Every Plague Cloud Has A Crimson Lining (IC)

Champion Cynlan Dawnstrider.

The young Blood Knight took a deep breath and released it slowly from atop his steed. He was still getting used to the title, bestowed on him barely a week ago in a ceremony commemorating the founding of the Order and its most prominent members. He shook his head as he thought back to the event, to all the people who bore witness to his stunned silence after, and smirked at the memory. He wished briefly that he had been more aware of things that happened after he was called forward to receive that honor, but it seemed that he was watching the evening from that point forward as though he wasn’t really in his body. Really, who wouldn’t be just a little stunned at being given such an honor?

He came back to the present as the elevator stopped for him at the top of the Scryer’s Tier. Cynlan walked Justice out onto the platform with a click of his tongue and looked out over Shattrath City, admiring the strange bastion of Light settled in the midst of the broken world they call Outland. He never thought he’d actually settle into a home in this strange world, not after his first disasterous foray into its demonic landscape, but the house he and his wife, Sindrael, settled into was just about as perfect as one could find in this world or any other. Well, stranger things have happened, he mused as the elevator came to a stop at the city proper.

Something was very wrong. Cynlan’s first clue was that the Shattered Sun marksmen who he always passed on the way from Scryer’s Tier to the bank were missing. This in itself wouldn’t have set off any alarms for him, but the greenish haze that lingered where the targets were set up for practice wasn’t normal. Ever the dutiful knight, he moved closer to investigate.

A heavy, rotted weight fell against Justice, causing the charger to rear up suddenly for an attack. Cynlan, unprepared for the horse’s abrupt movement, crashed to the ground on his back, the air forcibly expelled from his lungs and his head dazed from impacting against the stone street. Before he could recover, three plague-ravaged figures approached him from either side, shambling toward him menacingly with bony hands outstretched like feral claws. Cynlan gradually focused his eyes on the diseased marksmen, then stared in wide-eyed horror as the past returned to haunt him…

A hesitant Cynlan, riding slowly and circuitously toward his homeland, dreading the reception his family would give him.

A peculiar patrol of guards set up at the first gate into Quel’Thalas, looking haggard yet restless.

An abruptly unhorsed Cynlan, his steed fleeing from the stench of death as he lay prone from the shock of being flung to the ground.

The rotted faces of humans and elves closing in on him, each one savage in its hunger for his flesh.

The Farstriders, or what remained of them after Arthas’ invasion, intervened that day, saving his life and leading him toward destiny. But this was Shattrath City, not his homeland. No rangers would save him this time.

Cynlan’s face contorted suddenly as rage overtook him. “No. No! NO!” he shouted, forcing his would-be attackers back as the Light radiated out from him in a stunning burst, consecrating the ground around him and giving him a moment to get to his feet. “Not again! NEVER AGAIN!” He drew his radiant greatsword and swung it at the nearest of the undead, infusing it with holy power to cleave the creature in a massive strike. He turned a dark gaze to the two who shambled forward, braving the hastily created holy ground to sate their hunger on fresh meat. Focusing his will in a gesture of intent, a roaring storm of pure Light manifested around him, ripping the two creatures to fleshy, diseased pieces and scattering the bits of zombie flesh to the wind.

Justice’s whinny drew his attention, and the Blood Knight glared with raw hatred at the creature trying to attack his horse. A quick gesture, and the Light flowed from him and into the zombie, detonating it with excessive force. The objects of his rage eliminated, Cynlan took a few deep breaths to calm himself as he approached his charger… and coughed violently.

“Sun and stars,” he wheezed, realizing that the sickly green cloud had not dissipated in the wake of his divine storm. Plague. It’s a plague cloud. Panic rose up within him, tightened his chest and forced him into another fit of hacking coughs as he hurriedly grabbed Justice’s reins to lead them both toward the Scryer’s bank. Calm, Cyn, you’ve cleansed yourself of plague before. Just focus…

Cynlan tried to cleanse the plague from himself, then frowned deeply as the summoned streamer of Light did little to cure his riotous coughing. Focus, damn it! He tried again, satisfied at last as the disease was purged from his body. Good… and just in time, he mused as he saw Sindrael standing worriedly at the entrance to the bank. Their eyes met, and the lady Dawnstrider rushed over to throw her arms around her husband in relief.

“Love,” he said in the midst of their tight embrace, “I think we have a serious problem here…”

((And posting Sindrael's contribution here, too!))

A smile curved Sindrael’s lips as she absently tapped the letter from her sister against her palm. Things seemed to be going well with Alyrra and Xannth, although how her sister could be happy living in their extremely primitive lodgings in Ratchet she had no idea. Shaking her head, she tucked the letter into her pouch. Love conquers all, I suppose.

Stepping away from the mailbox, she noticed a flurry of activity near the front of the bank and chuckled, shaking her head. Some upstart Alliance trying to stir things up again, most likely. But something just didn’t feel right. She could almost taste the fear in the air. Fear? In Shattrath? She began to move toward the entrance, her apprehension mounting as she came close enough to hear the screams…

Her shock at the sight of the hideous creatures rampaging among the customers froze her momentarily with disbelief, but her paralysis was quickly broken when they turned their baleful red eyes on her and began coming in her direction, clawed hands outstretched, saliva dribbling from slack lips pulled back over rotting teeth. She took a step back, her hand rising, trembling, to quell the rising scream as numbing fear claimed her.

Suddenly, in the panicked retreat from the bank, one of the other customers was shoved into the trio of abominations. They instantly turned their malevolent attentions from her and fell upon him in a slavering fury. Released from their malignant glare she quickly recovered her senses, eyes widening in horror as they attacked the unfortunate Night Elf. Horror bled into anger as she watched the outnumbered elf attempt to defend himself and she focused her scattered thoughts, taking another step back to get range, feeling the tingle of power in her fingertips before hurling a firebolt at the one who had latched onto the hapless Night Elf.

Intent on its prey, the creature barely paused in its attack as Sindrael sent another, and then another bolt into it. The third bolt ended it, but she was stunned that it had withstood her spells so easily. The Night Elf continued to fight against his tormentors, and she added her efforts to his against the remaining two while nearby customers fled.

As the third creature fell, the Night Elf reeled back from the noxious green cloud arising from the bodies, coughing desperately. He struggled to catch his breath and escape the expanding haze, then with a fleeting look and a silent nod of gratitude toward her, he hurriedly left the bank… glowing strangely with a greenish tint.

Sindrael took a moment to catch her own breath, her mind struggling to grasp the implications of the appearance of the decaying creatures. A quick scan of the interior of the bank showed that there were no more of them inside, although several of the customers had the same odd greenish glow that had surrounded the Night Elf after his battle. She glanced down, relieved that she showed no similar taint, and then looked through the bank entrance to see more of the creatures wandering the street in front of the bank.

Cynlan! Her husband was to be joining her here shortly and she feared he’d be caught, unsuspecting, by one of the roaming bands of nameless horrors. She rushed to the entrance, her worried gaze darting to the elevator by which he would descend from their home on the upper tier, and froze as she saw him.

He walked, leading Justice slowly along beside him. That, in itself, was unusual since he normally rode right to the steps of the bank before dismounting and releasing his charger into the hands of the attendants who waited outside the bank to tend to the customers’ mounts while they tended to their business within. What claimed her attention, and stopped her heart, was the greenish haze surrounding him. Oh, my darling, no… they’ve already infected you.

Even as she looked on, he doubled over with a wracking cough, and then straightened determinedly as if refusing to give in to the weakness. Pride and fear warred within her as she watched her handsome husband and saw the tendrils of Light wisp around him, knowing he was attempting to rid himself of the poison. But despair washed through her when they dissipated without diminishing the noxious haze. Then she saw him repeat the cleansing spell, the Light glowing stronger before fading away, this time leaving him free of the taint of corruption, and at last she expelled the breath she hadn’t been aware of holding.

He turned his head as if sensing her there and their eyes met and held for a moment before Sindrael ran to him, wrapping her arms around him and holding him close, confirming to herself that he was here, alive and well, as her heartbeat slowed to match the steady rhythm of his.

As they held each other, she felt his words rumble in his chest as he spoke, “Love, I think we have a serious problem here…”

Satisfied that he was unhurt, she released her husband from her anxious embrace and nodded solemnly as she laced her fingers with his and met his eyes again with deep concern. “I agree, darling. There were several in the bank earlier…” She quickly related the incident, her gaze often returning to the bank entrance, as if expecting another attack from that direction.

“What are they, Cynlan? Where did they come from? And most importantly… how do we fight them?”