World of Warcraft®

01/25/2014 06:53 PMPosted by Vancina

((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))

((<flails> I'm interested!!))

((I am also interested. :) ))

((Excellent, I'll get you guys contacted, and we'll all have a blast trying to fit us all in!))

Precious, the undead pup, laid by her sister's, Jataa, side as the Draenei was laying in the quarantine room of the Stormwind Cathedral. She watched as Jataa continued to cry out in terror and pain, coughing up blackened blood. Precious did not know how long her beloved sister had been like this, or when she would get better. Precious tried to be what the humans called hopeful, as the nice Paladin who gave her fish had told her to do, the one who was also being kept in the room; The only one who had managed to remain unaffected by the strange illness. Precious lifted up her head as the mage known as Somayla came to the door to speak to the Paladin called Sepha. 'The messages have been answered, the healers and other will be arriving just after the Light and You sermon a week from now. Please hold on my friends," Precious heard the mage say. She turned back to Jataa, and laid her head back down on the bed, watching her sister begin another violent coughing fit. Hold on Sister...Help..comes.. Precious thought as the bell rang the chimes of the new hour...

(Wednesday February 5th at 7:30 pm Server time is the date for the in game event! All who wish to participate, gather at the Stormwind Cathedral! I wish you all luck and Light be with you all!!)

REPORT ON MOONBROOK PLAGUE - UPDATE

Distribution: All Officers

--------------------------------

Situation Summary -

A Watch survey expedition into Moonbrook has returned with some unsual information. Further investigation is needed to determine if it is related to the origins of the Moonbrook plague.

Description of Events -

Lt. Commander Orwyn and Officers Griffith and Braxos entered Moonbrook on the evening of 2/1 in order to ascertain the current state of the plague in the town and obtain records from the town hall that chronicled the days leading up to the outbreak. The mission was undertaken based upon study of the plague that indicated that it was spread primarily via physical contact, and that the risk of aerial infection was low and could be managed with appropriate magical and physical preparations.

After a brief stop at the abandoned gryphon landing station, the officers entered the town. The streets were devoid of activity. No persons were seen until the town hall was entered. Inside, several persons were observed lying unconscious on the floor. They exhibited symptoms consistant with the plague. Some Light-based healing spells were tried on the victims, but to no effect. At no time were the officers in contact with any infected persons, and cleansing and purifying spells were in constant use the entire time.

A search located the town records, and also a report of a suspicious person entering the town dated just prior to the outbreak. The person was observed descending to the lowest level of the Moonbrook Mine before disappearing.

Lt. Commander Orwyn decided to investigate the mine. On the lowest level, the officers found the intact skin of a human male. The skin was loosely pilled up on the floor of the mine. No blood was discovered, and there was no sign of the rest of the body. The skin matched the description of the suspicious person. The skin was determined to be potential evidence. Given the hazard of continuing to stay in the mine, the skin was carefully bagged in a specially treated container and brought to the Watch medical lab. Before leaving the Moonbrook observation post, the officers changed clothing and were further purified by cleansing magic.

At the medical lab, the skin was turned over to the technicians. Medical Officer Calison was on duty, and began an investigation of the skin. The preliminary theory regarding the skin is that it, in combination with magic, was used to disguise the appearance of an unknown individual during his or her passage through Moonbrook.

In regards to the condition of the town and citizens of Moonbrook, it was noted that no persons were seen lying outside of buildings. No corpses were found. All infected persons were found to be unconscious. Outside of the mine, a dog was found unconscious, and seemed to be afflicted with the same symptoms as the plagued humans.

Instructions -

1. None at this time. Further action will be determined by the results of the analysis of the skin, consultation with healers over the ramifications of the observed current situation in Moonbrook, and examination of the town records.

- Lt. Commander Orwyn

Dressed the part of a simple traveling merchant, at least to the best of her own creation, pack on her back, satchel at her side, Lilith strolled out the front gates of the fair city.

Along her way out she took a few detours to stop at a few shops for added last minute supplies, passing by the apothecary for more of the medicine she was still taking for her cough, also to see a certain clerk she had taken a shine toward. She didn't know exactly why, just that she liked talking about plants with him. The tailors for new needles and cloth for bandages.

Stopping by a particular reagent shoppe along the canals of the Cathedral District she couldn't help but notice the hustle and bustle all around. She paused only for a minute to observe the coming and going of the city guard and various clergy. Stress and worry painted many of their faces. Physicians dress in their obvious garb also fluttered about. She marveled at how truly powerful this plague had become. Affecting so many lives.

It was another one of her curiosities. She desired to track down the mastermind behind this fowl illness, if one indeed even existed, and pick his brain a little. Alas, she was no match to ward off such a deadly concoction, and so instead set her sights on more attainable aspirations in the Duskwoods. This plague was far out of her league, and she respected that.

As she entered the Elwynn Forests the little hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. A notion washed over her like a wave, and suddenly she was grateful she would be out of the city these next few days. For some reason she felt as if something much more terrible would be visiting the populace. Soon.

Life bustled on as usual in the Cathedral district, children from the orphanage playing, the faithful coming and going. Armor clad Paladins and and robe garbed Priests made their way through the square.

No one noticed the simply garbed man, making his way to the entrance. He was just another face in the crowd, another face of the common man. Smiling at those leaving when he entered, the plethora of churchgoers filed out beside him. Walking inside and bowing his head to the Bishops and Priests inside, he made his way back to the altar for a quick mumbled prayer. Looking for all the world like a simple shopkeep praying for continued business and prosperity.

When he turned to leave however, no one noticed him instead descend into the lower chambers. The chambers he had read on the fliers that the meeting of Azeroth's healers would take place. Looking around, he smiled to himself, and flicked a stray bit of hair from his eyes.

Without a moment to lose, he moved to the pillars, and began to press his thumb into the stonework. Sizzling and smoke began to emanate from where the skin touched stone. When he removed the finger, a small demonic rune was etched into the stone, almost too small to see, and low enough down to escape notice...except for a Gnome or Dwarf possibly. Tyvian Reinheart straightened and moved to other pillars, marking them the same.

Next was the corners, the upper four corners of the room. The eyes of Kilrogg. Creating and maintaining them was almost instinctual now. He had hundreds across the worlds, each hidden and watching. Some followed people, some stationary. Now he wove the spell bindings up into the corners, a large Green eye staring back at him. He could see through it, hear through it consciously at the same time. Like in the back of his head was two tubes he could see through, each a different image at the end. Though rather than just two, there was a tube for every eye he had. So many, hundreds it was sometimes a wonder his head didn't explode from the sensory overload. So he tuned them out and focused on one at a time.

Waving his hand, the large green eye disappeared from sight. Still there, but invisible to all. Moving from corner to corner, he placed an eye in each corner, near the ceiling. He had to work slower than he preferred. Much slower than necessary, he did not want to attract attention from anyone capable of sensing this magic. That, he thought, would be quite a problem to explain to anyone.

The runes he had placed would ensure his eyes did not dissipate. They would secretly power the eyes for an eternity if he so choose. Next he moved to the floor, looking down at the floor stones. With a grunt, his arm shifted form, massive muscles bulged and the skin became hard, scaled and fel green, his fingers became claws, ripples of Fel ringed the musculature, the arm of a demon. He grabbed at some stone and heaved, pulling them from the floor, before reaching into his pockets. Small slips of paper each with a carefully drawn ritual circle on them went into the hole left by the stone. Seven times he did this, forming a circle in the room before replacing the stones as neatly as he could.

With his arm back to human size, shape and complexion, he walked out as casually as he could. Passing several altar boys and Priests who nodded and smiled back at him when he left. A sturdy paladin gave him a quiet blessing as Tyvian bowed his head at the entryway. With a song humming in his throat, he stuck his hands in his pockets and moved along with the crowd. Just another face heading towards his home.

He had learned much from the time he had spent hunting the Twilight's Hammer. Including how to hide like them...

Rakeri Sputterspark padded silently out of the Slaughtered Lamb towards the "landing pad" where he'd parked the sky golem, on one of the walls overlooking the shattered remnants of the Park, statues of Turalyon and Khadgar flanking either side of the entrance. No guards posted, which he found rather odd for this time of night...

"Going somewhere, Professor?"

Dark purplish tentacles sprung up from the stone to wrap around his short legs and the lower half of his body, trapping his hands as well. A tall figure in robes of midnight blue stepped into his line of view; he held a hammer in one hand and a staff in the other. Both bore the sigils of the Church of Light. Instantly, Rakeri knew who it was. "Saavedro. I should have you reported to the Watch for harassment and unlawful imprisonment."

"You'd save me the trouble of reporting you," the priest replied, pulling back his hood. "I'd have you reported for attempted murder."

"Is your penchant for smiting really so underutilized that you need to come after me now?" Rakeri laughed. "If you're referring to whatever is going on in Westfall, which I've only heard recently is some kind of plague, I'll have you know that I only found out for certain of it tonight, and had nothing to do with it." Something the strange warlock with the bone mask had said came to mind. "Besides, with a populace that eats dirt, who knows what germs they pick up?"

"You think this is funny?!" Shankolin was horrified. He'd known Rakeri was a cold, conniving scumbag, but this... "You odious little toad...you feed off people's suffering like appetizers! I --"

"YOU WILL DO NOTHING!" Rakeri shouted, rage evident in his face. "Contrary to what your hypocritical philosophy tells you, we are not responsible for all the world's ills. It's a plague, you say - ask a death knight! They're walking plagues themselves." His rage became a malevolently calculating gaze, dark shadows dancing in his fel-green eyes. "You have no proof, Saavedro, and you know it. And you also know that I may seek your blood, hope to subject you to the kind of torment you once subjected me - but I do not lie when it counts."

Shankolin hesitated. The wretch was right, and he knew it. Rakeri could see the realization dawn on him, and he grinned evilly. "Now release me, and I will be on my way."

The priest let out a sigh, and released the tendrils around the gnome. Rakeri stepped up the built in steps to the controls of his machine. Rakeri's grin widened. "See you around. And give Genevra my...fondest regards." Laughing, he pushed a button on the console and the armored canopy snapped shut over the control cabin, as the machine lifted off with a burst of retro-thrusters.

As he flew over Stormwind Harbor and headed northward towards Khaz Modan, Rakeri raged. From what the bone-face had said to him, that prudish mage was likely working for the Watch, hunting for warlocks; going to them would probably have been ill-advised anyway. Something about an occurrence in the Cathedral. He remembered what the two men had talked about...something about a rune-activated explosive spell. Though he specialized in the arts of the scribe as well as engineering, Rakeri's talents tended more towards enhancements and staff-making, not offensive abilities.

Though he would usually be the last to admit it, he realized something big was going down...and he didn't want to be caught alone. But he wondered what the other man's motives were. Verify...but never trust, he thought; it was an adage Linavil Shadowsun had taught him, when she had given him the Feltouch Recursive all those years ago, after she saved him from being Saavedro's robot butler. Still...perhaps strength in numbers would be more ideal.

He wondered if anyone else in the fel arts thought the same way.

Light it hurts.

Officer Ariccan Halconis of the Stormwind Watch sat at his desk, fresh bandages covering his legs and a new robe around his badly burned body. Thinking to himself, as he examined the skin in front of him, probing and concentrating for any remaining traces of the magic that was used to help the owner conceal himself. We're missing something, something important, motive, means, and results.

Groaning slightly as he reached down to a drawer to pull out a sizable tome he had been given by the aged Father in the meeting. Setting the tome down, Ariccan idly conjured himself a cup of tea, and heated it with a flame for a moment before opening the book.

Plagues, evidently the modus operandi of necromancy and Scourge magics and means, but the signs point to a Fel user, probably Warlock. We can't leave any possibility out though, account all the obvious, then simplify, we need more information.

Raising the teacup to his mouth for a sip as he leaned back in his chair, he nodded to Corporal Chambliss and Medical Officer Calison as they passed him, going about their own duties. Calison offered him a small smile, which he graciously returned. Ariccan added to Calison, "Thank you again for seeing to my injuries, rather foolish of me to step into a booby trap. I should treat this as a battlefield."

Natasha Calison, smiled and nodded back, "It was nothing, just doing my duty and I am always glad to help." Ariccan chuckled and went back to his work as Calison moved off to continue her study of the samples she had acquired, face set in determination. Commander Orwyn was out of the Office, speaking with the necessary officials in the nobility to see about a complete city lock-down.

Sitting there in his chair, he pored over the tome he had been given, this "Sekhesmet" had many notations of alchemical, chemical, and biological research, plague being one of the principle areas of focus. The Father had given him a tool, and Ariccan was no stranger to poring over books, battle plans, and reports, so he read. He would keep reading until he had exhausted this book. As he read, he went over what they had learned so far.

Last night, before he had been apparently blasted into a wall, the assembled had found some progress, and some setbacks. Ciellia Oakenshield, and her Ocheliad colleague had offered assistance, as had the Presidium with added manpower. Tom, the Magi and Faithe had helped to isolate and ascertain that this plague, this disease was unnatural. Fel based, with no known magical cure, only natural remedies of potions and herbal seemed to ease the pain. Ariccan turned the pages of the tome, frowning to himself in thought, I wish someone of Shamanistic had attended to offer expertise and try elemental practices. We can't overlook any possible aid, we've got to use everything at our disposal.

After he had regained consciousness, Officer Calison had notified him of the booby trap that had nearly killed him if not for so many healers present. The discovery of the disposable rune circles that had been hidden in the room, and that throughout the meeting, they had been watched. Watched by the very culprit himself. What they knew, he knew, and he had done it with an Eye of Killrogg. A Warlock without question. They had added another to the quarantine zone, a Terran worgen named Turrick had voluntarily gone in to comfort a young girl. Ariccan did not mind that, so long as the quarantine was held and this Turrick didn't complicate matters, he might be able to comfort and console the girl. Give her strength not of the physical world.

Still, ignoring the aching pains that continuously ran up his body, we have to find this person or persons soon, the scope and planning is something terrifying to behold, this is no amateur. Ariccan flipped through the pages, his face set in the quiet determination that had been his trademark for the victories he had contributed to the Alliance during his many years on the front lines. Front lines he had seen what Warlocks could do, seen the contribution and sacrifice they had given for the Alliance in so many theaters of war. Seen them do a thankless job only to be hated.

I will not let this turn into a witch hunt, mob justice is not justice. I will not let the people drag Warlocks into the streets like a biased purge, I will not allow years of progress with them to be ruined by this. We need to approach the Demon consorting men and women, but we must do it tactfully. How though? How...

Without turning every Warlock in the Alliance against us?

Sitting in the Slaughtered Lamb idly enjoying a cup of tea, Tyvian Reinheart, better known as "Grim" did not look like a man who had just been forced to flee. His stint in the cemetery to observe the meeting had nearly backfired.

"I wonder how that Light blinded fool could still see anything", he mused to himself.

He had made a mistake with the eyes, too many and not hidden well enough. The magic had been traced to him, and that Magi had reversed the sight. The Magi had SEEN through HIS eyes. Swirling the tea in the cup, the bone masked man was perfectly at ease now, he had managed to avoid detection by slipping away and severing the connection to his eyes. They can always be replaced anyway.

What irked him, was the need for more care, less risk. His pet project had borne wondrous fruits so far, and he intended to continue this harvest. He had wanted to incapacitate all those who had assembled, but in an act of what can only be cosmic bad luck, none save the elderly Watch Magi had stepped into his trap. Taking a deep breath and letting his eyes rove around the Slaughtered Lamb slowly, he admitted to himself, "It was a mistake to trigger it for only one, I should have waited."

Grim thought about the future, the progression of his works, his stirring of the pot from where no one could see him. The magical resiliency factors of his creation were still holding, and showing only slight decline in subsequent infections. There was not much he could do about herbal remedies, as he could not alter nature itself without direct intervention, something he would not do, too risky. Shamanism, he needed to consider, he had tried to craft the spellwork to react to the Light first and foremost, then Druidism. The very primal nature of shamanism he needed to study further, "how to negate the fact that water is wet? Is it even possible?"

The many machinations of his mind were interrupted with several things at once. He blinked quickly to react to them all without appearing suspicious. First he watched his apprentice ready herself to continue her own venture, to which he was curious and watchful. She needed guidance still, she had talent, just direction and respect for the power she would wield.

Second, warnings went off in his mind, someone was entering his quarters in Tanaris, switching his sight to the Eye hidden in his room, he immediately dismissed it as the cleaning goblin peered in, took one look at the neat room and left.

Lastly, the Presidium Magi, Tom? Was that his name? entered the Slaughtered Lamb and immediately began to converse with him. Switching his sight back to his own eyes, he declined the offer of ale and asked what it was this Magi wanted with him. As if I don't already know, the 'exact' reason he is here. Came to find a demon and found Sargeras himself. Grim couldn't help smiling to himself behind the mask, shadows and illusion.

He feigned interest the entire conversation, ignorance and helpfulness as Tom produced his own paperwork. His ritual runes, the trap he laid. If only you had stood there too... He wished to himself. Explaining without a single lie, he offered his apologies that he couldn't trace this, the first lie came when he said he could not recognize the work. The magic of the ritual was gone, he carefully explained, there was nothing left to trace but ink, paper, and ash. The very reason I chose this you ignorant prat.

He was pleasantly interrupted by Rakeri Sputterspark, a masterful gnome he knew by reputation, yet he feigned ignorance again. Let's see where this goes, shall we? Soon, the trio found themselves in discussion of the Fel, and hypocrisy. The conversation progressed, as the Presidium Magi hid the reason he was asking about the Fel arts, and politely excused himself once Grim had told him all he could. Credit where credit is due, they do attempt order and civility. Alone with Sputterspark, Grim enjoyed the discourse of the plague and human err, gnomish engineering of Skyships and plaguework, how it could be expected to come from those who ate dirt. The hour grew late, and as Grim and Sputterspark excused themselves, with the Gnome leaving, and Grim himself descending into the Lamb he could only wonder.

Perhaps this Warlock hunt will unite the Feltouched in a way no other event had in this blasted city... Create a brotherhood of like minded individuals that spans covens, races, factions, ideologies, and ensures no Master of the Legion's own magics would have to work alone again...

Despite the effects of age and years of war on his body, Father Shankolin often liked to travel. In the months since he had returned to the priesthood, he had taken his ministry to the roads and villages of Pandaria, now that the war was (for all intents and purposes) over, to take some of the lessons of forty-plus years of service, plus some bits from the sermons he had attended with Genevra, trying to enlighten - pun intended - the pandaren to how the human priesthood worked, and to compare to their practices of honoring their ancestors, as many shamanic races did, as well as the four August Celestials.

First and foremost, he mused, he was a student. All mortals were students, even if they claimed to be teachers. Many used the adage "we learn until we die"; it had been taught to him as a thirteen-year-old son of a magistrate, taken in as an apprentice by a man who looked like a bronze statue with robes on at the Cathedral of Stratholme. As the years went by, he tried to hold onto the good memories of those days...even as he remembered what his teacher had become, and what he had been forced to do to end his corruption.

He rode on a gray horse, on his way out of the Jade Forest and along the roads of the Valley of the Four Winds to Halfhill, the market town in the center of the valley, surrounded by the verdant farm country appropriately known as "the Heartland". As he reached the three-way crossroads between it, New Cifera and the road he'd just come down from, he was thrown from his horse as it was crushed by a burst of shadow from behind him. Rolling (painfully) onto his feet, he grabbed his hammer and staff and turned to face the attacker...just as a burst of fire knocked him on his back. A dark grip of fel shadow lifted him up off the ground, the symbols of his holy calling falling from limp fingers to the ground.

"My people are often practitioners of the old adage of patience being a virtue. I was content, until last night, to play the long game. It seems your restraint is not quite as strong...you decided to be high and mighty." Hate suffused every line in Rakeri's face as the razor-sharp spikes of his staff head impaled the trapped priest in both of his knees, then into his abdomen. Shankolin screamed in agony, hoping that his cries could be heard by the guards in Halfhill, and they would come to aid him. Blood poured from his wounds onto the discarded weapons on the roadway.

"I have tolerated your insolence long enough, Saavedro," the demented professor continued. "Now I introduce you to PAIN. I shall leave your mind trapped in a broken body, your spirit unable to control your own form...just as what you did to me in the Storm Peaks years ago. Perhaps, if you aren't found in time, and your friends in Stormwind cannot restore you - which they might, but who knows? - I will find you again, and treat you much the same as you did me. A puppet to run my every errand." The warlock sneered. "Tragic irony, or poetic justice? You tell me."

"If you do this...they will know," Shankolin said through clenched teeth. "She will know."

"Gut feelings and suspicions are not the same thing as proof, my dear Saavedro. Unlike your ham-handed efforts last night, we are far from the prying eyes of your precious Genevra, the doddering idiots of the Presidium, and the hand-tied 'law' of the Watch. And given the head trauma you're about to experience, you're not likely to remember a thing." Rakeri grinned evilly. "You underestimate me a great deal, human; you look at the fact that I'm a gnome and a warlock, and you see stupidity and evil. My people were excelling in our every action while yours were still beating rocks together in the plains of Lordaeron. They will suspect; they will not prove. That is the beauty of it."

Rakeri picked up Shankolin's bloodstained staff, and kicked the hammer down a ways into the waters of the Gilding Stream, under the bridge. "Someone will have to find you, however. Perhaps I can report to the Watch and offer to assist in the search." His grin widened. "You and your friends have awakened a sleeping demon, Saavedro, and now nothing you do will stop it. Remember that while you still can...remember your failure!"

Without another word, the professor let out a burst of magic to hurl the wounded priest over the bridge, the back of his head hitting the wood of the bridge as he fell into the water, where the current would take him downstream and over the falls into Krasarang. The last thing Shankolin saw before blacking out was Rakeri stepping into his flying shredder...and the last thing he heard was his cruel laughter.

In the dark of night just outside of Hearthglen a tent was dimly lit by the lantern that laid inside next to a Stormwind Watch issued radio. Officer Hendle Griffith sat inside on top of his sleeping bag and said into the radio receiver "You have heart and courage. The people of Stormwind need that right now.. Give that to them." He let go of the button on the receiver and waited for a response. He listened to the low hum of the static while he waited, for some reason it was comforting to hear. Then suddenly a female chuckle came over the radio interrupting the static. "I believe that's called stubbornness" said the woman. Hendle chuckled himself and started to say into the radio "I think we all have to b-" All of a sudden the static on the radio interrupted him and grew louder. "Natasha? Officer Calison can you hear me?" No response, only the loud static was there to great him. He flipped the power switch on the radio off knowing that that was all he could get from it tonight. At least he was able to get an update and some new orders. Return to Stormwind. That was fine with him, The western plague lands were never his favorite place to be. He reached over and dimmed the lantern until the flame was no more. He needed to get some rest, he had a big day of traveling ahead of him tomorrow. He wiggled into his sleeping bag and closed his eyes hopping that tonight would be the night the nightmare wouldn't haunt him.

He wasn't that lucky. He never was. The nightmares had started three years ago and they didn't look like they were going to stop anytime soon. The dream started off in Moonbrook, like it usually did. But this time there was something off about it. The streets were barren and the only sound came from the shouts of pain coming from every door way. He walked through the town in a daze. He had been here a few days earlier with Commander Orwyn and Officer Braxos, but this time he was even more frightened, mostly because he knew what was coming. He knew how this dream would end. He made his way towards the mine, glancing at the plagued dog as he entered. He stepped over the sick and defenseless people of Moonbrook who littered the ground inside the mine. His fear became mania as he ventured deeper. He rounded all the twistes and turns and entered a part of the mine he wished he never had to see again. It was a small dirt room and in the middle of it was a man on his knees smiling up at him.
This was his curse.
Please, He thought, Please this isn't me anymore.
But his body did not listen to him, his vision turned red and he walked up to the smiling man and started to beat him senseless. He could not stop himself as he started to scream the words he always screamed, "Why did you kill Hugue?! Why did you kill my brother!!" Tears rolled down his face, All he wanted to do was stop himself from reliving this horrible memory.
This isn't me
The smiling man died beaten and bloodied. Hendle stepped back from the carnage and roared in anger. A hand then touched his shoulder, Hendle turned to see his dead brother standing there with his throat still slit and bloody. Hugue looked at him in disgust and said,
"Who are you?"

The next morning he packed his things and made his way to tell the officials of Hearthglen that he had been called back to Stormwind. They understood and sent him on his way with a priest as his escort, to cleanse the air as he made his way out of the walled town. Hearthglen had been hit by the same plague as Moonbrook, and it was looking pretty bad for them. Screams and cries for help haunted his ears, he had heard these kinds of cries on the battle field before but never from people's homes. It made him uneasy. After getting out of the town he hoped on his life long friend Blackjack and they made their way south. They went through the plagued lands and into the rolling green hills of Hillsbrad. On his way though Hillsbrad he couldn't help but think about his home town of Southshore, it still angered him that its end came so abruptly. The Forsaken had decimated the small town and everyone in it including his own father. But there was nothing he could of done. He would of liked to think he could of saved them. But in reality he probably would be as dead as them right now if he had tired.He defiantly wouldn't be where he was today. Happy, with his own home and a great job. A job that went from stopping bar fights to quarantining whole towns in a matter of a week. The job had never been a safe one but lately it had become even more dangerous than ever. So dangerous that one of his fellow officers had been blown up yesterday. And not just out in the middle of no ware like the Barrens or something. It happened right in Stormwind, in the Cathedral of all places. Who ever is behind all of this knows what they're doing, Hendle thought. And that makes them even more dangerous
He made his way past Thoradin's Wall and thats where everything went wrong.

Five Forsaken troops encircled Officer Hendle Griffith and his horse Blackjack with they're weapons drawn. Blackjack was being twitchy Hendle knew what the horse was thinking and he agreed that it was a good plan but Hendle wanted to solve this peacefully. "Everything is going to be ok" ,he whispered to his stead.
He looked towards the undead troops and spotted the one who looked like he was in charge. "You there!" Hendle pointed to the leader. "Yes?" answered the bag of rotting meat. "I don't want any trouble so if you let me go we wont have any."
"Well guess what boy? You found trouble." Yelled the leader. His troops laughed as the enclosed on Hendle and his horse.
I guess we can do it your way Blackjack, Hendle thought. Blackjack snorted and took off, the Paladin sent white hot bursts of the light into two of the Forsaken troops sending them straight to the ground.
Dead for real this time,Thought Hendle. Blackjack charged towards the undead troop in front of him trampling him as the horse went. When they were about 150 yards out of the danger Hendle sighed.
Close one,he thought. Then he heard something, it sounded a bit like a whistle. That is when it hit him. A blast of pain knocked him forward into his horse. He was dazed but he could still feel the blood trickling out of him. Blackjack became startled and galloped even faster, which made him hurt even more. He looked at his shoulder and found a bloody arrow head protruding out of it. Some how one of the Forsaken shot him from that far away.
Now that is luck!, he thought, Why can't I be that lucky? His eyes started to fade to black and he knew he was going to pass out. He closed his eyes and held on tight to his horse.
Keep me safe until I wake up, Hendle thought Maybe you'll have enough luck for the both of us.

Bits of dry grass atop a hill lifted gently into the air then swirled around. She appeared in the blink of an eye, standing on the hill top, road side with a splendid view of the forever white Stromgarde walls. As the little blades gently fluttered back down she smiled behind the cloth mask she wore beneath her hood. No matter what befalls the ruins, the old kingdom will always be to her a special place or wonder, mystery, and awe.

Ever aware of the ogre that tended to wander nearby, the mysterious mage gazed over the highlands. Her reminiscence was shattered by the panicked hoof-clopping coming up the road. It came from the direction of Thoradin's Wall. Uncertain of what she might find, and if she would want to get involved, she crouched low, hooking her thumbs behind the shoulder straps of her pack.

Around the bend in the distance a dark horse charged forward, its slouched rider hugged the neck of the beast bouncing back and forth in the saddle. She watched for a long moment as the horse drew nearer. It didn't appear anyone had given chase, or anything for that matter. She knew of the forsaken that guarded the archway.

Poor fool. She thought. It would appear that this one wasn't aware of the break a little further up the wall. At any rate it didn't look good. Refuge Point wasn't far, so perhaps she would do her good deed for the day and at least make sure that the horse and rider arrived there safely.

As it had moments before, the loose grass of the hill top lifted off the ground round the hooded mage. Where she had been crouching the grass blades swirled in a circle as she disappeared in the blink of an eye. They then gently fluttered back down upon the hill top .

She appeared on the other side of the thick ancient stone archway that sat across the road, hidden from the horses view as not to spook the animal. She stepped out and held her arms out to the beast. It skittered to a halt, pranced from side to side and even reared up on its hind legs, all in a panic. In moments she had the beast calmed and took its reigns, softly stroking its neck and cooing. The animal still shivered with adrenaline.

Making her way back to the rider, who miraculously wasn't thrown from the saddle by the sudden halt, she found him barely conscious. A dark arrow shaft jutted out the back of his shoulder. "All right you. Lets get you some help." she spoke to both the rider and the horse. In preparing to mount behind the rider, she noted a sigil he wore.

A Watchman of Stormwind. She thought. What are you don't all the way out...

Her thoughts cut short as her ears perked up. From the road side bushes a forsaken guardsman burst forward, two of his fellow forsaken guards hot on his heels. The mage stepped back as the horse reared to face the charging forsaken. It kicked wildly at the undead foe.

Providing a perfect opening, the mage disappeared from beside the animal and with the blink of an eye...
((So I don't co-op this thread any more than needed :P, I'm posting what happened here: http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/10973337407 ))

The mage reappeared just behind the horse on the road. She dusted her robes and pulled them straight, readjusting her belt, pouches and shifting the shoulder straps of the small back pack. The horse had trotted off a ways, leaving its rider in a heap on the stone path. It appeared he had been tossed at some point during all the commotion.

After leading the horse back to its rider she stood for a moment, wondering how she might get the heavy man back atop his steed. An idea came to her. Altered a spell she had used some time ago to suspend an object in the air, she wove it around the man and was then able to easily replace him on the horses' back. She mounted the beast and made her way to Refuge Point.

"Hold tight officer. Help is coming."

Yatiri Stormwatcher stepped out of the saddle of his tiger at the Halfhill Market to sample some of the cuisine there while he was in the area. He often came to places like the Valley of the Four Winds, places of peaceful trade and farming, to remind himself of who he became a Shado-Pan for.

"Pardon me, Shado-Pan," came a hesitant voice from behind him. He turned to see one of the local farmers. "There is something you should see."

"A prize melon, perhaps?" Yatiri sounded amused, but his merriment faded when he saw the farmer was somewhat scared. His tone became more official. "Show me."

The farmer led him out of town to the east bridge over the Gilding Stream, and at once Yatiri saw what he was here for. It looked like a scene from a battlefield. Blood spattered everywhere, and obvious signs of a struggle. A dead horse lay partly crushed as if by some giant hand on the road on the eastern side. "By the four winds," Yatiri whispered, sickened by the carnage. "What happened?"

"We heard screams, but did not know what caused them. When we came to investigate, we heard a great roar, like an angry mushan...but all we saw was this."

Yatiri saw strange imprints in the grass, a pair of three-pronged indentations, not far from the bloody scene. There were also signs of blood spatter on the bridge itself. He looked down in the water...and stopped for a moment. Something was shining in the water, sticking up out of the mud. He carefully made his way down the steep embankment to pick up the object...and stared in horror. "White Tiger's whiskers..." He looked down the stream, as the currents took it down into the Yan-Zhe River...then back at the weapon.

Running in the water and back up a less steep incline, he ran all the way back to the Halfhill market, leapt onto his tiger, and headed east, back into the Jade Forest - to Paw'don Village, and the portal back to Stormwind...

Officer Hendle Griffith slowly awoke to the morning sunshine. For awhile he watched the sun as it moved across the blue background of the world.
Wait,he thought, Why am I watching the sun?
Only then did he remember what had happened with the Forsaken. He looked around and didn't recognize where he was. It was Arathi of course, he could tell that much from the hills that surrounded him. But where in Arathi?
He looked down at his barren chest and thought Where the heck is my shirt? More importantly where is Blackjack?
To many questions that needed answering.He looked at the people who were moving about the camp.
Not undead,Hendle thought, Good enough for me!
Hendle tried to raise himself to a sitting position but when he put weight on his right shoulder as he pushed himself up he felt an inferno of pain course through him. He fell a back to the ground dazed and exhausted. He then remembered that his shoulder had an arrow through it yesterday. His own medical training told him that he should probably be out of the game for the next day or two as it healed.
I don't have time for that,he thought, the Commander is expecting me to be in Stormwind today.
He tried again to get up using the other arm, Breathing heavily and struggling as he went. About half way up he passed out, his head hitting his makeshift pillow with a thump.

When Officer Hendle Griffith woke up for the second time that day he saw a man in red and silver armor bending down and checking his bandages. What sigil was that on his tabard?,Thought Hendle, Stromgarde? Oh! I'm at the Stromgarde post called Refuge Pointe...Ok... How the hell did I get here?
The man looked at him and saw he was awake.
"It's good that you're awake! It just means your not as far dead as we thought!" The blond haired man chuckled and patted Hendle's chest saying "You are a very lucky man.." A moment of silence pasted between them and then Hendle erupted into laughter.
"Lucky!" Hendle laughed, "I think you are talking to the wrong guy!"
The blond haired man then went on to tell him the story of how a Mage had found him on the road, how she fought off and killed the Forsaken troops that had taken pursuit of him and then of how she brought him here.
"If she hadn't of found you sir, I'm pretty sure you would of been dead by last night."
Hendle nodded and said "Where is she? I'd like to thank her."
The other man shook his head and said, "She disappeared right after she told us the story and saw that you were safe. She literally vanished."
Hendle chuckled, "Yeah, Mages some times do that from time to time."
The other nodded, "True... Now listen your shoulder wound is healing nicely, but you are going to have to stay off your feet for the next couple of days before you can go anywhere."
Hendle nodded in agreement, "I've lost too much blood, there is no way I'm going anywhere with out passing out until my body corrects its self."
"Good I'll let my superiors know." The blond haired man stood and started to walk off.
"Wait!" Yelled Hendle. the other turned and said "Yes?"
"Where is my horse?" Asked Hendle in a worried tone.
"He is fine, just out grazing with the other horses."
"Good... And Umm..." Hendle looked at his naked chest and then back at the man. "Do you think I might be able to get a shirt?"
The other smiled and nodded, then the man turned and walked away.
Hendle laid his head back down on the makeshift pillow and his eyes grew heavy.
Time for sleep already?, he thought, I really must of lost a lot of blood.
He then thought of the mage who had risked her life for his. He would be dead if it wasn't for her. Maybe he did have some luck still. Or maybe it was Blackjack's. He then decided he wasn't going to lay there and presume he knew how the world worked, it just did. And Finally it was working in his favor.
Just as he started to pass out he said a silent prayer for the mage, to keep her safe in the days to come. Then he fell asleep.

The meeting of people - healers and officials - had gone well until near the end. Ciellia chewed on her lower lip as she remembered the night - a few steps closer and it is her that would have felt the blast from the explosive runes.

"Dear Adrazel,

Years ago, in a time of struggle between the Ocheliad and Presidium, my adopted daughter (Shauraria) was kindly welcomed into your group. Since then I have learned from her, as to the stability your group provided her. I fear this stability, for all, might become tested. There was a plague unleashed in Westfall and it has left large portions of the population there ill - if not dead. I have seen it first hand come to Ironforge and now Stormwind City.

It has been determined that the culprit wields fel magic. This is my warning that some present tonight will not handle this matter delicately. I have no doubt it is none from your order, but nonetheless, feel responsible to warn you. The plague was hidden in food and spread by contact. Be wary of -ALL- food coming into the garrison. Herbal remedies seems to help with pain and alcohol with slowing the effects of the plague.

If at all possible, I would like a meeting with one - if not more - of your members, especially, the fel users to spread both warnings. I have an acquaintance working on a device to 'scan' food to sense for any non-natural tamperings.

From, Ciellia Oakenfury"

She had the note swiftly delivered by way of Ria's dream owl.

Things were progressing splendidly. Tyvian sat in the Recluse, his face and body unmasked and under his guise of a normal shopkeeper. The plague had spread, the people were on the lookout for Warlocks and tensions were running high. Time to stir the pot again.

The people wanted to start a witch hunt, they wanted to blame and toss out the Warlocks? Fine, he would let them. He'd let them and create unity amongst his kind when they were aggravated against.

Now, all he needed was a scapegoat, someone to take the fall for his kind, someone to let the others reap the rewards and dissolve any suspicion from himself.

Sitting at the table chatting with Alex, Bomi, Mithara and Camelie, he smiled in friendliness it seemed. Really, he was smiling for other reasons.

He knew just the rival coven leader to take the fall for him.