth, contemplating if she really wanted to see the disaster first hand. The rumor of it is what drew her here. The talk of death. People dying horrifically. The chaos of it all, the panic it had caused, it awoke something morbid inside her. Some sick kind of fascination. Moreover she was well aware of it. In her way she had been actively cultivating it for months now. At that very moment she didn't know what to do with herself. Part of her was saying she should turn and leave. Leave before their fate becomes your own. Yet the other part of her...

She turned to the pale woman and found that she had been watching her internal struggle. The woman nodded with a comforting smile. "Its alright little missy. No need to mix yourself up in this mess. No one will fault you for that." One just might. Lilith drew in a deep breath. I have to do this. She turned back to the barn and with a measure pace slowly made her way to the structure.

She entered the barn, and it was just as the woman had begun to describe. Worse than she could have ever imagined. She couldn't tarry long within, and so stumbling out of the barn she quickly withdrew a good distance and found a spot to sit against the hill. There, alone, she waged an internal struggle.

I feel like I should know this. It somehow seems familiar. Lilith thought back on the panic she had witnessed in that woman's eyes. How utterly exhausted she was from running such a long distance. The unexpected gruesome nature of the sight she stumbled upon really shook her to the core. The raven haired gnome thought back to the horrors she had witnessed within the barn and nodded her head. Yes. That would do it. Lilith shook her head. It all just seemed so far fetched.

It had to be something natural. Right? If it were... If this is someone's handy work then why here? Why them? She quickly created a mental list, checking them off as she went. It just didn't make sense. These people were homeless. The only ones that care for them were other homeless and the noble hearted that had nothing better to do with their time. She pulled up some of the dried grass near her and began rubbing it between her fingers as she mentally chewed on the notion.

After a few long moments a rather devious answer came to her. It was actually fairly obvious. Why not them? The homeless. No one would think twice. Not many at least. Just another epidemic running rampant among the unclean and unwanted. Lilith stared out over the farmland, at the barn, at the numerous lives affected. Forever changed. She mentally walked back through that barn, witnessing again the horrors that had surrounded her, but viewing them with newer eyes.

Ingenious.
Ingenious if...
If it were something created...
It was a work of genius.

The fear such a sight had caused. The panic it had incited. To hit a people so soundly, so quickly, and then for it to end so many lives as it had. As it undoubtedly will. Lilith wasn't interested in a bodycount. It didn't thrill her as it must others like her. She didn't get involved with the Master to learn to kill people, though it was an inevitability she accepted. It was an inevitability that she had never really dealt with until now.

Perhaps this is the Master confronting me, testing me. Drawing me deeper into his world. Making me shrink or grow. She half grinned and shrugged. Anything was possible.

No, not to kill. Instead she sought out the Master because he had what she wanted. Power. Raw Power. Power over himself first and foremost. Power over his own fears, his wants, his desires. He was driven. Focused. That same power poured off him and affected the world. His world. He moved people, she had seen it. They feared him. Those foolish enough not to fear then at least respected him, giving the Master a wide berth as he passed by. She was in awe ever since.

She recalled the lesson of several passages found throughout the black grimoire the Master had given her. Those passages taught, in their own way, that any fool can kill a person. Only a master can kill a person and hold sway over that family, or that community, through fear he instilled in them. Thus a master, in taking a single life, holds the lives of many more in the palm of his hands.

She stood letting the dried grass fall from her hands. With a bleak expression she looked out over the growing throngs of sick and dying homeless. Knowing how it was affecting this community, how it will yet touch so many lives, and seeing the potential for it affecting so many more, she thought aloud. "This is power."

Involuntarily the muscles in her abdomen spasmed. She repressed a light cough, putting her fist to her mouth. She felt as if her nose had run. Strange. Usually I feel when a head cold is coming on. She wiped a finger under her nose and pulled it back for a look.

Blood.

Alarm coursed through her. This is how it all started for them. She remembered the few stories she had heard from the sick.

All power has its price. Another lesson learned from the black grimoire. She calmed herself. It was only a little blood she reassured herself. Their coughs were far more violent as well. I will be fine. I just need to get away from this place. I have tempted fate enough for one day.

Gathering her belongings she pressed the fresh linens against her mouth and nose once again and headed for the road. This time however the linen was for her nose. She would keep a close eye on her condition. Perhaps there is a wagon returning to Stormwind that I can catch. I should also get some remedies straight way on my return. Might as well see a healer for good measure.

In the end she knew she had no proof beyond a feeling and a hunch that the illness was concocted. It certainly looked natural enough, but certain hallmarks were there. It had been a valuable object lesson. A worthwhile experience. She had indeed grown. The Master would be proud, assuming her exposure to the illness was minimal. Most the pitty were she to succomb as well.

Deep in the recesses of the Slaughtered Lamb, the man known only as "Grim" continued his work. Candles, lit with strangely dim flames dotted the walls, and only the soft sound of shears and the breathing of demons could be heard. Lining the walls of his workshop, the demonic servitors watched their master prune and cultivate with painstaking precision and practice. His hood was down, and the bone mask removed, showing not the frail, disfigured wreck of a man many presumed was under it. Revealing instead a younger man, in his thirties, well trimmed hair and a moderately attractive complexion.

Bent over the small planter, he continued to trim and prune the sickly looking plants lined neatly in the dark earthen soil. Wrackenweed, he called it. A plant unlike any other he had encountered in his travels across the worlds. He had created it, bred it, cultivated and let it flourish. The process had taken him several years, with many failures and setbacks. A simple Felweed had started it, caught his eye out in Shadowmoon valley while he was there furthering his understand of the very principles of his arts. How such a plant could grow in the corrupted, desolate waste that had once been a thriving forest. He had to know.

Now, after mixing in the different pollens and breeding in other resilient species, as well as a few azerothian toxic plants, Wrackenweed. Its purpose was nothing more than a side experiment for him, to study the combination of magics and horticulture. To blend the natural and unnatural into something that surpassed both. The nectar, taken from small clippings and drained into vials, was extremely toxic, and set off a complex biological chain reaction from the imbiber. Then when coupled from demonically provided illness, scraped from the jaws of a Felhound, the bacteria did horrendous things to the living. Spreading through the pores of the skin, and less effectively, the moisture of expelled breath, his creation was a masterpiece.

Should he ever expose himself to his creation, he had been certain to first devise the cure, the only thing strong enough to overwhelm the very nature of the plant. Those crimson vials were carefully stored in a different location each day. After all, he needed to ensure his own survival and those of his choosing, "Though this should be stopped eventually I suppose, the cure 'miraculously' appearing at the most opportune time." he mused to himself with a chuckle.

Adding still more magic, the power of ultimate fear, the curse to experience true horror in one's sleep was Grim's, no, Tyvian's addition. Oh how he sometimes tired of having two faces. One the simple shopkeep for alchemical and herbal supplies in the Mage district, who was aghast at the thought of violence, and a simple minded, kind man. He much preferred "Grim" the name given to him by his colleagues and peers. Meant to taunt and mock him for his demeanor, and his mindset, he instead embraced and proudly took the name. After all, those who once mocked and looked down on him, were either now in his service, or dead. Power came at a price, as it always does. Two faces, neither life lived wholly.

Straightening from the planter, and setting down the shears, Tyvian Reinheart moved to his table, and sat in his large armchair, with one leg carelessly dangling over the armrest. "Arix, the Seventh Volume. Bring it to me." As the Wrathguard moved from its position by the wall to the large, ever open gateway linking this room to his quarters in Tanaris before passing through, Tyvian paged through the first edition of his black Grimoire, still studying the notations left by his apprentice, almost impressed by the meticulous nature, almost. She was certainly working on her own ambitions, her own power enhancements, from what he always saw of her during his unending observations.
"Ambition is a risk, with the greatest rewards" he had told her during her lessons, as well as one of the first lines in his authored Grimoire he had given her. Six more volumes awaited her if she lived to progress far enough to earn them. "Enough of this matter, more pressing issues I suppose." With a flash, the grimoire vanished, returned to his apprentice before she realized it was gone.

As Arixadath returned through the gateway, Tyvian was lounging in his armchair, fingers on the bridge of his nose and head tilted back to face the ceiling, "Gordus, what is the status on the Watch, the Presidium, the Terrans, and Ocheliad. The Conclave as well, though I doubt they would care to involve themselves unless absolutely necessary." As the Observer glided over, Tyvian grabbed the large, black leatherbound tome from the wrathguard.

Gordus stopped a foot from Tyvian as he lounged, paging through he grimoire's contents, looking for an adequate curse of his design that would cripple a stone drake should he need it.

"Master, the Watch and its assets are moving to establish quarantine around the human city, as well as bump up patrols to try and counter any outbreak before it spreads. They are receiving aid from the Presidium, who's members have been hit the hardest. Both their leader and healing chief are in quarantine and under suspicion of infection. Gentyl and Rhudran are large blows. Jataa Lightsworn is fully infected, and under watch and aid in the Cathedral."

Tyvian briefly stopped paging through the grimoire and lazily turned his head to look at the Observer, who was now fully bearing what his species passed as a smile. "So simple, yet already spread this far? Good, the trial was successful. The Westfall initial point was the correct starting point, low risk high reward. Excellent bait to the 'righteous' orders. Continue." Tyvian resumed paging through his grimoire, a slight smile on his face, a thrilling, sick excitement running through him. All around the room, the retinue of demonic allies shivered, fidgeted, or growled. They knew their Master was not one to trifle with on these matters.

Gordus bobbed up and down with almost...glee. "The Terrans remain shrouded in motive and locale, I have been unable to see what transpires in their circles, yet no action seems to have been taken. Your bout with their leader seems to have had no immediate reprisal or consequence. Their comradeship with the order of Crimson Blades bears supervision and observation." The Warlock moved slightly, shifting his leg on the armrest to a more comfortable position, brown eyes on the pages's intricate and detailed contents. "Go on."

"As you wish, both the Ocheliad and Conclave seem to be either unaware or indifferent to the situation, a possible ruse to fool the observers, but I do not believe that is the case. Both groups merit closer inspection, perhaps interrogation of memb-" Gordus paused when Tyvian snaps his head to pin the floating mass of eyes, teeth and tentacles to the spot with his gaze. "No."

"Yes, Master."

Resuming his relaxed lounge, and musing idly to himself, "This goes well so far then, prices will soon jump, and the stockpile of our group will see excellent profits. As well as take away focus from our acquisition activities and competition sweeps. Remind me to find another caravan soon to acquire more material." Tapping his goatee in thought, he continued as both demons in his service returned to their spots on the walls. "I should keep an eye on those Worgen in the South as well, based in Darkshire. They might pose a problem with their natural....proclivities..."

Standing and moving back to his planter with purposeful strides, and seizing the watering can to satisfy the thirst of his precious plants, he enjoyed watching the crimson liquid cascade into the soil. He always enjoyed the sight of his creations draining the soil insidiously quickly. Normally we would make Zepsillin do this task, but he felt like taking enjoyment himself today.

Alone in his mind, the master warlock mused his problems and his successes. This problem in the Duskwood is also beneficial, immaculately timed and implemented. Why fight a nameless, strange disease when there is murder and messages to investigate out in that cursed hamlet? Leaves me to continue to pry the people, see what I can influence. Whomever was behind that dark matter in the darker woods was a fool, messages on backs, and warnings of doom? Like painting a target on one's back and expecting to not be hit. Better to remain the puppeteer than the puppet. Perhaps I should try to contact this brilliant colleague of mine, this Sputterspark. Rakeri Sputterspark, now that, that was a person to work with.

The meeting ended as Ariccan Halconis left the office, the worst possible outcome. Something horrible was happening out in Westfall, especially Moonbrook and the Watch had to act.

That was how he found himself out in in the dusty plains, his hood up over his head and face scanning the town as he stood just outside the city limits, face solemnly saddened by what he saw before him. So many ill, so many of them women and children. Each crying out in agony and fear, the horrors of sleeping kept them awake, yet the pain and exhaustion of the disease made them want to sleep. A despairing sight indeed to watch from afar.

He recalled the days of his time in the Military, fighting on all the fronts of War his commanders sent him. Places he himself had sent men. Each one bloody, friends dying, dirt flying, screams echoing and the roars of the enemy sending a chill down his spine.

He would have take those days back in a heartbeat to stop what he saw before him now, in the small town.

A family of four started making their way out of town along the main road, Ariccan watched the mother carry the daughter, and the father lead the son. They were ill, but by the strength of the parents had managed to get up and try to escape the horror of reality.

Ariccan closed his eyes and with a blink appeared before the family. "Are you planning on leaving the city limits? If so I must ensure you are not carriers of the malady of this quarantine zone. I am sorry."
The mother and father's face fell, each had dried blood around their mouths and the children were too weak to move by themselves. Tears streamed down their faces, "Please...please let us go...we have to go!" The mother crumpled to her knees, sobbing as tears made runs through the dirt, blood and grime on her cheeks.

Ariccan's heart nearly broke, silent tears slid down his own cheeks. Cheeks that had remained unstained by tears for many years. Not since the loss of his wife had he found the capacity to cry. "For the safety of all, in order to prevent further outbreaks, I am deeply sorry, I must return you to the city. Please remain there, help is coming and we are working at this very minute to cure you." Silently casting the teleportation spell, he raised his hand to the family, the father staring back at him with deadened, despairing eyes. The spell complete, the family was teleported back to the city center, beside the fountain.

As Ariccan himself teleported back to his overlook on the hill, the hot, dusty wind that blew against his face had nothing to do to cause the silent tears rolling down his cheeks.

Vancina frown as she read the scroll given to her boss, Derscha, by the mage Somayla. Her unbeating heart felt the sting of sorrow as she read the pleads if this scroll, of those behind each word. Vancina sat down at the small table in the AAMS mail room..and as carefully and quickly as she could, began to transcribe the messages her coworkers would soon take around that known lands of Azeroth and Outlands....

'People of Azeroth,

A terrible disaster has gripped the poor citizens of Werstfall, as well as several others from the prestigious Pia Presidium, and the Stormwind Union. Plague..A plague so terrible, it is indescribable. Quarantines have been established, but they may not last long. A cure must be found and with great haste. The leaders of the Pia Presidium and the Stormwind Union, plead for those with the most skill in healing and the Arcane and all who are willing to help, to gather as quickly as they can at the Stormwind Cathedral of the Holy Light, and to work together to find this most desperately needed cure.

Safe and Swift travels,
Vancina, employee of the AAMS'

Vancina read the messages carefully, before rolling them neatly into the message carrier containers. She placed them one by one into the section of the mail room, the section for the most urgent of messages. She watched as some of her coworkers read the brief of the assignment, grabbed a few of the carriers, and dashed in all directions, in search of those who are most desperately needed....

((An official date will be posted as soon as the details are worked out. If you are interested, please please, post here or get in touch with Jataa or Tyvian in game. This story line has been going awesome so far, and we would really love to see more players getting involved in some way =D have a great day everyone))

Abon had volunteered to go with the last supply convoy to Westfall. It would be a welcome getaway from the recent spate of deliveries from Miss High and Mighty to the participants in the box social. So much screaming over the hearthstone, which is why it had conveniently been left behind. No more hounding about, "Are you selling stuff to people?" "Are you flirting with that man?" "Are you making a pest out of yourself?" "Do you have a wedding dress on again?" Nope, none of those stupid questions. Just peace and quiet.

The driver on the seat next to her was older and friendly enough, but married with thirteen children and all of the rest of the drivers oddly enough had something wrong with their seats or had to have helpers sitting with them so the trip had been made with Gus. It could have been worse. Gus loved to tell stories and he was a good story teller. He made her laugh and he was also a good singer, which made her happy right down to her painted toenails. They were Posey Pink, this week's special. She had brought along a lot of samples also. The excuse, of course, was to try and get the ladies to try the products, but she knew most didn't have enough money for any luxuries so she loaded up on samples to give away and all the damaged bottles she could find to bring with her. She might not have been quite so generous when Abon Beauty Products was designed, produced and sold by herself, but after the hostile takeover by the goblin conglomerate Goblin Marketing Orders, she didn't care. Fortunately, sales had been so bad lately, they were in discussions about selling the company back to her.

Surprise.

At any rate, this would be an enjoyable trip. She always liked the Westfall ladies. They were hard-working and honest and appreciated anything Pia was able to send. This shipment would be especially appreciated. Not only was there lots of food, but a shipwreck had damaged a load of cotton wool, cloth and blankets and Pia had bought up as much as they could. The ladies would be sewing all winter long and the children would all have new blankets.

A patrol rode out to meet them three miles before they reached the settlement. "Can't let you any closer unless you plan to stay," the leader said.

"What do you mean?" replied Gus.

"Sickness. We're not sure what it is, but it's serious. The Commander decided to quarantine this morning. We'll be shutting down the checkpoints later in the day. We can use the supplies if you can leave the wagons, but you'll have to leave. Send word back we need healers. I have a letter from the Commander with symptoms and needed supplies."

Derscha looked at the letter Vancina had translated with a slight frown. The message had been earmarked for both Alliance and Horde branches, as requested.

"Well! Not many people on the other half of our clientele are going to be willing to travel to Stormwind, but I'm sure they can make arrangements for anyone who's interested in helping to lend a hand, anyway. Can't hurt to ask!"