Scourge - 2 (Patreon)

The Royal Alchemical Society had kept a presence at the wall ever since Darius established quarantine measures, as it turned out. Something I hadn't been aware of, even if it made plenty of sense in hindsight; they weren't healers, exactly, nor were they what I thought of when I heard the word 'alchemist' in relation to Azeroth, being closer to chemists and scientists than magical potion brewers.

With the lack of cases of sickness, and the 'defeat' of the Plague of Undeath in Lordaeron, their interest had petered out for a time... but one of the first things Darius had done was call them back to the wall to aid in managing the quarantine.

"Alchemist Krennan Aranas?" I asked, stepping into the barracks that had been converted into a medical centre. A startling array of glassware and small devices lined benches along one side of the wall, and even what looked to be a magical burner of some sort; it had the same kind of magic about it as my hot water tank at home. "I do hope I'm not disturbing you."

When I'd heard he was one of the society who had come to the wall, even after an unfortunate encounter with Commander Hersham's overly arrogant nephew, I was eager to meet him.

The person in question, the creator of the tincture that had restored the minds of those afflicted by the Worgen Curse, looked up from where he was drawing blood from a sickly woman. "Ah, a moment! Please." He finished quickly, dabbing a cloth soaked with alcohol on the wound. "Thank you dear, the men will escort you back now." He was smiling, but there was a tenseness to it.

"You'll find a cure?" The woman asked, her face turning a sickly green as she stood. The foetid roiling rot in her gut marked her as one of the infected to my eyes. "Please, I can't leave my brother behind, I'm all he has."

"I'll do my best." Krennan said confidently. "Now, do go; you've dinner to get to!" His smile kept up until she was gone, then immediately faded.

I met his sad eyes with my own. "She won't last until morning." I'd seen enough of them over recent days, so many of them, that I knew how far along the Plague was.

The graves needed to be dealt with, and soon, before they were used against us. I just needed a bloody priest to show up so they could be sanctified – if I did it alone it was sure to set off some measure of anger against the Order of Amber, like Dalaran had faced for burning the bodies.

"Yes, she is quite far along in the progression of the Plague." Krennan said, transferring a portion of his collected blood into a vial which he then capped and placed in one of his devices. "My fellows may have questioned your method of detecting who suffered from the Plague at first, but there have been no false reports, nor any others that have slipped through."

He set to spinning a handle on the device, increasing the speed steadily, until the centre housing was spinning quite quickly. I took a moment to recognise what it was.

"Oh, a centrifuge." I said in fascination. They were used to... separate it out, into parts, the... plasma and something? I wasn't really sure; if I'd ever known I didn't remember anymore. "Have you managed to isolate the Plague in the blood somehow?" I didn't see how he might, there hadn't been any Plague in the blood as far as I could tell.

Not stopping in his spinning he glanced at me. "Not yet, no. But there are still plenty of tests to do. I shall need to isolate the samples to account for blood sickness, but once done I shall be transfusing the samples into mice. If the infection passes on there will be a way of proving infection with mundane means... or more usefully, disproving it." He grumbled with a frown. "The speed at which the Plague kills its victims, and lack of a cure, renders discovery of little use at present."

It was tempting to try and push him away from working on the Plague, towards the cure for the worgen with the samples I had collected from Tal'Doren and the Book of Ur, but... this was our first meeting. The worgen weren't an obvious threat yet. He wasn't someone I could push around.

As unlikely as it was to produce any results with the Plague, it was possible. The Forsaken's apothecaries had done it... in the manner of creating new and more horrific versions, rather than cures.

"You are accounting for its magical nature, I hope? There's demonic magic involved. Fel and Death, to kill and animate the corpse respectively."

He waved his free hand dismissively. "Yes, I am aware of the Plague of Undeath's nature. Pyre Fever of Pyremarsh fame is an affliction caused by totems left by trolls, but the society was able to devise a mundane cure for that. With luck, such a thing will be possible here as well."

I nodded, sceptical but it was worth a try. "You mentioned blood sickness; do you mean blood types?" Damned if I could remember what the differences were between them, but I knew they existed. Give someone the wrong type of blood and it was bad. "Give someone blood that isn't compatible with theirs, and their body attacks it."

Finished with the centrifuge he plucked the samples out, separated out into three distinct components. A yellowed clear fluid at the top, a cloudy white in the centre, and a deep red at the bottom. "I'm surprised that you're aware of them. Few outside of the society care much for my discovery, or any of my work with blood – His Majesty, of course, appreciates that my efforts saved his daughter." He smiled at me, a genuine one. "Is such a thing common knowledge amongst the witches? I know your order performs healing, but the church does so as well, and cares little for how the body works. Though, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you are aware – you are an inventor, after all."

"Not all of us do," I said, hedging my statement heavily since I was the only one I knew of who did, "but we do care for how the body works more than a priest. Life magic doesn't simply make the body better, it regrows what's harmed based on the template the body carries within itself." I held up my hand and wiggled my fingers. "The same thing that tells our bodies to form five fingers in the womb tells our bodies that we're supposed to have them, our magic just helps along the healing and pushes it to repeat that process."

Krennan's eyes sparked with curiosity. "Fascinating. Do you mind if we speak as I work? I would quite enjoy picking the mind of one who uses magic in such a... mundane manner to heal." He laughed a little at his joke, and I politely giggled along too.

"Another example is bones, it's so much easier to heal a bone that we've splinted back in place, and less likely to mend wrongly if it's done..."

Our conversation went on for a while before the mid-afternoon bell was sounded and I headed back to the wall. Making ties to Krennan Aranas before the worgen came was worthwhile, even if I didn't push him towards it yet; befriending him now would help later.

I also ended up learning more than I expected from our conversations; The Royal Alchemical Society held autopsies and dissections on humans and animals alike to understand how creatures lived, using that knowledge to advance both their non-magical medicine and their much more magical potioneering. Grim, but that was how real medicine got started on Earth, too. At least, as far as Krennan knew, they didn't go grave robbing to get the bodies and instead received donations from the people of the city in return for their charitable work in a number of hospices.

-oOoOo-

Magroth knelt in the centre of the growing grove, his hands clasped in prayer. "May thy soul be clad in white," his voice rang out alongside mine, three of the acolytes sent by Bishop Warren and Sister Roper adding their magic to his, "in the kingdom of the Light."

"Blessings of the All-Father grant you peace." I said, pressing my fingers to the trunk of the elder tree growing in the centre of the new grove The air hung with Light and Life for a few moments, before the old rune for Rest formed on its trunk and drew in the magic until it was complete. "Dreamweaver guide your life unto the next." I finished, stepping away and ending my part in the little ritual

The roots of the trees had dug below, tangling up the bodies of the mass grave beneath our feet and pulling them down with them deeper and deeper. The overturned earth, so recently bare and brown, was flush with grass and unseasonal flowers. All the Death that had been trapped in those afflicted by the Plague turned to life before they could rise as the undead. I was glad to have begun, late as it had been for everyone necessary to arrive.

My students, Trix, Richard, Harold, and Marigold, were all doing the same with their trees, as were Heather, Rachel, and Johnathon. Richard, Marigold, and Rachel were all piggybacking off of my magic at the moment. They wouldn't be able to manage this alone, but they weren't expected to.

Magroth had brought Sister Roper with him, still unpracticed in the ways of channelling the Light but with a lifetime of faith behind her to shore up her weaknesses. Bishop Warren had also sent a priestess and three acolytes, more than half of Severnvale's Light wielders, to the gate. More might've been useful, but I knew that she was still turning her bishopric into a refugee centre and was quite busy.

"It is galling that we must resort to this." Priestess Owen said grumpily, as the last of the trees received their blessing. She was glaring at nothing in particular, but frustrated nonetheless. "Good Gilneans deserved to be buried properly, given graves that will be tended to by the church, not... not subjected to witchery."

"The dead deserve to be treated with respect, yea." Johnathon agreed with a stiff nod of his head. "If they be churchgoers, then a grave is what they should get. But I don't think you were planning on unburying them all to cart 'em off to your church, were you?"

The priestess grimaced and looked away, unwilling to answer.

"Didn't think so."

I shook my head. While the priestess' attitude wasn't good, she wasn't starting a fight or outright declaring we were desecrating the dead. The dead deserved better, but better they weren't going to get. This was a compromise – and importantly, a solution that would deny their bodies to the Scourge. "Alright, we've proven you can all do it." I said, starting to mentally organise my fellow witches into groups. "But if we want to be done before it snows again the night after next, we better get to work."

Best to put the priestess with Heather, Johnathon was a bit too willing to test her patience. I wasn't putting Harold or Richard with him unless he got ideas to poach them again – Rachel could handle it, she was a grown woman. Trix with Marigold and Harold was enough magic... with Magroth, so the kids had someone they respected to keep an eye on them.

Which left me, the acolytes, and Sister Roper. I'd go with the Sister, as I could make up for her lack of practice with magic more easily than anyone else.

Seeing Trix and Richard bickering again, arguing over who had grown the better tree – Trix's tree was better, but Richard's incorporated the rune and the Light's blessing better – I rubbed at my forehead. I felt the beginnings of a headache coming on, and it was barely mid-morning.

I really wished Joseline was here, she was good at corralling people for me. Heather wouldn't take the initiative, Rachel was a follower, and I straight up didn't trust Johnathon... but considering Joseline's pregnancy, her staying home was entirely reasonable. Winter was no time for a woman in her third trimester to be travelling.

-oOoOo-

"Is that one of your fellows, Gwen?” Sister Roper asked, peering into the dim light of the evening ahead of us. We had progressed a fair distance out, moving beyond the wall to handle some of the older refugee camps from before the Plague became a problem. Even if they didn't contain any infected bodies, they still needed to be given peace and denied to the Scourge as best we could. "I thought you said that it would be a while before more witches arrived."

I sharpened my vision, drawing on a mix of Astral magic to brighten what I could see and the spark of Lord Renard's essence I carried. "No, that's not any of them." It was a woman, knelt over a grave apparently in mourning, and... "Oh, oh no, that's..."

No, she wasn't mourning. Her hands weren't clasped in prayer, not with the way blood spilled from them and soaked into the soil – bringing fetid magic along with it.

"Bad." I didn't stop to elaborate further, setting into a run even as I called on the grasses and roots of the forest to bind the cultist. Even beyond the need to interrogate them to try and find out if there were more, I needed to be closer to get a chance to get a good reading so that I could pick a cultist out of a crowd. If it was subtle and I'd let some through the wall already...

That would be bad. Very bad.

There hadn't been anything in my notes or memories about the Cult of the Damned working in Gilneas, but there hadn't been anything about the Plague reaching us either. I'd hoped that it was just because people were being let through the wall when they weren't in the Azeroth I remembered, people unfortunate enough to become afflicted, but if it was active malevolence on the part of the cult then things had changed. And not for the better.

"What?" The woman cried as the roots snatched her from the ground, her eyes widening as she struggled against them.

I slowed to a stop a few feet away, drawing and holding a lance of Astral magic at the ready in case she tried to turn her magic on me. "In the name of Lord Darius Crowley, you are under arrest for practising necromantic magic and attempting to subvert the honoured dead of Gilneas." I said, meeting her sallow eyes. There was nothing immediately apparent about her that screamed necromancer, nor did it scream cultist, her garb was a plain homespun dress with a hood, and though she was pale it wasn't deathly and many refugees had the same tired and world-weary look that she carried.

"Gwyneth?" Sister Roper said, coming to a panting stop beside me. "Is she– is this really a necromancer?"

Looking deeper there wasn't anything about her that told me, magically, that she was a Death cultist. Her brown eyes which sparked with recognition didn't carry any magical marks and though there was a lingering aura of the magic she had been using about her hands, where her palms–

Something churned inside her, her Life roiling and convulsing, converting into Death.

On instinct, drilled into me years ago, I pulled and formed a wall of wood and plants between me and the cultist– only for my eyes to widen in horror as Sister Roper was standing to my side, uncovered and unguarded.

"My life for Ner'Zhul." The woman intoned, and an instant later burst.

There was no other way to describe it, one moment Sister Roper had her mouth open to ask another question and the next she was soaked in gore, black and rotting blood coating her head to toe, with giblets slopping to the ground. None had touched me, behind my wall of wood, but the sister immediately started gagging.

"What, oh Light, no – I – Light, no." She whined, falling to her knees. She tried to wipe it away from her face only to start coughing up globules of black phlegm. "She– no– why."

I pulled up strands of grasses and grew them, wrapping them around my hands as makeshift gloves. Everything the black blood touched was rotting – and that included Sister Roper's skin, her mouth, her stomach. "Sister, I need to heal you. Stay still."

There was a glow of healing Light, her eyes shining, only for her to topple forward onto the ground. "Don't feel good." She whined, curling into a ball.

There were more problems. Whatever spell the cultist had been trying for before we arrived was now active, and there was Death magic beneath us. Stagnant and pallid movement, made of grating bones and cold chills, echoed in my ears. I pushed the roots of the trees down to entrap them, cage them, but there were undead here now.

"Tricks! Get Magroth!" I yelled at the fox who had stayed back as I ran for the cultist. Thank Freya she hadn't kept to my heels. "She needs his healing!"

No matter how much magic I poured into her, whatever affliction the cultist had laid on her was sapping its effectiveness. Her body rotted further and further as I desperately tried to keep her alive. Trying to banish the affliction itself, attacking it with strands of Astral magic, led to her screaming in pain as the necrotic spell fought back.

All I could say was that it wasn’t the Plague of Undeath. She could yet live, I just had to–

A rotting hand clawed its way through the topsoil, trying to drag the rest of the zombie up to the surface. A lance of Astral light severed it at the wrist, and I redoubled the roots binding the corpses.

In my distraction she seemed to start to stabilise, her flesh peeling away but her heart still strong. She would live. I didn’t know why my magic wasn’t working, why each attempt seemed to make it worse, but I couldn’t– She was a friend. I wasn’t going to lose Sister Roper to my own stupid mistake.

Should’ve guarded her too. Should’ve kept her closer to me. Should’ve told her to stay further back. Should’ve been able to heal her.

It was my sodding mistake, and she was not dying for it.

A bolt of lightning struck a groaning corpse that forced its head above the surface, and I gritted my teeth. “Stay strong,” I said, knowing I needed to handle the zombies before they became a bigger problem. The ground buckled as roots surged and distorted the earth, spearing the undead beneath the ground.

The normally slender silver birch trees in front of the wall were fat with the nourishment of the dead by the time Magroth arrived with a cadre of soldiers. And Sister Roper was scarcely breathing, no matter what I did.

-oOoOo-

The king approached at the head of a large column of Royal Guardsmen, the elites of Gilneas' standing army, to reinforce the wall after news got out about the incident with the cultist and Sister Roper. I’d had things well in hand when Magroth arrived, putting down any undead that clawed their way to the surface, but it had still caused something of a panic.

Most everyone at the wall, from the Order of Amber to the Royal Alchemical Society, was out in force to represent their presence here, and, joy of joys, I was the 'most suitable' member of the order to stand as representative to the king. Where the hell were Aderic and Celestine? They were the speakers, this should be their job!

My irritation aside, of the witches present I was most suited for the role. At least Commander Hersham was the person in charge rather than me, responsibility was something of a pain in my arse and I had too much to be doing to deal with Genn all day.

"Organised." Genn said approvingly, his eyes tracking over the forces present and the layout of the refugee camp that had been established in the shadow of the wall. We were slowly phasing out the hastily erected tents for tree shelters now that the mass graves had been dealt with. "Good. Who is in charge here?"

"I am, Your Majesty. Commander Hersham of the Third Army." Commander Hersham said, saluting the king, with the rest of us bowing, saluting, or curtsying as appropriate. "The Warden of the Wall, Lord Darius Crowley, has entrusted me with command of the North Gate while he organises supplies, material, and men to relieve the wall. The witches are maintaining a line of communication, and he receives reports thrice weekly."

"And what of the outbreak? There was word of an injured priestess."

My attention drifted as the commander outlined the events of what happened with the cultist and over the last few days. Sister Roper was alive, and would continue to remain so – albeit only with the aid of Krennan Aranas for the moment. The death curse affliction the cultist had laid upon her was stubborn and fought back against both my and Magroth's efforts to remove it, nearly killing the sister when we tried. With mundane medicine keeping her stable and fed intravenously, we could work on it about once a day, trading off Light and Astral attempts to dispel it.

Within a month she would be free of the affliction and we could heal her properly. Until that time she was bed bound and putting up a strong front; the fact I'd done nearly as much damage as I'd helped by healing her at the start was a horrifying thing to learn, and a sobering reminder that while mundane illness and injury were trivial to resolve, magical maledictions existed and were hardly so simple.

The Plague of Undeath was a prime example, but hardly the only one.

With my eyes wandering over the Royal Guard who had followed the king, I eventually spotted someone that made me do a double take. My face brightened into a smile as I saw the familiar locks of red hair drifting in the breeze atop a horse. Vivi.

Vivi had come with the king to the wall.

Our eyes met and I almost didn't want to restrain myself from calling out to her, but the importance of not making a scene in front of the king stayed my hand. We could talk later. Hopefully do more than talk and let me sleep without night terrors by snuggling up to her; Tricks helped, but it just wasn't the same. I wanted my Vivi.

Realising I lost track of time while focusing on Vivi, I quickly started listening in to the commander's report again. He was nearly done so I hadn't missed anything important.

"–and when Lady Arevin and Sir Magroth did a sweep of the camp, we collected the necromancer's associates. So far no sign they share her dark proclivities, but they remain detained until such a time as we have a way to prove they've no involvement in Lordaeron's Cult of the Damned." Commander Hersham finished his report.

"I see." Genn said stoically. He looked up at the great gates of the wall, the monument to his desire to split Gilneas in twain. What should have been folly but proved prudent. "Lordaeron cannot help but export their troubles, damned fools." He frowned, a faint downward quirk of his moustache, as he refocused on Commander Hersham. "Lord Crowley is right and we cannot allow ourselves to fall victim to the monsters that are ravaging Lordaeron. Commander, your orders are as follows: Bring behind the wall all citizens of Gilneas that can be safely proven free of this Plague, but the moment undead are sighted from the wall seal the gates. We shall not allow them entrance to sow destruction upon our lands."

I grit my teeth as Genn finished his proclamation. The moment they were sighted? "Your Majesty, single stray undead are hardly a reason to close the wall. By your orders, a single necromancer could condemn tens of thousands to die."

Genn's gaze turned to me, steeled with determination. "While the loss of any Gilnean is a sad one, we cannot afford to allow the infection within our walls. You have your orders, carry them out."

Does he truly not know how the Plague spreads? "The Plague is not infectious, it spreads–"

"You have your orders, witch." Genn cut over me, his frown deepening noticeably. "The Order of Amber shall carry them out as they are commanded by the crown." Genn cut over me, ignoring the truth of the situation for whatever thought he had in his head. "And cease this practice of bringing the dead within Gilneas for burial, it is too dangerous to continue."

With that, he spurred his horse onward and the soldiers began to follow.

I clenched my fists and took deep breaths, seething inside. Genn would condemn everyone outside the wall to die if a single necromancer raised a corpse from a grave? Of course he would, he was making the hard decision for the good of Gilneas. I'd seen him be sensible, almost reasonable, but now here he was: The king who made a decision and stuck to it, no matter how little he had thought it through or the cost it would place on the kingdom he ruled.

-oOoOo-

Putting Genn and his idiocy aside for the moment I followed the Royal Guard and, much more importantly, Vivi, as they started stabling their horses. Winding my way through the paddock I felt a moment of giddy childishness, my sour mood vanishing, and ran up behind her to wrap my arms around her. "Vivi!" I said, standing on my tiptoes to rest my chin on her shoulder. "Hi."

Keepers, I'd missed her. My eyes felt a little wet from just thinking about how much I'd missed her and wished she was here the last few weeks, watching so many people die and utterly unable to help them.

The only thing I could do was to give them a proper burial.

"Gwen." She said flatly, gripping my wrist and tugging on it where I was hugging her. "I need to stable Sparrow."

I rolled my eyes and pressed myself closer, luxuriating in her scent and the warmth of her body. "Missed you." I whispered into her ear, then let her go and dropped my hand into hers, which I squeezed affectionately. "I'll help. How has training with the Royal Guard been? Impressed any of them yet?"

"I can do it myself." She said, pulling her hand away and moving to unsaddle her horse. "They say I showed promise. Good enough to train as one of them, but I'm not. Too rigid and I won't guard the king. I'm supposed to guard you."

My smile faltered; Vivi was mad at me.

And I wasn't enough of an idiot to not know why. "If I thought you could've helped, I would've brought you with me. But you can't fight archmages. I can't fight archmages. They almost didn't let me go."

If Kael hadn't come to me to ask his questions, if I'd seen the villain he could be instead of the concerned prince he was, if I'd decided to keep my secrets... would he have voted to force me to stay? Trapping me in Dalaran to answer questions again and again until the city was destroyed? Rokkri's feather was my way out, my escape. I hadn't needed it, but it came so very close.

Vivi... if Vivi had been there they could've used her against me. I wanted to think they were better than that, but they were people, powerful people, who would do what was in their interests instead of mine.

"If you'd been there... and they took you hostage... I wouldn't have been able to leave." I muttered quietly. The thought made the stress of the last few days boil over, tears forming and blurring my vision. "I had a way out for myself, a raven instead of a fox, but I couldn't get you out too if something went wrong."

She glared at me in silence for a few moments, hefting the harness she had pulled from her horse and throwing it to the side. "Don't lie to me Gwen. If you could fly you would've shown me. You didn't have it when you left." She scowled, her teeth gritted and eyes narrow. "But then I lied to you first. Did Celestine ever tell you I took Mingling Tea? That the only reason we had that night together and started courting was because I was drugged too?" She taunted, trying to throw it in my face. "No? I suppose she didn't. She tried to get us together and doesn't care about stuff like that, does she."

I swallowed back my instinctive retort at her tone and accusation. The knee-jerk desire to dismiss her attempt to hurt me as nonsense. "You're right. I couldn't fly when I left, but I knew I could learn. Maybe I should've told you that." I still wasn’t sure if telling her would’ve been the right thing or not, whether revealing why I felt safe going when it wasn’t ready yet would have made her argument stronger… but honesty was important. Maybe if I had been more clear, more open, we wouldn’t be standing here like this right now. "But the tea, Vivi? I don't care. Not unless you were forced to drink it; if you took it on your own..."

My memories of Mingling Tea were hardly fond, I didn't want to ever take the stuff myself... but if it got me Vivi, then I had a reason to be glad it existed.

"Then, I'm thankful to it. To your decision to take it. Because I've loved being with you and wouldn't change what happened if I could. Even..." I swallowed uncomfortably, a yawning pit in my mind that I didn't want to touch upon. "Even... Janice and everything else."

"That doesn't change the fact you left me behind!" She snapped. "Gwen– you left me behind. I'm supposed to protect you, it's– how am I supposed–" She growled, pulling at her hair and glaring at the soldiers watching us. "Oh sod off, all of you!"

There was a smattering of laughter and they pointedly looked away – only to keep a side eye on what was going on. I couldn't tell if they were just curious, entertained, or protective of Vivi, but we were definitely making a scene.

"We can't do everything together." I said, deciding on the course I was going to follow here. "I love you, but I have duties and responsibilities. And so do you. When you get a teacher, if we find Chen like we planned to, then you'll have a journey ahead of you." I held out a hand to her, my heart hurting as she just glared at it with crossed arms. "One I will be too busy to follow. I spend my free time tinkering and tailoring, you spend yours with your sword and blacksmithing. We have our own lives, Vivi; even if my heart is yours, we aren't going to be walking hand in hand through everything."

Her arms tensed and I got the feeling of someone ready to strike, to snap, from her. "And you'll just go off on your adventures, leaving me behind when it's convenient." She said bitterly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "We were supposed to see it all together. You, Lorna, me..."

"And Donovan." I added sadly, letting my hand fall. "There were times I wished you were in Dalaran with me. I would have loved to show you the classes I took, to show you around the city, to have more to give you than the trinkets I picked up while I was there. But you, your connection to your family, your training, your passions, your life, are more important to me that wanting a shoulder to cry on."

I sighed, my head falling and tears welling up again. "I'm sorry that I hurt you, but if the choice was in front of me again...I don't know what I'd do. Explain better, tell you about... you know. But..." I wouldn't let her hurt herself to be with me.

"And I should just accept that? Being treated like baggage?"

"No." I replied, shaking my head firmly. "Never. And that wasn't why I left you behind, even if it might feel that way right now." I sighed again, turning to leave. I'd said everything I could and now... now it was time to find out if my girlfriend was dumping me. "I'll see you soon, Vivi. Take care."

Fuck working today.

I was going to turn into a fox and snuggle up with Tricks until my heart stopped hurting.