Post by Margrett on Jun 22, 2012 22:20:56 GMT -5
There was a sickness around Wistvale.
A plague was sweeping across the land, befuddling healers and mages, cutting down the old and the young. Steps had been taken to quarantine the sick, keep the plague out of Wistvale, but the fear was a real enough sickness. People stayed inside, reverted to old folk remedies and superstitions, even consorted with shady merchants and cultists in a desperate bid to keep their families safe.
But there was hope. A witch doctor, a priest and healer of the old religions, a walker in spirit worlds, was said to have the cure. Some said the man was a charlatan, a crook, that he started the plague and was taking money for curing it. Other said he was a great god in human form, walking the earth and helaing the sick.
Margrett didn't care which. This doctor, this Baron Shango, was coming to Wistvale. He needed ingredients for the cure, things from the wastelands to the south, and he needed someone to get them. That was the rumor, anyway. All she knew was that the Baron was heading into town, and she needed someone she could rely on to help her. That someone was Grayell, and she stood near one of the town gates one evening, waiting for him. Her cape was wrapped around her neck to protect from the chill, and she nursed a cigar in one hand. The other guards were assigned to other areas, to give the wolf a little breathing space. Only a lantern at her feet gave light in the shadow of the wall and the dying twilight, but she had no doubts he would find her easily.
A plague was sweeping across the land, befuddling healers and mages, cutting down the old and the young. Steps had been taken to quarantine the sick, keep the plague out of Wistvale, but the fear was a real enough sickness. People stayed inside, reverted to old folk remedies and superstitions, even consorted with shady merchants and cultists in a desperate bid to keep their families safe.
But there was hope. A witch doctor, a priest and healer of the old religions, a walker in spirit worlds, was said to have the cure. Some said the man was a charlatan, a crook, that he started the plague and was taking money for curing it. Other said he was a great god in human form, walking the earth and helaing the sick.
Margrett didn't care which. This doctor, this Baron Shango, was coming to Wistvale. He needed ingredients for the cure, things from the wastelands to the south, and he needed someone to get them. That was the rumor, anyway. All she knew was that the Baron was heading into town, and she needed someone she could rely on to help her. That someone was Grayell, and she stood near one of the town gates one evening, waiting for him. Her cape was wrapped around her neck to protect from the chill, and she nursed a cigar in one hand. The other guards were assigned to other areas, to give the wolf a little breathing space. Only a lantern at her feet gave light in the shadow of the wall and the dying twilight, but she had no doubts he would find her easily.