The Silver Sickness campaign is over, but weâre not done yet! How did the âmagic plagueâ affect your character? Perhaps it left them or a loved one with scars, or made life very uncomfortable for a month? Nowâs your chance to tell us! From Sunday, November 22nd to Monday, November 30th, any drabbles or fanfiction related to your charactersâ experiences with the curse will not only automatically enter you in the raffle for numerous rare pet/gold prizes, but may also have a chance to win:
Group beauty shot for your guild by Yung-Rage (Available to guilds who participated at the Central level only)
One of two fullbody paintings by Meadowlarking
Single fullbody piece by Yung-Rage
Your choice of cash shop Warcraft mount
-in the contest!
Rules and more information below the cut.
  Just hearing about Silver Sickness? Check out our About for the story and our F.A.Q.
  This contest is open to anybody who participated in Silver Sickness between October 1st and November 9th, or are affiliated with the guilds who did. (Weâll be checking the validity of all entries.) The raffle, on the other hand, is open to everybody and anybody!
  Minimum word count is 500.
  You can make multiple submissions, but will only be entered in the raffle once. However, each piece will be judged separately for the contest.
  Writing can be submitted directly to the campaignâs blog, posted on the Warcraft realm forums, or tagged with #silver sickness. We are not liable for missing a submission -- our ask, chat, and submit box are always open if you think we have accidentally looked over your entry.
Silver Sickness is OVER! We killed the bad guys. Or at least weâre pretty sure we killed the bad guys. They were bad, and they were guys, but were they THE bad guys? Weâll find out eventually, probably, maybe.
Itâs been a pleasure to DM for you guys. You made this something special. Iâll see you at the next plot! Submissions are open for screenshots and other stuff. There will be a raffle beginning tomorrow for everybody who participated. Keep an eye out!
Invitations are open to anyone who has participated in Silver Sickness. Be prepared to accept the risk of permanent damage to the character you bring (no deaths will occur without permission). Two cross-realm raids will be running for both factions to complete two open-world objectives. There is a minimum level requirement of 10, and a player cap of 39 per group. Slots are first come, first serve. What a ride it's been. We will see you tonight at 6 PM Pacific! Whisper Silane#1133 for an invitation anytime after 5 PM Pacific.
An envelope sealed with purple wax and the sigil of the Violet Eye is pushed through the mailslot of Marielâs apartment, addressed to Nossavyara Falthrien.
âThe Kirin Tor expresses its deep regret that Mariel Solweaver perished of complications from the Silver Sickness on the eleventh of November. Despite the best efforts of our finest medical staff, the late diagnosis and treatment of her condition resulted in her tragic passing.
Unfortunately, we are unable to transmit all of her personal effects to your custody at this time. Many of these items are magical in nature, and thus potentially vectors of the Sickness - for reasons of public health, these have been destroyed.
If you have any additional questions, please reach out to representatives of the Kirin Tor. Embassies have been established in all major Horde and Alliance settlements.
Dalaran extends its deepest sympathy to you and your family in this difficult time.â
((Is this the end of Sol? Weâll find out in a few weeks.))
  Horde and Alliance members alike have been briefed on the plan: travel to Deadwind Pass and take Karazhan by storm. The ships and zeppelins leave Northrend on Wednesday to transport players to the Kirin Torâs base of operations for the attack: Surwich, Blasted Lands (WoD phased). An armistice between Alliance and Horde members has been established and will be enforced by the Kirin Tor representatives. Outbreaks of violence should be reported.
   For the next week, parties will be flown across the mountain range to investigate reports and rumors in the castle. Because of the high concentration of ley lines, anybody who gets close to Karazhan is at risk for infection.
   The mages of Dalaran wish you good fortune and swift victory. Your skills are needed now more than ever.
   A glass of bourbon dangled from Declan Guanegrimeâs meaty fingers. Despite the dryness which nagged at his tongue, he did not raise it to his lips. His thoughts demanded too much attention. Almost a month now, and he and his medical associates were no closer to a cure for this âsilver sicknessâ. It deeply unsettled him, and his body craved the calming feeling of being comfortably nestled underground. Despite the fact that he called Dalaran home, it was no place for a dwarf. The ground beneath his feet seemed solid, but the reality that the magical city hovered thousands of feet in the air diminished any sense of safety he felt. He would have to take a vacation once this was over and reacquaint himself with the earth. He frowned. If this came to an end at all, and he survived it.
   âProfessor Guanegrime?â The mild call of his name brought him back to reality with a start. A pale head poked into his dimly-lit study. âYou sent for me?â
   He had heard the other faculty mention his studentâs loveliness in passing, and maybe it was true. As an elf, she shared her peopleâs unilateral graces: delicate features, glossy hair, and the clear complexion he had seen a hundred times before in the quelâdorei students and patients who had passed under his tutelage and care. Frankly, he found her beauty boring. But as she emerged into the office and raised her face to him, his heart quickened for a very different reason.
  The reaction remained the same, no matter how many times he looked into her eyes. Fel-green and glowing faintly in the candlelight: the eyes of a blood elf. The eyes of the people who had helped to destroy his home and family. Theramore weighed heavily in his heart as it was, but the sight of that sickly green glow was a catalyst to the heartache. A reminder of the wife and child he would never hold again.
  He began to regret calling her for the task at hand, but he had no other options. Even with the neutralization of Dalaran, there was a lack of Horde in the city and fewer so in the medical field. She would have to do.
  âSilane,â he greeted, placing the bourbon on the desk and straightening up in one motion. His intense grip on the glass had caused his square fingertips to blanche, and he flexed them to stimulate blood flow in the sore digits. âI apologize fer the late summons.â
  âNot a problem.â She sat across from him without his invitation to do so, and his expression hardened. They had been at odds ever since she arrived at the hospital. He disliked how she held her longevity over his authority. Maybe she had lived longer and maybe she had saved more lives than him in those ageless years, but he did not agree with the notion that a life saved was a feather in a cap. Her raw talent with the Light would only get her so far, and yet she refused any real lessons he had to offer. Obstinate to a fault. She must have been a dwarf in a past life.
  He sat up to the full height of his short stature, his mind returning to business. She regarded him with a level expression. âTell me what ye know about thâ silver sickness,â he ordered gruffly.
  She furrowed her brows. They were a human's length, he noted, and uncharacteristically bushy. Her ears, too, were odd. While most of her peoplesâ were slender and tapered, hers flared straight up out of the tumbles of her white hair like a rabbitâs. He had half a mind to tease her about it, then chided himself.
  âIt only affected the mages, at first,â she responded, a heavy Thalassian lilt to her Common. âAnd manifested in Silvermoon most prominently because of the high concentration of casters. Thatâs what the reports said before I-â
  âBefore you ran away,â he rumbled.
  She fixed those awful green eyes on him. âBefore I offered to return my services to the Crusade.â
  He stood, though it made no difference in his height. Her wary gaze followed him as he approached a bookshelf at the far wall. âItâs a disease,â she continued, though her voice was tinged with a hint of resentment. âSpread between casters and those who manipulate and consume magic. It feeds on the arcane.â
  Declan thumbed through a series of thin leather folders. âClose, but thereâve been some developments since ye left.â He selected several, seemingly at random, and stuffed them under his arm. âWeâve been in contact with thâ mages doinâ the bulk of thâ research gatherinâ. Seems both thâ Horde and Alliance are clamorinâ fer any scrap of news. Thatâs where ye come in. We need an Orcish translator who cân speak medical jargon.â He splayed the books across the desk for her to view. Deep violet ink glinted on the covers. Leylight, P. The one beneath it bore Croft, W. Other names peeked out from under the pile.
  She pulled a report from the bottom. Hartelle, E. Mentions of deeds carried out across the globe by brave individuals in the search for a cure. Dreamseeker, A. was a slim and concise logbook of infection logistics. Bidwell, K.âs she skimmed through hastily, obviously not very interested in the effects of the sickness on the Forsaken. Declan saw a flash of interest cross her face as she scanned Nahealâs neat writing. He knew the contents: the discovery that the Sunwell was a source of infection. Silane placed it down gingerly, looking pale.
  âSo itâs a curse,â she murmured as she leafed through a folder emblazoned with the name Schaacelle.
  âSpread on thâ ley lines,â finished Declan, waving a final folder in the air.
  âBut from where? And what do you need me to âtranslateâ?â came the response. Silane leaned towards his desk, intrigue pulling her forward like an invisible string.
  He offered the final folder with a grim smile. Lavery, E. flashed across the cover. âBecause weâre briefing troops tonight. Tomorrow, we move any muscle we cân spare to the source.â
  His drink slipped into his hand as he rubbed his brow.
  LAST WEEK! LAST WEEK! AA! AAA!
  There will be two meetings Monday and Tuesday. Both of these meetings are open attendance, in-character, cross-realm events. For Horde players, the date is November 2nd (Monday) at 7 PM pacific time. Alliance players will attend the meeting on November 3rd (Tuesday) at 7 PM pacific time. Both meetings will take place in Dalaran. Because of all the cross-faction invitations that will go out, we donât know which server we will end up on, so please be above level 10 for a raid invitation. During these meetings, you will be briefed by Kirin Tor agents on the final stage of the sickness before we make our way to the finale on November 8th. Feel free to ask questions in-character when prompted, but save out-of-character questions for the end.
  This is your LAST CHANCE to get involved in the plot. If you haven't had the opportunity to bite off a piece of the action yet, or have unfinished quests, make sure to let us know! If you feel left out, I promise you we do not intentionally ignore players. We've got big lists to sort through, and people regrettably fall through the cracks sometimes.
  The quest list and synopsis will not be updated until after the first meeting. There's gonna be fightinâ leading up to the 8th, so strap on your big boy boots and say your prayers to the RNGs That Be and letâs. GO. KICK. BUTT.
ShaâNâTrah, my broken mage, might be the only of my character that could ever catch the Silver Sickness.
But how do you see that your limb is corrupted by something⌠When your whole body is already a living corruption ?
  In the sand-scattered rocky outcroppings of Tanaris, there was no movement. Temperatures in the winter months were near freezing during the desert nights. When the sun hastened to her bed, anything which scurried, squawked, or slithered retreated to their burrows in order to survive. By contrast, the goblins (whose goal in life as a species seemed to be to terminate themselves as quickly and efficiently as possible) were on the move.
  The caravan of laden camels curved gently to the east as it crossed over the vast, rolling dunes. The small green men astride the lumbering beastsâ backs were drowsy, bored, and ill-prepared for the chill. While their mounts seemed content to advance leisurely, the penny-pinching goblins were losing patience.
  âSixteen percent!â exclaimed a reedy voice from the head of the chain. The speaker reeled in his saddle, clutching a letter. âHeâs cutting us off because of the delays? I should deck that weasel right in his crooked gawp!â Green fingers shook as they ripped up the parchment in a fit.
  âForget âim, Boss! Find a new trading partner! Fat 'ol duke gyps you off every time.â A bruiser fell into step alongside his benefactorâs camel. Hired muscle wasnât uncommon in the goblin race, but this stout mercenary made up about half of all the body bulk in the entire caravan.
  âYeah? And who else is gonna buy it? Thistleshrub Dew is some of the most vile swill on this planet â I wouldnât drink it if I was dyinâ of thirst! Dukeâs the only one who can make it worth anythinâ,â the boss responded with no small amount of resentment. âIf I had that slimebagâs secret ingredient, I would be rich in a heartbeat.â The goblin raised his hand, fingers poised to snap. âLikeâ that!â
  Two things happened at once. The goblin slipped his fingers over each other, resulting in a loud and well-practiced snap!, and the sky lit up in a nova of purple light. Camels reared, voices cried out in disbelief, and the boss whipped his head around only to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness.
  The sound hit them a moment later, like an enormous, distant firework. The blast wave followed, bringing vibrations echoing through their bones and wind blowing into their faces. It caught and threw back their hoods as they shielded their eyes from the scattered sand.
  As his eyes adjusted, the bossâ jaw grew slack. He had never seen the lights in Northrend washing the Fjord, but if he had, he would ditch them for this. The explosion lingered in the air as a galactic ring of swirling arcane residue. Unstable energies arced through the sky; lightning flashes against the dying purple light of the main body. The caravan quieted as the remnants faded, leaving them in the moonlit desert once more.
  The mercenary gulped. âBoss?â
  The goblin atop the camel seemed transfixed by his fingers, but was jolted out of concentration. âSend a runner ahead,â he snapped. âI wanna know just what the hell that was.â
  Silver Sickness has been extended by a week and will now end on November 8th instead of November 1st. This means Phase (or âweekâ) 3 will continue from now until the 1st, and the finale will be on the 8th. To get a better idea of this change, the calendar has been updated to reflect this.
  The extension is for a variety of reasons -- mostly to avoid crunching the content and not giving guilds the roleplay the quality we want to provide, and to avoid clashing with Halloween events. More quests will be available next Sunday, but the final phase wonât hit until the 2nd of November.
Orynthia rolled over, the first shreds of light drifting through the heavy, woolen curtains that lined the windows of her shared quarters. The shaman winced, her eyes fluttering open as the dredges of dawn filtered through and roused her from her slumber. It had become her daily routine, the shaman realized as she momentarily rolled on her side to glance at the sleeping features of her mate. She marveled at the being momentarily, before realizing the early morning work that she had tasked herself with. Her movements were precise in nature, carefully planned as to not disturb the draenei to her left. A shaky exhale escaped her lips, the sling that secured her injured arm still in-tact from the night before. Good, she thought to herself. With a gentle swing of her legs, Orynthia would be able to plant her shaky hooves on the ground and slowly work her way toward the entrance of the small, tiled bathroom, unnoticed in her endeavors.
Once inside the stone lavatory, the Earthwielder would be quick to shut the door behind her, its silver latch fastened securely so that no one could enter. The daily routine, she recalled once more as her hooves carried her toward a small chair that had been piled high with the duvet that covered the bed outside of this cramped room. Orynthia could feel the corners of her mouth tightening, her lower lip trembling. She shook her head, clearing her throat at once. No, she stated to herself, you cannot do this to yourself. You must persist. She nodded her head affirmatively, realizing those words had been her mantra for the past few days. For as long as this new ailment cursed her.
The pain in her right arm radiated throughout her core, to the point that the frail shaman could feel nausea within the pit of her stomach. She coughed quietly as she guided herself through the haze of the early morning toward the seat positioned in the back of the room. Slowly would she lower her form onto the plush surface of the chair, her eyes closing briefly as she made an attempt to calm herself.
It had all started with their trip to Valiance Keep, Orynthia mused to herself as the tips of her fingers began to unfasten the sling that held her right arm in place. Iriaas had suggested that the group of individuals representing the newly reinstated Revival should travel to Valiance Keep for the sake of alerting any present individual affected by this Silver Sickness to relocate for safekeeping in Dalaran. Orynthia could feel the corners of her lips form a sad smile, her excitement for the day that had felt like a millennia ago still caught in the pit of her stomach, though now it was corrupted and replaced with the early onset of distress.
She should have known that things would not have gone as they had been originally planned.
The Farseer had always attracted foul luck no matter where she went - and Valiance Keep was no exception. The bitter thought left a foul taste on her tongue as Orynthia now worked to unravel the bandage that covered her arm. It was mere moments after Revival had arrived and the Orders who had gathered in Valiance Keep began to discuss their plans that chaos had struck the small military settlement.
They had been forced on to the ships that divided the encampment, arcanic explosives now piercing the frigid air. The innate nature to heal those in need had captured the shamanâs interests, ultimately guiding her and the rest of Revival to the source of the vilest screams of pain.
This is where Orynthia stopped, the tears welling in her eyes as the memories leading up to this atrocity now maimed her thoughts, and worked like vices to constrict her throat. The air had escaped her, to the point that her left hand was now dedicated to steadying her trembling form. How could she have been so careless? How could she have just rushed in after her spouse, Iriaas, and alert the cultists of their position?
The rest of the memory was a blur, a result of suppressed fear. It would be added now to the other sadistic accounts of misfortunes that had been afflicted upon Orynthia. Perhaps she would face them someday, but the shaman truly doubted it.
The rest of the bandages fell from her arm, her fingers spreading and her arm bending upward. Despite what she had let on to, the bone in Orynthiaâs arm had actually healed completely. The shaman would stand against her better judgement, her hooves carrying her to the nearest mirror. The reflection that stared back at her was disfigured, maimed by what one would assume were purple bruises.
These were different, however, corrupted slashes that ebbed a strange sort of light. She held her arm up, now able to see the blackened tips of her fingers, the rest of her limb radiating with the strange purple glow. Lunar-patterned scars lined particular points of her right arm, perhaps where pieces of arcanic shrapnel had imbedded themselves in her skin. Tears now flowed freely from Orynthiaâs eyes, and it was all the shaman could do to pick up a small compact box of powder. To conceal these strange marks, to hide the truth.
âOrynthia?â
The familiar voice of her mate startled the shaman as she quickly moved to the back of the room. The easy part of her work was over, Orynthia thought to herself ruefully. Now, all she had to do was persist with the secret, and to smile as if her personal hell had not become her reality.
I had heard that non-arcane/fel users who eat conjured food or go through portals also have a chance to contract the Silver Sickness, but I can't find where I read it to verify it! My guild has no real arcane or fel users-- or elves or forsaken, for that matter-- so I've been looking for ways to get us involved and invested.
   I'll verify it right here! Food or crystals conjured by arcane means can get a character infected. Likewise, traveling through portals on Azeroth can put you at risk of catching it, even if you're not the one who conjured the portal!
  Due to efforts of numerous guilds, notably The Seventy Third, The Pack, and The Jade Lion, it has been revealed that the sickness is a curse with magical side effects.
What does this mean?
1: The curse has a method of transmission, which has been identified as the ley lines.
2: Every curse has a source.
Quests have been updated! Guilds still on their quests from last week are free to pick a new one or complete their old one.
Talarae grit their teeth hard enough to risk the integrity of their fangs, left hand clamped around the right wrist. Both were shaking. Every inch of them hadnât stopped shaking since the tincture wore off. Sweat beaded on their brow, eyes that should be shimmering pools of silver had long gone dim and distant, staring into the blackness of the farthest corner of their little room. As far away from the only source of light they had, a primal fear of admitting to that which didnât belong.
Blue flame licked hot and blistering over their right forearm. Each day brought another inch of blackened skin, of searing pain. Fingertips had long since gone numb when at rest, jolting into over sensitivity with the slightest pressure. Two weeks ago it had only been bruises along one side of their palm. Two weeks ago it was a minor annoyance.
Now, though. It was becoming difficult to function at all.
Fighting back the traitorous whimper caught in their throat, Talarae jerked their face toward the table nearest the door. Several vials stood waiting for them. Another hard shudder rocked their entire frame as they made to stand, hand brushing sheets that should have been soft against their skin and instead almost made them buckle.
Reaching out for a disarmingly pink glass bottle, the old Kaldorei gripped it with a strength that threatened to break. It was hell trying to pull the cork without the use of their other hand, but eventually, with an impatience born of pain and need, they managed. Only as the lip was pressed to their mouth, did they hesitate, self-preservation smacking them in the face.
This, this was bitter sweet, wasnât it.
One sip and the shivers, shakes, the empty pit in their stomach that twisted and turned would abate. Would ease enough to breathe. A taste and the image they saw in the mirror would fit and be right.
ButâŚ
One sip and the pain would flair. Would bring them to their knees for what could be hours, risking Araane finding them in a ball on the floor when she arrived like clock work at the beginnings of dusk. A taste and theyâd lose more of their arm to this strange, horrible fire that burned whenever they so much as tried the simpliest of tricks or tested their potions.
âElune be my strength. And forgive me,â they whispered, tipping the tincture back to swallow it all, choosing one evil for the relief of the other.
Glass broke as the rogue fell to the floor with a harsh cry, clutching their arm as it bled fiery blue, hoping in what little of their mind that wasnât overcome with sudden agony that this episode would end before their Champion found themâŚ
  A Central slot has been opened up for Week 3. Any Auxiliary guilds interested in taking their place should message a moderator.
  A calendar has been embedded into the new Weekly Synopsis page and will be updated as the week goes on. If you would like to submit an event (to be recorded in the past or planned for the future), submissions are open. Hartelle has been placed in charge of collecting information for the mercenary system, so the Contract page will see more love in the next two weeks.
  Weâre pleased to announce that Silver Sickness will be integrating with The Collective event on over at Wyrmrest Accord. The level of involvement will remain a secret. (No spoilers!) We encourage players to participate in any event which interests them, but you do not have to be directly involved with The Collective to continue playing out the Sickness. Likewise to Collective players -- donât feel pressured into joining the Sickness. This is all in the effort of broadening our horizons and merging fan-made lore.
  Is your character sick? Weâd love to know about it! Submissions and asks are always open to stories, reports, artwork, Blizzard forum posts, and any other content. We also follow the #silversickness and #silver sickness tags, but posts may still escape our notice. Please, share your work with us!
Dalaran Inquisition Headquarters @silversickness - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
