World of Warcraft®

Striding out from the seventh inn he had visited, Tyvian pulled the red cloth down, letting his face show in the night as he breathed deeply. Standing in the streeth in Old Town, he had placed his rumors, his suggestions, and his lies carefully.

Grabbing the blonde wig from his head, and removing the spell to turn his goatee and eyebrows back to black, he tossed them away in a heap that burst into Felgreen flames, incinerating any traces of them.

A few choice words in the right ears will do a world of wondrous change.

Turning the corner and strolling through the city streets he knew so well, he whistled a tune as the night swallowed him between streetlamps.

"The witch hunt has begun."

((If anybody wants to volunteer a warlock or several to be assaulted in SW, please contact me! I promise no death or maimings, just some bruises and cuts.))

A sealed scroll is delivered to Commander Orwyn, bearing the personal insignia of Saavedro of Stratholme, the man now known as Father Shankolin: The L sigil of Lordaeron on the head of a smith's hammer.

Commander:

A messenger from the AAMS came to me in Stormwind earlier this evening, informing me that a Miss Somayla Frostflower wished to speak with me regarding information she obtained while looking in on her mother, who is currently being held in the Cathedral quarantine. When I asked her who else she had given this information to, she replied that the only person she had spoken to was the messenger.

Miss Frostflower informed me that two members of the Pia Presidium, the mage Tom and a death knight, called on her in the quarantine, and that she (Miss Frostflower) overheard a conversation between the death knight and an undead canine creature known as "Precious", belonging to the Presidium knight Jataa Lightsworn - like the rather larger cousin of the thing in Icecrown Citadel. Somehow, the creature is able to communicate in the dark tongue of the Scourge.

The creature mentioned being threatened by a warlock for "sniffing" him, and also detected the scent of dead plants, which led Miss Frostflower to believe this warlock to possibly be proficient in the alchemical arts - something we suspected. The man is identified only by the name "Grim". Not much to go on...and the source, admittedly, could be better than a stitched-together dog. But as I informed her, every journey begins with a small step. I am not sure whether you were aware of this "Grim" or not - I have...only just returned.

On that note, by the way, I have been made aware by my associates that they suspect the hand of a gnome warlock who considers me his nemesis - Professor Rakeri Sputterspark. As my memory is somewhat hazy, I am not exactly the most reliable chronicler of the events that took place, relying only on how it was related to me after Blackguard Stormwatcher found me. That said, however, I wish to emphasize caution. Our prevailing fear is that rumors of witch hunts may lead to an uprising; I ask that no action be taken against the professor unless it is absolutely certain he is the perpetrator.

May the Light watch over you,
Shankolin

The pain was bad.

That was the first thought every morning in the Cathedral, for at least the past week. The dark haze in his waking visage always blinked away soon enough, but the pain remained. He got up from his cot and began preparing for another day of hospice care in the quarantine.

As one of the most functional of the victims, Rhudran busied himself with making the others comfortable and helping to feed them. His elemental waters helped keep them clean and seemed to wash away some of the pain.

He held modest sermons, to keep his mind off the pain, mostly. He hoped that his calm words would reach through the nightmares and comfort some of his fellows.

Today, however, was quieter. He sat at the foot of Jataa's bed and pet Precious as he watched the dawn touch the stained glass this morning, praying silently for the darkness to lift before people began to perish.

Another failure. Confound this wretched affliction!

Merral sipped a warm, stale mug of Pandaren ale while he glared at the results of his most recent test.

Ever since Rhudran had sent that beast Gondorinn to him with the original samples, he'd been trying to find some way to cure this new plague. Reluctant to leave the Vale of Eternal Blossoms, he'd worked hard in his lab away from home, trying to come up with some way to neutralize it. The Light could slow the plague, but the intensity needed to destroy it also boiled the blood as well. Shamanism showed some promise, but every other technique or remedy ran into a wall when he tried to prevent the mechanism of demise.

Alas, he was low on options by now, especially once he'd heard that the plague had reached Hearthglen and his main lab. This was the last viable sample, now made less viable by his latest attempt and therefore unfit for further tests.

With a heavy sigh, he began gathering his notes. His joints and humors dreaded the travel he would have to endure on the long way to Stormwind City, but he needed more samples and, even more critically, he needed to swap notes with the healers at the Cathedral if he had any hope of solving this one.

An official notice begins to circulate in Stormwind as the sun rises...

LET IT BE KNOWN that in the course of the investigation regarding the disappearance of a citizen of the Kingdom of Stormwind, the defendant RAKERI SPUTTERSPARK, a citizen of the nation of Gnomeregan, was arrested by order of the Commander of the Stormwind City Watch on the charges of filing a false report, as well as impeding the investigation, and a number of other charges of obstruction of justice.

LET IT BE KNOWN that the defendant RAKERI SPUTTERSPARK is accused of numerous crimes against the Alliance and the Kingdom of Stormwind, committed both within and without the boundaries of the Kingdom of Stormwind.

LET IT BE KNOWN that, in addition to the accusations against him, the defendant RAKERI SPUTTERSPARK has made a number of accusations against a citizen of the Kingdom of Stormwind for crimes committed against his person both within and without the boundaries of the Kingdom of Stormwind.

THEREFORE, the defendant RAKERI SPUTTERSPARK will be held within the Stockade in Stormwind to await trial on the charges listed, as the accusations of further crimes, both supposedly committed by and committed against the defendant, are investigated by the officers of the Stormwind City Watch.

LET IT BE MADE CLEAR that the charges against the defendant RAKERI SPUTTERSPARK are not motivated by his being a practitioner of warlock magics, which include demonic summoning, the use of fel fire, or other similar practices.

Jataa sighed as she read the daily news and notices that her dear daughter Somayla had brought she. Kidnapping, assaults, now an arrest of a warlock? Things are getting worse out there it seems. She thought as she looked up from the papers. She had been confined to this room for what seemed like months, though she suspected that to be more truth than she wanted it to be.

Another victim of the plague let out a scream, causing her to turn her head towards the poor fellow. It was a small boy, one of the prayer boys who had made the mistake of entering the room and touching her while Jataa herself was trapped in the nightmares the illness seemed to cause. Grabbing a near by staff, she hoisted herself out of the bed, and moved towards the poor boy. She sat at the side of his bed, pulling a nearby table closer to her. She rung out a water soaked cloth from the bowl on the table, and carefully patted the boy's face with it. For one so small, and so young, he is quite the fighter. Perhaps he will pull through this damn thing. She thought with a frown. It was not likely the boy would pull through. Only a few who had contracted the illness were able to live long. Rhudran and herself were already slowly recovering, but neither of them were willing to trust their sudden improvements. A human monk, Megwynne, also was still alive, though she had not opened her eye since she had fallen ill so many weeks ago.

Jataa's thoughts turned towards last night. A her friend and fellow Knight of Pia had arrived finally from Panderia. Merral was defiantly a sight of hope; if anyone would be able to find the cure the victims so desperately needed, it would be him. She thought about the information she had shared with Merral, about how Precious seemed to be smelling dead plants all over Stromwind lately. Perhaps that was a waste of time...but I can not shake the filling of its importance. But if someone was willing to kidnap my daughter for overhearing this information, after Precious told Rapture, than perhaps it is more vital than I think..

Jataa looked again to the mass of papers on her bed, the notice of the Warlock Rakeri's arrest resting in full veiw, made her cringe. Or..perhaps there was another reason for her Kidnapping...But why her?...Why would the Lluchduu Ocheliad risk an open conflict with Pia over information about dead plants? Her eyes widen a bit as the realization came to her...It was not the plants that caused the kidnapping, but something else entirely. As best she could, she moved herself to the door, and whispered out to the guards, who agreed and one of them walked away, his armor clanging with each step.

Something is very wrong...I hope Rapture is able to meet with me in time...

((writing isn't my strong suit so this is just a brief summary of what happens until I can finish the story)). Chen Ho flew into Moonbrook in his Ironpanda suit and took out all of the guards there, but not before taking a considerable amount of damage to his armour. He then loaded up some of the infected in a net, flew off, and began dropping them off in areas with high population: Booty Bay, Exodar, Gnomeregan, and Teldrassil, and Goldshire, which resulted in further spreading of the plague. His face hidden the entire time so his identity has yet to be revealed.

((Hey Tyvian, I want to meet up with you in-game. A story about Argent Apothecary Merral arriving in Stormwind and talking to plague victims will be added to this post, and I have a feeling that I must speak with you before I move forward from this point.))

Rakeri Sputterspark sat alone in his ward-encrusted cell in the Stockade, his finely-honed mind blocking out the sounds and the screams of the prison as he considered the information that Ariccan Halconis had brought to him the previous day. He lay on the floor, his robes folded up and held under his head as a makeshift pillow, lost in thought.

That this "Grim", who he had only met once, had pointed the Watch and their sobbing night elf patsy to him was an interesting turn of events, as was Somayla Frostflower's efforts to sway him by appealing to his desire for vengeance, to his intellectual vanity. No doubt the other warlock had heard his public reputation as a master demonologist, who had experimented successfully with fel magics. He also had to admit that Halconis had been right: He was indeed very curious about all this, having little to no knowledge of the sickness that had taken hold in Westfall beyond the fact it existed. He wondered exactly what the feather-shrouded warlock's game was, pointing them to him; was it an effort to make him indispensible to the Watch, and thus a way to get him out of here...or a way to shift the blame?

At least Saavedro can't sneak in here and murder me, he thought. Hopefully.

He reviewed the information that Halconis and his party had provided - a fel-based sickness, transmitted by touch primarily, though there were reports of it being airborne; mainly afflicted humans, though all sorts of people had come down with it; immune to Light, resistant to shamanic and druidic magics; he made a point to ask if pandaren remedies had been tested, but given the similarity to shamanism, he doubted there would be any progress. Its symptoms (which seemed to be a supercharged version of spells used by warlocks to inflict terror upon their foe) seemed to increase the amount of fel energy in the blood, and could possibly have the same effect as the corruption of the orcs when under the influence of annihilan blood - he had researched the effects of Illidan's experiments on the fel orcs using the blood of Magtheridon in Outland.

To top it off, as he had said to the officers, they were not dealing with an amateur. The plaguemaster, whoever it was, seemed to have countered every contingency, and was able to predict every move the Watch made. The plague seemed to have been tailor-made to utterly ignore the obvious solution, and resist or ignore the nearest alternatives, and was spread in such a way as to cause the maximum amount of exposure. Even more, it was designed to prey on people's hopes, given that it had been contracted by the Westfall humans through tainted food. It was utterly brilliant.

Rakeri had offered his services to them, eager to test his intellect against a challenge - and to prove his quality to the puritans, doubters, and hypocrites. But he would not make it easy for them. Before it was said and done, he vowed, he would have Orwyn on his knees begging him for help...if indeed the commander was as concerned with public opinion - and moreover, public wellbeing - as the professor had guessed. Privately, he wondered just how far Orwyn's stubborn pride would take him. But Orwyn was not Saavedro, he had to admit; the commander would realize this was his best option, and his sense of honor and dedication to his people would force him to take it. But did he know that yet?

If he didn't by now, Rakeri mused, he would soon enough.

Given his ink set and parchment with which to write, Rakeri - now looking like a castaway on a remote island - wrote a missive for the commander of the Stormwind City Watch.

Commander Orwyn,

I believe it is time that we came to the truth of the matter. The Shado-Pan, Yatiri Stormwatcher, probably told you that he believes I attacked Saavedro - or Father Shankolin, as he insists on calling himself now - of my own volition, and that it took place in Pandaria, at the bridge to the east of the farmer's market village of Halfhill. I confess willingly that this was indeed the case, though I wished to instill doubt regarding the good Father and claim that the crime happened in the jurisdiction of Stormwind, even preparing a scene just for this purpose. Alas, I underestimated your investigatory skill, and you were able to see right through that. Though I questioned your motives in imprisoning me - a fact I still feel somewhat aggrieved for, given that the human monk who assaulted me and several other warlocks in the Recluse has clearly never been held here, while I am held on what amounts to a petty misdemeanor - I do not begrudge you for simply doing your job.

In the spirit of honesty, I admit that the ultimate outcome of my designed scheme was to ensure that he suffered the fate he currently suffers now, in order to prevent him from being a danger - to me, of course, but also to others...and to himself. As circumstances would have it, he did not need my help to destroy himself, as he has admitted to me (before your guardsmen moved him to another cell, doubtlessly fearful of keeping him in proximity to me) that his own pride blinded him to the dangers of what he was doing when he defeated the High Priest Sekhesmet in Pandaria a year ago. Now he has been possessed by the dark spirit of the Forsaken high priest, which disrupts his ability to assist in your continued efforts to eradicate the fel plague. Your officers interviewed me several days ago, and requested assistance from me to help them work on the symptomology of the plague, as well as a possible method of counteracting it.

I believe I can be of some aid in this matter, having had time to think on the information that the officers, and the daughter of one of the victims, provided to me. I also believe that, given the presence of an unwanted spirit within Father Shankolin, I have a method of dealing with that pitfall as well. Though you may question my motives on that score, I wish to assure you that my period of incarceration has given me a new perspective, and a desire to end the pointless feuding.

Yours sincerely,
Professor Rakeri Sputterspark

Jataa lies in bed, her fever having returned suddenly, as well as the return of heavily coughing up blood. Those who were awake in the quarantine room knew what was coming; they had seen it all before....Lady Jataa Lightsworn......was dying. Someone slowly pounds on the door, trying to alert the Pia Presidium Knights station outside the room...To quickly take word to the outside world...to warn those searching for a cure....they had very little time left....

A cure has to be found....and soon.

(The next in game portion will be this thursday March 20th! Around 4 server, in Stormwind. Meet in the main Cathedral room! See you all there and good luck!))

((No paint-cans were injured in the lead-up to this post))

The chattering beat her to the city. Nevertheless, an air of disbelief circulated amongst the sentinel trainees. The near-blockade was still in effect after all. So far as they've been told, the eastern plague was still out there. The inspections had kept it out, but for how long? The Warden appeared with a bag, flanked by several other elves. From it she removed a remnant - foul and feltouched - the armor plating of a Nathrezim.

She raised it up for the trainees to see. Silence reigned for but a moment. The Warden wasted no time in breaking it.

"Tor ilisar'thera'nal!"

A rise of cheers went up and the Warden was beaming - not a scratch on her, no bandages for the trainees to wonder about. no limp, no hindrances - victory, a clean victory. She threw the armor down.

"The felsworn sent a powerful agent and it failed laughably. Such is the inevitable consequence of such a challenge to our might and prowess. Let our enemies know - be they seen or unseen, known or unknown... "

She paused, as her tone shifted. Quietly and sternly she finished:. "... regardless of the banner they choose to hide behind, or whatever lies and trickery they will employ - We are watching, and we are prepared."

That was supposed to have been the applause line, but when she looked out, she knew that her audience didn't know what to think. The doubt in their minds was spelled out all of their faces. It bubbled up within her even. She handed the bag off, taking a step past the cursed armor, clasping her hands behind her back.

"Trainees, the well being of our people rests in your hands. Your tasks will not always be easy, and the wars you face tomorrow will not be the conflicts of yesterday, but you will face those challenges, and you will conquer them. After all, you are Kal'dorei. I will expect nothing less."

((Not sure that I'll be around for the next installment of this, but thank you.))

The Wrackenweed plague seemed to have run it's course. The barrack's storeroom was filled with questionably collected goods and commodities, the profits were through the roof, and the test of his fusing of natural and unnatural was a resounding success. I'd wager this is a win all around for me. Tyvian Reinheart bent down before the last of his plants, it's frail fronds and sickly graygreen color making it look wilting and ill. Wearing not his hood, but a black, simple hat with a wide brim, he caressed the plant lightly. "Well, I'm not an evil man, just morally lacking. Time to see what the Watch and good Samaritans can do with a little help."

Straightening to walk back to his work lab, he paused to look at the dark stone wall that sealed his work lab from the rest of the Slaughtered Lamb's undercroft. The hidden recesses of his fel brethren. "Soon, you will all have a chance to prove the bias wrong. Sputterspark, I'm counting on you to figure it out. The very nature of why we exist. Of how we came to this." Fighting fire with fire. As Zepsillin brought the last cutting of his Wrackenweed to him, Tyvian, or "Grim" as he was known, began the painstaking process of crafting the antidote to his blight, leaving out several key processes. He milled and infused, brewed and cultured the formula slowly. Acting slowly was his leisure, he had all the time in the world.

A rival coven leader he knew, one who was not so kind to Tyvian, did not have much time left.

Cold...why is it so cold... Jataa opened her eyes...but instead of the Cathedral walls of the quarantine room, She was on an open frozen wasteland. Bones were half buried in snow and ice, and the wind blew madly about. Northrend...but..how?! The thought raced through Jataa's mind as she looked around feverishly...how in the Lights name did she get here? She shouldn't be out of the room yet, the plague hadn't been cured from her body. A loud thunder boomed and the earth shook violently. Looming over Jataa was a gigantic monster of frozen flesh and seeping with fel magic. It's massive jaws dripped green..as it held many lifeless bodies of Jataa's dear friends. No!! Gentyl...Tom...Kyalin....Rhudran....Caytamar..! Jataa looked at the beast in fear....she quickly raised her hands in front of her, closing her eyes as she says a prayer to the Light, asking for aid against such a beast. But there was no answer...Jataa eyes open, in shock as she realize she could not summon the Lights powers. She turned from the beast, and tried to flee from its presence..But she soon trips on an unseen force. Jataa turns quickly, her eyes widening as the monster slowly descends its jaws towards Jataa...And from her lips leave a blood curling scream.........

Precious barks madly, as Jataa tosses and turns on her cot in the quarantine room. Jataa was dripping with sweat, as she twitched in her sleep. Precious jumped from the cot onto Rhudran's cot, pawing and barking loudly to wake him. Soon Rhudran and most of the others in the room slowly awoke to Precious' barking..in time to hear Jataa let out an ear piercing blood curling scream...one even the noise suppression spells could not keep back from beyond the room..

The cell door opened, and the dour-looking warden of the Stockade stood in the doorway. "Professor Sputterspark."

Rakeri sat up gingerly and came to his feet, working out the kinks in his neck and back. He had slept on a cold, hard floor for nearly a month now, and the time had come at last to sleep in a bed. The day had arrived. "Time to go already, eh."

"I am instructed to remind you that you are --"

"--confined to Stormwind for the next two weeks, yes, yes," the professor interrupted. "You may consider me a criminal, Warden, but I'm not an idiot. Kindly do not speak to me as such. I trust my arrangements with the Gilded Rose are not affected?"

"No, you may lodge there for your enforced residence. You will have all you need - food, clean clothes, access to your bank vault for any...materials you may require."

Rakeri nodded. No doubt he would have a visitor from the Presidium, the Watch, or someone else working on this plague soon enough, now that he was out...he had thought of possibly thumbing his nose at them as he nearly had to Foravin Nash, who had come to him with the request from Saavedro to remove Sekhesmet's spirit from him. Which he had done willingly...because it had allowed him to take Sekhesmet's powers from Saavedro as well, giving him the definitive edge he needed. And plus, he knew the location of two of Sekhesmet's alchemical grimoires...and had sent word to Grim accordingly, using Twitch as his intermediary.

Once the two-week enforced residency was up, he would journey to Sekhesmet's mausoleum in Brill, where he had been buried after his death to the Scourge more than a decade earlier, and risen as a Forsaken...no doubt the old man had left some other goodies there. He also remembered that there was another rotter who had materials he could use - the warlock Esher Riesstiu, who had possession of the Corruptor's spellbook. And of course, there was Yatiri waiting in a stasis chamber back in Outland...

So much to do, and so little time, he thought. And that pompous windbag Nash will likely have shadows watching my every move. Certainly Saavedro's confederates - Zherron, Velenkayn, so on - will try to keep watch on me...and Velenkayn also corresponds with Ketiron, which could make operating in Horde territory difficult. Still...much must be risked to achieve victory. He had formulated a possible solution to the fel-based plague, and would wait until the desperate ones came begging to him for his help. They would not like the solution, he knew, but they would have no choice. And if Grim could get ahold of either of Sekhesmet's books of formulae, the next epidemic would make this one feel like indigestion.

Stepping out into the early morning's light, Rakeri, no longer encumbered by the Stockade's wards, summoned his dreadsteed - fel-fired, like him - and rode quietly over to the Trade District, heading up to his room at the inn to bathe. He stroked his thick beard thoughtfully...thinking it would be a fine time to pop over to the barber. Maybe keep the beard, but restyle his hair...he had not decided yet. He would think on it as he soaked in the small tub, and washed out the stink of the prison. He would be visited by his Watch parole officer tonight, he knew...he had to look respectable again.

Once more, he would play the waiting game. He had not expected things to happen as they had, but he was prepared to take full advantage of it. Starting with that inevitable visit from the desperate citizens...

((I'm proceeding with the cure in Westfall, and making the "posse" generic enough so that anyone who was involved in the investigation - Watch, Pia, so on - could say they participated. Since it's been a while, and the sick are just getting sicker, heh heh.))

Rakeri awakened just before sunrise. Today was his first day as a completely free man, having had his last visit from the Watch parole officer last night, while he was making preparations for this journey. Choosing to show off exactly what he was, he stuck to the robes embroidered with glowing green runes, with the serpentine heads on the shoulderpads. He would not wear the horned helmet, but he did choose to wear his richly-patterned purple-and-red cloak, which he thought matched these robes quite nicely.

Smoothing out his robes, he put on his belt, with the felsteel dagger on one side and his spellbook on the other, as well as transport beacons and wormhole generators, should he require them for quick travelling; he knew the originals had likely been destroyed by the Watch. Finally, he headed downstairs and left a moderately-sized bag of gold for the innkeeper. "My thanks for your hospitality," he said. Finally, he stepped outside, summoned his felfire dreadsteed, and rode out to the Valley of Heroes. There, the group was assembling - Watch officers, Presidium priests and apothecaries, warlocks sanctioned by the crown of Stormwind, and druids from the Cenarion Circle. The apothecaries had been given the formula Merral had decoded from the notes Rakeri had given him, which he in turn had been given by the human called Azheira ("Glad to finally put a name to the face," he'd said to himself when he'd found out who she was). Circling overhead, he could see, was Zherron, fulfilling his end of the bargain. He smiled to himself.

After about another hour, those who were ready to go were present. Standing up onto the saddle, holding the reins in one hand, Rakeri raised the other hand high in the air...then brought it down swiftly, and the assembled force began to move out, crossing through the gates of Stormwind down the road into Goldshire. The Army's morning patrols saw them coming and stepped out of the road to let them pass, saluting their brothers and sisters in the Watch - although, Rakeri could see, some of the respect was being shown to him, too. Turning west at the Westfall-Redridge road, they travelled through the forests until they gave way to the drought-parched farmlands of Westfall.

----

The transient population watched silently, with eyes glimmering with hope as they watched the procession pass. One woman came up to Rakeri, grasping the hem of his robe. "My husband is sick in Moonbrook, sir," she said shakily. "Can you save him? Is he still alive to be saved?"

Rakeri smiled, patting her hand gently. "We're here to save anyone we can," he replied. "Have faith in that, madam. We will do what we can." The woman nodded and stepped back, letting him continue on the road, leading the procession onward through the fire-ravaged garrison of Sentinel Hill, which was again forced to rebuild after the attack by Vanessa VanCleef and the Defias during the Cataclysm. Once more, the road turned westerly, and Rakeri could see the belltower of Moonbrook's schoolhouse.

On the northern outskirts, the guards halted him. They were Watch officers, sent by Orwyn to enforce the quarantine. "Sir, I'm afraid --" The Watchman suddenly realized who it was, and saw the group with him. "Er...forgive me, Professor Sputterspark - we got word you were coming, but weren't sure when you'd show. A lot of curiosity-seekers here. You can go on ahead, sir."

Rakeri nodded and led the party into the town itself, dismounting in the town square - his dreadsteed disappearing in a burst of felfire until needed again. Zherron landed neatly next to him and shifted back into his "usual" self. "Zherron, pick two of your colleagues and bring them along. The majority of them are probably in the schoolhouse. You there, and you!" He pointed at a human male and a worgen female, both in attire marking them as warlocks sanctioned by the crown. "Come with me. The rest of you, fan out! Check every house and tend to who you can, and meet at the schoolhouse."

Accompanied by the ones he had asked to join him, he entered the schoolhouse, where it was clear that death had visited this place and had taken at least two or three people...but the majority were still in various stages of clinging to life. Beside him, he heard Zherron inhale sharply - whether at the stench of death or the aura of despair in this place, he wasn't sure. Admittedly, he felt similarly. Some who were still conscious and not lost in hallucinations looked up hopefully, seeing these new people.

Finally, Rakeri cracked his knuckles. "Alright, people," he said, "let's get to work."