Get the Desktop App for Battle.net Now
- All your games in 1 place
- Log in once
- Automatic game updates
The night seemed rather restless as Darith walked about the streets, doing his rounds on the city. Everyone new by now that the Plague had broken out in Stormwind. He knew plague all too well in his years. First at Stratholme, then in Northrend. Even though this seemed to be less hostile than the others, he knew the potential it had. He'd taken it upon himself with the aid of a few of his men to patrol the city, ensuring peace was kept in the streets. Already with the Plague people were getting restless.
He wore his white linen mask to prevent catching the disease himself under his plated cavalry helm. One would think all the plate he wore was useless, but you could never be too careful.
As he reached the small overlooking fountain at the harbor he noticed a street brawl. At least it appeared to be so from afar. He approached it, his hand readying his sword, gripping the hilt as the other held the scabbard, un-clipping it from it position. He simply drew it an inch out, the sound was enough to get your attention, like the cocking of a rifle.
"Hey you three break it up..." He said with a moderately raised voice.
They seemed to not be answering. He noticed a man scream as he heard the sound of fists and clubs against flesh and bones. The screaming stopped, the victim silenced as blood pooled around the corpse under the feet of the two assailants.
"That's it.." He said now more aggressive and impatient.
He reached for one of the men's shoulder and pulled hard throwing him backwards, sending the assailant rolling on the ground some few feet behind him. He heard him groan but paid no mind to it. he moved quickly behind the other that was slumped over the dead mans corpse and kicked him down with force, he tumbled back, laying on his back letting out groans. Both mens hands were covered in blood and guts. He backed away slowly, drawing his sword as he reached for his comm to report it in.
"This is Commander Isenhammer...Disturbance at the harbor, I need two men for prisoner transport." The comm crackled and a response was heard. He waited by the harbor the two men still groaning on the ground.
One of the assailants got up, limping towards Darith. He quickly drew his sword and shield, taking up a defensive position.
"Stay where you are, in the name of the King." He shouted authoritatively.
The man made no response as he picked up his pace starting to bolt toward the Commander. He seemed to laugh, or cackle somewhat, murmuring incoherently. The assailant suddenly lunged for Darith toppling him over with force. He was stronger than expected. Not many people could knock him down, but there he was, on the ground. He kicked the man off, struggling to get up.
"I repeat, stand down in the name of the king or I -will- use deadly force"
The assailant once again charged at him laughing maniacally. "Bugger it..." he murmured to himself as he pivoted his foot, placing it forward. He brought his shield in front of himself defensively and slammed it against the bolting assailant, knocking him back to the ground. The assailants laughter died down and gasped for air before expiring. He noticed the other man too was laying motionless....Both their faces pale as the moon with bloodshot eyes.
When the reinforcements came some suggested they were escapees from the mental hospital in Stormwind, another thought it was the sickness that ailed them. All the signs pointed to the sickness... But it seemed as if the assailants just expired as if the Plague had completely drained them of any life.
It was wise to have burned the bodies he thought as he was recovering around the Cathedral Square. From the corner of his eyes he saw rats scurrying around the city. For all he knew this was just the beginning of the end.
The broken Draenei leaned lethargically against the cage they had chosen to hold her captive within. She could try to escape again..it was easy enough..but what was the point? She closed her eyes, frowning with a heavy hint of sorrow, huddling against the bars of the small confines. She held to the iron bars, clawed fingers grasping loosely at them, as if seeking some helpless form of comfort from the cold metal. Shallow sounds echoed around her...she was alone.
Her wispy eyes opened, looking to the shattered cup which had held her meal upon the stone floor on which she sat. Her own words from the night before wandered back through her mind. "Why.....? Why......"
The remembered answer from one of her captors caused her to flinch. "Because you are going to be used to bring suffering to the people of Stormwind."
The torn and half rotted Draenei merely closed her eyes again, the sorrow upon her visage clearly visible as her forehead pressed to the bars. Tears would come if the broken and deteriorated vessel of her body would still allow that function, but the greyblue flesh upon her cheeks remained dry. She whispered to herself, remorse heavy in her tone. "But that's not..who I am...."
The vibrant hues of red and gold of the petals had long since faded to an ashen tone as death and darkness smothered the life that had once been.
"Great Lord..." The withered stems of the bouquet were clutched in her fingers, heedless of the thorns that drew warm, wet blood; it stained the worn and wasted surface of the stone, mingling with fresh tears as it flooded the cracks of the tomb site.
The evening was cool and quiet, the graveyard long since abandoned; though this grave, and one other -- smaller in form and placed next to the one the woman crouched on -- bore markings of care, the moss having been removed, weeds pulled. The flowers, though decayed, were a desperate effort to bring some life back into the memories which lay dead within these graves.
She had promised to avenge him; but doing so had opened the watergates -- unleashing emotions which she had so carefully kept at bay. Always, she had served him; and if he were alive today, he would show great disappointment in her lack of conviction. The guilt twisted and tormented her, eating away at her insides as surely as the toxins that flowed through her blood.
She had failed him once, and he had died.
But she would not fail again.
((OOC question for Shazia and the powers-that-be who are driving this storyline:
The St. Bridenbrad Healers are trying very hard to maintain a quarantined clinic in the evacuated Orphanage in the Cathedral District. As long as people IC respect the quarantine (only the sick and medical personnel allowed in) everything works great. However we have recurring issues with people walking right through the posted guard and trying to sabotage the efforts to heal the victims, or just generally causing havoc.
And so I'm asking, are these people part of your planned scheme to keep the plague going - in which case we'll have to play along, or are these trolls that we should just ignore? It's becoming a constant disruption to the RP inside, to the point where it's almost not worth having a clinic to treat the sick.
Please advise, thanks! ))
Threats of violence. We take these seriously and will alert the proper authorities.
Posts containing personal information about other players. This includes physical addresses, e-mail addresses, phone numbers, and inappropriate photos and/or videos.
Harassing or discriminatory language. This will not be tolerated.