Scourge - 3 (Patreon)

People came and went, a few soldiers, one of the alchemists, and even Trix all looking for me and failing to find me while I hid as a fox in my room. Trix had tried to coax Tricks to come out and play and had done the same with me, but while there was a sliver of amusement to be found there, I just didn't find myself interested. Hours rolled by as I snuggled up with Tricks with my tail over my muzzle to make the world a blanket of warm fluffiness.

But even bundled up in a den of comfort like that, my heart ached with the thought Vivi didn't want anything to do with me anymore.

It was stupid, it was absurd, it was catastrophising, it was just a fight. Our first real fight. We could get over it – if she would ever speak to me again. Leaving her had hurt her far more than I thought it could; she thought of herself as my protector, my partner, and I'd pushed her aside and left her behind.

I still thought my decision had been the right one; if Kael'thas hadn't informed me of their decision, or voted differently, I should have still been able to escape as a bird. If Vivi was there... didn't bear thinking about.

As much as hiding away from the world was a way of reacting to emotional distress, it wasn't helping. It reminded me a little too much of the bad times of my old life too, and with far more effort than such a task should take I crawled away from Tricks and turned back into a human.

"Thanks," I told her, scratching her ears, "if you want you can go play with Trix now."

She yawned perfunctorily, shifting and resting her tails up by her muzzle. Expressing that it wasn't a problem nor inconvenience to help me when I needed her.

Smiling, I ran a hand down her back. "Thank you." I mumbled again before standing and leaving. I needed to do something, anything...

The cultists, Genn's ultimatum, the disturbances of the graves... it had been outside the wall, but what if they were inside? I'd not been able to see what they were at a glance, even looking deeper I hadn't seen anything but the magic in their hands and what they used to... explode.

How many men and women had I let through the wall who looked tired and pale? How many people could have come through before I got here or were let through after they finished their time in quarantine?

Too many. Far, far too many.

My course set I marched out of my room, intent on finding Commander Hersham and acquiring soldiers to escort me as I went out hunting for them. All the graveyards would need to be rechecked, the camps, if I could the people... I wasn't going to have time to sit at the wall and wave people through anymore.

-oOoOo-

Organising a team to go hunting for cultists proved more difficult than I had hoped. Commander Hersham was unwilling to release any soldiers from the wall, even after the arrival of the Royal Guard, and was offended by the idea that I could 'disobey orders' by running off to go elsewhere of my own accord. My ability to usher refugees through the gate and help control unrest by keeping the line moving was of vital importance in his mind.

After over an hour of arguing with the man, all the way into late evening, I gave up. If he wouldn't listen to me, then I'd go straight to Darius.

Technically, I could have gone over everyone's head and tried to explain my reasoning to the king, but after he shut me down like I did when I tried to explain how the Plague worked, I didn't get the feeling it would work so well.

First thing in the morning I took wing, having informed Heather, Magroth, and Trix of my impending absence the night before. They were enough to keep up the efforts we had going with the Graves for now, and it was only getting easier now that more witches were trickling in.

Leaving Tricks behind was a little upsetting. She was the only reason I'd slept at all last night, turbulent and uncomfortable as it was.

For a moment I debated landing on the windowsill of Darius' office and entering that way, reaching him immediately. But I didn't know how Rokkri considered the secrecy of her form, I'd not even seen her since I gained it, and it would be a stupid move.

It didn't take long to find a secluded spot in his garden anyway, and as soon as I reached the main entrance I was quickly ushered through the house and into Darius' already-in-progress meeting with Aderic in one of the parlours.

"–well, if it isn't an imposition I would be glad for the opportunity." Aderic said to Lorna just as I entered, glancing my way and smiling knowingly as he noticed who I was. "Oh, Gwyneth, you're here quickly. I hadn't thought the raven would have arrived yet, nor that you could travel so fast."

"It hadn't." I answered quickly, putting the thought aside as I curtsied to Darius. "Lord Crowley, there has been a complication at the wall."

His eye narrowed and Lorna looked at me with concern. "Explain." He ordered.

"Upon reaching the wall King Greymane made an ultimatum in response to the incident involving myself, Sister Roper, and a member of the Cult of the Damned: If any undead are sighted from the Greymane Wall the gates are to be sealed shut, regardless of the actual danger." I said, trying to convey the absurdity of the order that had been given to Darius. "If there are more cultists around and they cause trouble within the wall, or even without, we will be leaving thousands, tens of thousands, to die and swell the ranks of the Scourge. Further, I see no purpose in continuing to screen for the Plague at the gate when I consider the possibility that there are cultists inside the walls; I wish to root them out and requested soldiers from Commander Hersham to do so. He refused, so I've come to you, My Lord."

"I see." He said, frowning and examining notes and reports on his desk rather than answering my explanation immediately.

Lorna looked to Aderic for a moment, receiving a nod, and then coming over to me with a frown of her own. "Gwen, is something else wrong? You look exhausted." She fussed at my hair and straightened it. "You normally take better care of yourself than this."

I met her eyes and blinked, Lorna deserved to know, didn't she? She was... she was a friend for both of us, not just mine. "Vivi came with the king. It... it–" Tears pricked at my eyes but I shook them off and took a deep breath. "It didn't go well. I'd rather not talk about it right now."

My voice was choked and I hated it. This wasn't what was important, there were so many things more important than my stupid love life, but it still hurt.

"Sergeant Fallan and his section are stationed at Northglade." Darius said, having found whatever he was looking for. Lorna kept looking at me worriedly but at least it forestalled further questions from her for now. "Lorna, you will take Gwyneth with you when you fly Aderic to the expedition and drop her off on the way; if the cult is indeed within our lands we need to find them. Have you any way to detect them, Gwyneth?"

"No–" I bit my tongue as I caught myself, focusing too much on what I'd been using of late. "Maybe, the one I encountered didn't have anything that revealed themselves to my senses like the Plague does, but if I perform divinations to look over the grave sites I should be able to see who has tampered with them, if any."

"Good." Darius grunted. "I had hoped your efforts at the wall would bear fruit with the cult, but they would not have remained undetected for so long if it were so simple."

Aderic hummed and nodded. "Abilities like Gwyneth's are hardly unique, if quite rare. Mathis used to say she could smell priests when they walked past, though hardly with our little raven's accuracy."

I stared at him and his playful attempts to reveal the secret of how I got here so quickly. Did he want me to reveal it? Was he just messing with me?

"Regardless of other matters–" Aderic walked up to me and clapped a hand on my shoulder. "–you should go home and rest. A good night's sleep will do you good."

Snorting, I shook my head. "Not going to sleep well."

"There's a solution to that." He plucked a vial out of his satchel, a band of Dreamfoil stem wrapped around it. "A good night's sleep, no dreams or nightmares, merely a restful slumber."

"But–"

"We won't be flying until the morning anyway." Lorna cut me off. "There are still preparations to be made before the speaker joins the expedition."

Staring at the vial, a drug that would put me to sleep like Celestine had so very, very long ago now– I swallowed my unease and took it. Even if it didn't sit entirely right with me, I couldn't ignore them entirely. "Okay, I'll take it." My mind caught up to what she'd said at the end. "You're joining the expedition, Aderic?"

Aderic grinned and chuckled. "Yes, yes I am. Our mutual friend wants his kin to receive the right message after so long apart, and who better to deliver it than his very own speaker? I've convinced a few others to join me, but it will be a small group."

"The others will be travelling with the last of the supplies earmarked for the expedition." Darius added. "I intend to provide a new print run of your primer on Kalimdor to take with them."

"Oh." I started fumbling with my bag, pulling out the altered copy I'd been working on. "Here, this has all of the personalised parts for Jaina removed." Back when I'd been making it I had been too fixated on the thought of giving it to her, of the Gilnean Brigade being my only option for influencing Kalimdor, I'd left messages explicitly for her throughout.

Silly, in hindsight, but some of it should prove helpful to her. More details on what she did in the timeline I knew and what might happen; the new version didn't have any mention of the future at all.

With everything important dealt with, the meeting quickly came to a close. Darius would give Aderic his copy of the original primer and start a print run of the new, while I was to go home and rest. It would be nice to eat some of Frazzle's cooking and sleep in my own bed again – even if I needed a sleeping aid to sleep at all.

-oOoOo-

My reunion with Sergeant Fallan and his men had been a jovial one, with a number of jokes about how they couldn't possibly die with me around; jokes Lorna joined in with, extolling the virtues of shaping a bathtub out of a tree like I'd done the once, before she took off with Aderic to continue on to Pyrewood.

Joking aside, they weren't entirely wrong. The men certainly appreciated the fresh fruit I provided and the starlights that allowed us to keep working after the short winter light had faded without the need for messy torches.

I got some insight into the training of Gilnean soldiers from the trip too, as each morning the sergeant would run his men through a series of drills, keeping the unit cohesive and the partners sharp. Unlike much of the army, they were professional soldiers and guards rather than a levy or militia, and their tactics reflected that. Each pair consisted of a rifleman and a shield-bearer; though they both carried a rifle, one was meant to protect the other when they formed a line.

It wasn't quite like the concept of pike and shot I recalled upon seeing it, but it was close. The shield bearer used a spear to ward off their enemies, while the rifleman killed them.

A pike probably wouldn't be practical against a number of the monsters that a soldier on Azeroth might face, and a shield offered at least some protection from the likes of a fireball if magic entered the equation.

As fascinating as it was to watch, it wasn't why we were out here. By the second day we'd gone through all the camps and grave sites closest to the wall; each one was covered in a grove by now and was undisturbed. My divinations hadn't had any results on those, somewhat fortunately, as that indicated either the cultists were avoiding the grave groves or were incapable of desecrating them easily.

But now we were farther out, away from the temporary camps which people were moved from as quickly as possible to make room for more. Some people scattered across Gilneas, where I had little hope of tracking them down, but many were settling in more permanent 'camps'.

Looking at the one we were in now, it could hardly be called a camp. It was more of a fledgling town, lines cut into the ground for streets around the slope of a hill and along the edge of a stream, trees cleared to make space for farms with the lumber used alongside good stone and slate for traditional Gilnean homes. There were even the beginnings, the very beginnings, of foundations being dug for a town hall and chapel.

Of course, the pub was already done. It was probably the first thing that got finished.

Impressive as it all was, and as good as it was to see that people were rebuilding their lives so quickly after fleeing behind the wall, my heart fell as my fears were proven correct.

"Miss," I said, stopping a woman with the gnawing sickness of the Plague in her gut, "I need to know where you source your food. At once."

"What?" She started, "Why? You–" She noticed the soldiers at my back, mounted and in full armour, and her pallid managed to go even whiter from her nerves. "O-of course, my lady."

The sergeant was picking up on my tension as we moved through this refugee camp, where with the mid-morning light people were waking and starting to work hard at making a new place for themselves in the world.

And none of it was going to serve the people here, no matter how hard they worked. Again and again I saw men, women, and children with the Plague sinking into them. Slowly, far more slowly than the virulent strains I had seen at the wall... but there nonetheless.

They weren't keeling over dead in a few days, rapidly following the progression of the Plague and drawing attention. They were weak and sickly, a scratch that would normally have healed deeply infected and rotting from the inside, frostbite setting in early as warmth wasn't carried to the limbs where it was needed, exhaustion causing deadly mistakes. I could see the signs of all of them as I looked over the people trying to make their home here.

Maybe one in three wasn't infected, but even then I wasn't sure. There were cases where the Plague was so... subdued it felt like it was hiding from me.

"H-here, Madam Witch," the woman said, glancing at me nervously, "keep all our grain here. Lari' and her brother bake it into bread with the big oven each morn'."

A pair of silos next to a finished home with a smoking chimney, nothing outwardly unusual. "Thank you." I said as I dismounted and moved up to investigate the grain. "You've... you've helped."

It was... clean? But they were plagued, and it spread through grain... if not this, then how?

"Some folks get their own. I mean, they bake theirs; lucky guts got their homes early and have ovens to cook for themselves and ward off the chill." She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself as she babbled. "Got a shack, sure, but it's cold. Cold never seems to leave me bones anymore. Light above I miss 'Lemtoll, the undead were comin' an' all but it just... this ain't home. We're trying but it ain't."

I was only half listening to what she was saying as I rolled some of the grain around in my gloved hand, her babbling kept going and going.

"James seems to have the best of things, keeping his head above water and fishing in the stream; don't know why he's not sufferin' like most of us. Thought it might be witchcraft, but they're not evil anymore, are they? Unless they're taking revenge for the summer–"

"Thank you, miss." Sergeant Fallan interrupted her firmly. "You can be on your way now."

"Ah," She stared at him a moment, blinking rapidly. "Ah, yes. Of course. Goodbye, sirs, my lady."

Once she was gone the sergeant came up next to me. "She's sick, isn't she?" He asked in a whisper.

Slowly, with a pit of discomfort in my stomach from knowing what needed to be done, I nodded. "Yes, it's not the grain, it's not all of them, but..." But even if it was slower to kill, I wouldn't bet on it being weaker or easier to cure. And it left the question of where–

My head snapped up, staring at the bakery built beside the granary. The fisherman wasn't sick, some of the people in the town weren't sick, and a proportion of the town had their own ovens to make food. But most people, like the woman who was ill, used the bakery that was built early.

Darius was watching the distribution network and had been since last spring. It wasn't even vaguely a secret that grain was the primary vector for the Plague because of what I had told him. But that didn't mean that they couldn't intercept the shipments, dodge the grain inspections, by moving a step down the chain; a baker was an odd occupation for a cultist, but... but it would let them work.

"Sergeant," I said, pulling my attention away from the bakery to whisper to him covertly, "we need backup. At least half of the village is Plagued and I don't think they will react well to learning it." They couldn't infect others with the Plague, but if they panicked and scattered, if they tried to avoid being quarantined while they waited to die? It could spread chaos across the country as isolated pockets of undead appeared and claimed more victims. "Call for reinforcements on the double."

He glanced at the villagers going in and out of the bakery, buying bread that was likely contaminated. "Understood ma'am, I'll send a report immediately."

"Have the rest of the men start surveying the town, asking questions about their lives and how they're getting on. How the winter is treating them, if they're warm enough, where they get their food from." I added, biting my lip as I tried to think of a way to handle this well.

Charging in headlong against the probable cultists in the bakery to stop them from spreading the infection was my first thought, but it was a flawed one. If I captured a member of the cult alive I would have more of a chance to try and determine if I could detect them like I did the Plague itself and, while interrogation would have difficulty achieving results against the slaves of the Lich King, they could act as a divination focus to locate their fellows.

The rule of sympathy would be rather overtaxed, but using one cultist to locate others was within the realm of possibility.

"Lastly... get me a loaf of bread from the bakery, as discreetly and normally as your men can manage." Even so, even if there were advantages to being more cautious, I wouldn't risk it if I had confirmation infections were taking place. Not everyone was infected, not yet. "And make sure they know not to eat it until I've seen it!" I hissed firmly.

The sergeant frowned, but he nodded. "Yes'm. What's the plan if–"

"Barring evidence we go in tonight." Or, rather, I would; the blessings of the Fox and the Raven, along with what Aderic had left with me, would be useful here. "The last cultist recognised me so I will be keeping out of the way for now."

His orders received, Sergeant Fallan set about seeing his section start fulfilling them. Papers were distributed and I surrendered my pen for note-taking purposes, Wallon was given a pair of horses and sent to ride back to Northglade, and Frieda found somewhere to doff her armour before heading to the bakery.

Once my part was done I turned into a raven and settled in to watch the bakery, observing the people going in and out, peering into windows from anything I could perch on.

The bakery was two floors with a large stone kitchen attached to the bake, the roof was good slate and the rafters highly peaked for the snows. Only the windows on the storefront were glass, the upstairs and kitchen were shuttered tight and denied me access or the ability to spy on the interior easily.

Of the dozens upon dozens of people who came and went to buy their bread as lunch came, every last one save Frieda was infected by the plague. All of them talked jovially with the baker inside, making jokes and complaining about the cold.

But the bread, however, seemed entirely plain. There was nothing wrong with any of it from what I could see, and even when one of the regulars stumbled and dropped their basket, giving me a chance to swoop down and steal one of their bagels, it was... just bread. Freshly baked, mundane, and magicless.

When Frieda returned and I checked the sample she'd gotten me, tore it apart and ran it through with magic, the result was the same.

All that was left was to wait for the evening.

-oOoOo-

It was a frustratingly long wait, even after the sun had set and night fell, before the lights in the bakery dimmed and I was reasonably sure those inside were asleep. Not that the whole of my time waiting had been wasted; while Sergeant Fallan's men kept up canvassing the town I made a record of the names of those I could find who weren't infected.

To spare them whatever was to come of this, though the loss of so many of their fellow villagers was sure to be traumatic, they didn't need to be lumped in with them.

One thing that Sergeant Fallan's men had learned, a true lead to follow up even if both interrogation and divinations failed, was of the Society of the Unburdened that had helped the bakers build their bakery. There hadn't been many details, but the fact that it had been reported that a number of them were from Lordaeron?

We would have to follow up on it once this was dealt with. And now, it was time to do so.

Giving the signal, Sergeant Fallan's section moved to surround the bakery in silence. Into position to cut off any escape and with men at the windows to break in if a commotion started.

I quickly changed forms, flying my way to the chimney where I perched for a moment. This next part wasn't something I was looking forward to, but doing shifting forms once more I wrinkled my nose and started slipping down the chimney as a fox.

It was more than large enough, the chimney needed for a good-sized baker's oven not being small, but the descent was steep and the soot in my fur felt awful.

My suspicions about the bakery were proven correct before I even reached the bottom, the scent of Death and sickness seeping through the stones as I passed by the oven proper and into the firebox below. Crawling out through the ashes left me feeling like something was writhing on my skin as I passed so close, a horrid discomfort trying to take hold.

There was a moment where I wanted to turn around to avoid it, the thought that I was passing by something that would infect me with the Plague flitting into my mind, but it didn't work that way. And I was too far in to back out now; better to move forward faster.

When I escaped into the kitchen proper and shook the ash and soot out of my fur it was a relief, the feeling passing though the scent lingered. Two ovens covered the wall, both large enough to handle the village's needs alone. Only one of them reeked of death, the other, slightly smaller, was entirely mundane.

All the expected implements of a baker were present, as were various leftover breads and bags of flour. The scent would almost be pleasant if it weren't for the Death magic in the air, coming from both the oven and some of the leftover loaves from the previous day. The question now was, how had they known not to display any of them where I might see them? There were stacks of them, piles upon piles, stored on shelves; enough for a morning batch at least.

Had they been informed we were here and hidden them away? It had to have gotten around that someone, that I, could detect the Plague, but who could have warned them?

It was a matter for another time. Slinking my way through the bakery, out into the storefront and to the stairs, I crept my way upward towards the cultists. I wasn't as good as Tricks at keeping myself silent, but I was good enough that my soft footfalls wouldn't wake anyone.

Finding them sound asleep left the result something of an anticlimax. Returning to a human I reached out to the wood of their cots in parallel, waking the wood and directing it to bind them in place.

By the time they woke, they were trapped.

"What?" Maris, the brother, yelled. "What's going on?!"

"I can't move!" Laris, the sister, screamed, struggling in her bonds.

"You are under arrest for afflicting the people of Gilneas with the Plague and cooperating with necromancers." I told them simply, watching closely for any signs of magic as I approached the sister of the pair and drew out one of Aderic's vials. "Whatever promises you were offered by the Cult of the Damned, they were nothing but lies."

I forced half the contents of the vial down the woman's throat, then added my own magic to the mix, lulling her into slumber. She kept struggling and yelling, protesting what was happening, for a few moments before the potion took effect.

"It matters little that you have found us. The Master will claim Gilneas and claim you." The brother hissed, his eyes having fallen sallow and empty as he glared at me. A faint flicker of magic stirred in him, trying to rot the bindings around his arm, but it wasn't enough. "All will serve in the end."

What magic the man could conjure was the barest ember compared to the cultist that detonated herself, as weak as some of my hopeless students.

"All service to the Lich King offers you, is death and damnation." I replied, holding his nose and emptying the rest of the vial down his throat.

"Death is its own reward." He yawned, trying to keep his eyes open, and then began to snore.

With a shake of my head at the twisted fanaticism of the cultist, I left the pair trapped and unconscious to return downstairs and inform Sergeant Fallan of my success. While he dealt with that, I would deal with the bakery itself.

Plagued bread and the cursed oven met their end in a crescendo of Starfire, the chill of the Astral turning my anger cold as I ensured that not even a single scrap of Death remained to assault my senses. Though I made an effort to spare the untainted oven, to leave something for the villagers, it was too close and was left scored and pitted by the barrage.

Now we just had to deal with the consequences of what had happened here, what was certainly going to be messy.

-oOoOo-

"We were promised safety and this is what Lord Crowley offers us?!" A woman yelled, her voice hoarse and her skin pale. "Vandals in the night pretending to be his men?! You're no better than brigands!"

A man threw a stone which bounced off of Frieda's shield, the soldier having interposed herself between me and the growing mob. "I knew the nonsense about witches not being evil was rubbish! They've got to be the reason everyone's sick!"

Infuriatingly, the man was one of the healthy ones.

"How're we supposed to get our bread now you wrecked the bakery?!" Another woman yelled, her voice mixing in with the din of the angry crowd. "We live in shacks! You're going to force us to eat gruel too?!"

"Burn the witch an' rescue Lari!" Yet another woman screamed, throwing another stone. A chant picked up, more people calling for my burning. "Burn the witch!"

At first I'd argued back, spat my own words back at them, but it was pointless; they were too incensed and angry to be reasoned with. That didn't mean I was just casually watching now, a man had run off and returned with a blunderbuss, but a carefully placed root tripped him and the grasses started pulling the gun beneath the soil.

There was a growing collection of firearms beneath the ground now, some protected by Blackwald thornvines that I'd spread to stop the people trying to dig them back up. Like the latest one, who was scrabbling in the dirt and yelling for the return of his father's gun.

I really hoped the army got here soon, this standoff was decidedly uncomfortable.

Even if they were Plagued I didn't want to have to kill them. It was weak enough it might not even be necessary... it might be something Krennan Aranas could cure. A faint hope, but one worth holding.

If... if nothing else, subjects that lived longer than a few days would be useful to his research.

To... my research, if I had time once we had exhausted all the leads on tracking down the cult. Refusing in Dalaran had been the wrong choice, the other hadn't been the right choice either, but the one I made was the wrong one.

Of course, as people noticed that I'd taken another weapon from them, the chants and throwing of stones only continued. Bouncing off the helms and shields of the soldiers while I kept myself behind Frieda. More accusations, more crimes that they laid at my feet flew my way: That they were the reason they had to flee their homes, that witches had brought the Plague back in Lordaeron after Arthas defeated it, that the witches must have tricked the king into abandoning the lands beyond the wall, that I was the reason their family heirlooms went missing.

Every single thing that they could think of was thrown at a convenient and acceptable scapegoat.

It had been so long that I had forgotten what it sounded like, what it felt like to have it thrown my way. The acceptance I'd received in Crowford, in the wake of the Harvest Miracle, having left it so far behind me it had been a distant memory.

A retort of a rifle aimed skyward silenced the mob for a moment, the end smoking as Sergeant Fallan began to reload. "Enough!" He roared. "Laris and Maris Ofte have been found to be wielders of dark magic and spreaders of sickness for ill purpose. Under the Authority of Lord Darius Crowley, Warden of the Wall and Lord of the Northgate Woods, they are under arrest. Anyone found to be collaborating with them will be detained, with lethal force if necessary!"

On cue, half of the section levelled their rifles at the mob. Staring them down over the barrels of their guns.

If push came to shove, I could restrain most of them. There were only twenty-five or so people, enough to make it complicated to catch them all, but hardly impossible.

And I'd had time to prepare the ground while they argued.

"Bogus! Lari would never hurt a fly!" The woman who had guided us into the village yelled. "You– you no good traitors! She gave away food for free when we went hungry!"

Even if there wasn't much of a chance they would listen, with more gathered I felt the need to try anyway. "Plagued food, to make you sick." I told, meeting her pale gaze with my own tired ones. I hadn't gotten a wink of sleep last night, and to compensate I'd been relying on magic.

My eyes were probably glowing like the starlights I'd made so we could search the bakery more effectively by now.

"As members of the Cult of the Damned, which has brought Lordaeron to its knees, the Ofte siblings wished to do the same to Gilneas. To poison our people and turn their deaths into fodder for their war; in Maris' own words 'death is its–"

There was a deafening screech, the mob ducking to the ground and the soldiers turning their attention skyward.

I'd been interrupted by a gryphon, and I felt relief and surprise as I looked into the sky.