#silver sickness

[generalsolweaver]

A letter from Dalaran

An envelope sealed with purple wax and the sigil of the Violet Eye is pushed through the mailslot of Mariel’s apartment, addressed to Nossavyara Falthrien.

”The 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.“

((Is this the end of Sol? We’ll find out in a few weeks.))

[dagumcryptid]

Unfortunate Choices ((RP~))

It was becoming... difficult to hide.

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 hadn't 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 didn't 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, wasn't 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.

But...

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 they'd 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.

"Elune be my strength. And forgive me," 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 wasn't overcome with sudden agony that this episode would end before their Champion found them...

[hawksfury-blog]

Report

The pages of the report lay in two piles on the mahogany desk - the taller stack facedown beside the other. Elnias had scanned through most of it before pausing to stretch her legs. Dusk fell over Silvermoon. She had opened the double doors to the balcony and inhaled the evening air deeply. The streets were quiet. The lavender light of the dying sun washed the buildings in its glow.

A plague, she thought. The report listed its effects: discomfort, bruising, paralysis... death. Investigators had dubbed it the “silver sickness”. Not necessarily the concern of a line officer, but for its implications. The disease was transmitted through arcane use. It was a ticking time bomb to the magisters of her protectorate. 

She gripped the railing and leaned her weight upon it, her forearms tense. No conjured foodstuffs. Easy enough. They will eat mundane food. The guardians hardly needed provisions in the field, as they weren’t performing maneuvers. She smirked at the image it called to mind. The idea of these magi in the midst of war games was laughable. Her smile faded as she recalled the next bullet point: use of portals is expressly forbidden.

A hawkstrider and its rider passed swiftly below her, likely relaying some message. She watched as it disappeared around the corner. No portals. Bloody fel. Experienced as she was, her soldiers were never stranded from portals. They needed reliable supply lines. Medical aid. Ambush tactics. No sin’dorei had planned a battle without use of teleportation in a dog’s age. Do they even teach that at the academy?

A puff of air escaped her lips and swayed the tendril of hair over her left eye. She relaxed her grip on the railing and straightened, turning on her heel to return indoors. The decanter of caramel-colored liquor waited patiently beside the report. Elnias removed the stopper and poured a glass, hesitating for a moment before tasting the contents. Her eye roved over the exposed page again. She rested the snifter on the corner of the desk, taking up a quill and fresh parchment instead. 

Engineer Fartask,

Mobilise your personnel. Ready all available vehicles; begin assembly of more. Logistics exercises to commence the twentieth of Month of Hallows, 0500 hours. Report to follow.

-Blazinghawk

The Sunreaver pushed back her chair and, standing, folded the message into an envelope with a waxen seal, then rolled into a tube. A shrill whistle produced by thumb and forefinger between the lips elicited a small dragonhawk at the balcony. She met it within five paces. The creature alighted long enough for her to slip the letter into the sleeve at its back. “Kevork Fartask,” she ordered. It shot away from the landing into the night air.

Unpopular? More than likely. But if the recruits consider me their friend, I’m not doing my job.

@silversickness for mention

[tarenor]

Highguard’s emergency orders

((a little RP thing i cooked up that goes to all highguard members. their new orders during this plot.))

[A memo is posted and sent to all members of the battalion. At the bottom is the emblem of the phoenix highguard.]

Attention all soldiers of the Highguard. After careful consideration for your own safety. after tonight clinic I have implemented new rules to help slow the affect of this "silver sickness." They are to be enforced immediately.

Your new orders stand as so:

-Any and all arcane magic, which includes drawing from the Sunwell and the Ley Lines, even fel-arcane, are hear by prohibited. EXCEPT during combat operations.

-The use of Portals are prohibited except dire circumstances. Use Zeppelin's or fly.

-Conjured foods and mana gems are prohibited. no exceptions.

-Cleansing of this sickness must be asked permission first due to the risk of our menders who risk their lives during this crisis. Speak to an officer or Pandraya.

-No use of any magically controlled items such as self cleaning brooms or lights.

-Any and all magical items must remain unactive.

Many may complain but these measures will be upheld until this disease has been abated. If you have any questions please feel free to come to me or an officer.

Light be with us all during these dark times.

High Commander Tarenor Swiftdawn

[tarenor]

Black Arrow through the Heart And you’re to blame- (RP story)

((-You give Sin’dorei a bad name. Little RP story as Shotaris and I start a new thingy. not too long of a story also some Silver sickness thrown in! And what’s this? another small cameo for my priest for an upcoming plot? I think so!))

Orgrimmar’s elevators creaked and moaned, slowly making there way up to the Skyway as they always do. The loud noise and grinding wasn’t doing at all justice to Tarenor Swiftdawn’s ears, increasing his already dark mood of what had just transpired in the main Horde keep in the Valley of Honor.

Your orders are clear High Commander Swiftdawn, he is a murderer and a traitor, you will capture this “Black Arrow”  or Shotaris, whatever you call him and bring him to justice, You are a man of justice are you not? Or do I have to brand you a traitor too?

The general had been very clear, shown him proof even of tare’s close friend and comrade, being a traitor, a murderer- no a slaughterer. He killed an entire family for what? Gold? power? simple damn boredom? He needed to find out more. Yes he was a merc, but he’s a good man, always supported Tarenor through his time so far in command.

After these past few weeks though, and now this, his list of those he can trust is getting smaller.. and smaller.

He made his way up the skyway and towards the zepplin tower to the Eastern Kingdoms, for some reason though there was a large crowd exiting and boarding. As he drew closer and closer he saw that many of the people were sick, horrible scars and mutations grew on their arms. It looks like sha-infestation.. but different- that’s odd, even the forsaken have it, and they all look like warlocks or mages..

Tare boarded the zeppelin and watched the strange infected group limp or be carried towards the Drag until the canyon city was shrouded in by the surrounding mountains.

Hours past and the odd sha-like infested group soon was far from Tare’s mind, what he focused on was the new task placed upon him. The tracking down and capture of a close friend and one of the leaders of the Merc outfit allied to the Highguard. If not played out he could be facing another enemy, but one closer to home. One he doubt even the highguard could fight and come out alive.

Reaching Tirisfal Glades finally he walked down the dark tower where the zeps make dock, he hardly noticed that scores of more infected people where around waiting gloomly for the next zep. But something did catch his eye as he made his way towards the ruins of Lordaeron City, many of the one here were Sin’dorei just sitting around camp fires while doctors and even Royal Apothecary Society professors worked on the infected to know avail.

Tare hoped direly that whatever this was, was only a isolated case, perhaps a RAS experiment gone bad. But if not he better make sure his battalion is safe.

First Shotaris, now whatever this is. Light, what else can possibly happen?

On one of the walls overlooking the causeway to the Teleporter to Silvermoon, a lone forsaken walked the parapets. The corpse leaned heavily on a staff that on it’s top were candles that burnt a dark shadowy flame.  He has followed Swiftdawn for weeks now from the shadows. His... “pets” watch others in his battalion, always keeping tabs. never seen.

Professor Kalvinus Wormwood smirked slyly under his dark cowl. he caressed one of the candle’s flames.

“No.. no my dears, not yet. But soon, for the Shadows always beckon.”

[bubbleharp]

have you heard (there’s a rumor on the street)

Tanryn loved market day. For one day each week, both factions and all races came together in Hearthglen to sell and trade things that couldn't be gotten anywhere else. She pulled her scarf tighter around herself as she prodded at a spiky melon from Durotar. "How do you eat this thing?"

The troll grinned at her. Well, she thought it was a grin. It was hard to tell around the tusks. "Jes' peel an' slice. It's good."

She nodded, drifting along the row to the next stall and its heavy wolf-fur coats. Do I need a new coat? Hmmm...nah, I'm good. Across the street, a goblin called out to his friend, cutting through the market chatter.

"Did you hear the news?"

"I'm kinda scared to ask..."

A passing gaggle of kaldorei cut off part of the goblin's reply, but Tanryn heard "--some weird illness in Silvermoon--" and froze.

Illness? She sidled closer and wished she had sin'dorei ears.

"Gold's truth, my landlady caught it! She's got this purple bruisin' all over her hands and she swears it's makin' 'er magic act weird. And it hurts."

The other goblin frowned, worrying her bottom lip with sharp fangs. "My next-door neighbor in Stormwind's got the same thing. I hope it ain't catchin'."

She spun around, dodging through the crowd to the goblins. "Excuse me!"

They looked up at her. The goblin man raked a hand through his hair, pasting on a smile that was mostly teeth as his gaze lingered on the Argent Crusade symbol pinned to her collar. "You lookin' for fine jewelry, sweet cheeks? Only the best for the Argents."

The necklaces and earrings on display did look well-made, but she shook her head. "No, sorry--but I overheard your conversation? And I was, um. Wondering if you knew anything else about this disease or whatever. I have family in those cities."

The goblin woman made a dismissive hand gesture. "There ain't much to tell. Weird bruises an' aches, couple people throwin’ up. Doesn't seem t' be spreadin' fast."

"Speak for yerself." Ears twitched as the man gestured. "It's way worse in Silvermoon, lady. Word on the street's that the magisters are tryin' t' cover it up, but when half the guys on the block have the same symptoms..."

She braced herself with a hand on the goblin's stall counter. Leilissa. Lenthara--sweet Light, Aretha. Mierette's family. "It's just been bruises and aches? Nobody's actually--died?"

"Not so far 's I know."

She nodded numbly. "Gotcha. I..thank you for telling me."

"Hey, no problem. You gonna buy anything?"

"Kizzak!"

"What? Ain't you ever heard of retail therapy?"

Tanryn smiled in spite of herself. "Yeah, those little silver hoops? Thanks."

Probably-overpriced silver hoops in her satchel, she made her way back to the rectory. I've gotta write a few letters. Definitely have to warn Lenthara--Lissa's got to already know. Mierette--I wish I could contact her family directly. She paused as a thought occurred to her. ...Fuck. Warning Dawnhallow would be the right thing to do, wouldn't it. I have to write that bastard too.

Dammit, today is just not a good day.

@mierettemornsong​

[dawnhallowswarm]

illness in the family

"Oi, Ryth!" When shouting brought no response, Telethrian leaned on the doorbell, letting its earshattering buzz reverberate through the apartment building.

Stomping footsteps announced his baby brother's arrival well before the door was yanked open. "Whaddaya want?"

Telly looked over his disheveled hair and well-worn shirt. "Did I disturb you? I mean, I can come back later but I just thought you should take a look at something for me, I would've asked Shelly but honestly you're a better healer--"

Rythien held up a hand. "Tel. Breathe. C'mon upstairs, I'll put some coffee on." He paused, eying him again. "Better idea, I'll pour you a drink. You look like you need it."

"...Okay." Telly's ears flicked and twitched as he followed Ryth up the stairs, one gloved hand holding up his robe so he didn't trip. The fire that usually coursed under his skin felt very far away, though his fingers stung and throbbed.

Settling in Rythien's living room with a glass of his own brandy and a wolpertinger in his lap didn't help very much, not when his brother was still eying him like he was afraid he might panic himself aflame (which had only ever happened once, thank you). "So..."

"So." Rythien stretched his legs out, gaze wandering to a point somewhere around Telly's left ear. "Talk to me, tell me what's so urgent that you had to come here straight from work."

Telly scuffed his bare feet into the carpet. The ash had long since been wiped away, and his toes were cold. "Well. I only noticed it a couple days ago, you know, when I was doing the Sunhowl cremation, but...oh, I'll show you."

Preemptively wincing, he pulled his gloves off to reveal the livid blue bruises mottling his fingers.

[silversickness]