(57) - The Scarlet Plague

The Cathedral of Light in Stormwind was doing better than ever.

Weeks ago, an illness, called by some the Crimson Plague, for it came upon the heels of the Crimson Horizon and their conflict with the Apothacarium and its agents, the so-called Royal Apothecary Society, undead dedicated to eradicating the taint of the living from Azeroth.

Nobody was quite sure if the illness was spread by touch, by insect bites, by contamination of some kind, but one everyone was quite sure that they didn't want to catch it. The poor, the merchants, and the lesser gentry flocked to the Cathedral in droves, extending their prayers and offerings to those of the religious calling. The infirmary, overseen by Mistress Shaina Fuller, was likewise becoming very popular; those showing the worst of the symptoms were brought there on litters, for medical care. As fast as the offerings and donations came in, Archbishop Benedictus sent them out again, for the care was expensive; when a patient recovered or died, the linens were burned as a precaution.

When Griffonclaw had developed a racking cough and fever, he had himself reported to Mistress Fuller, and begun to assist the worst of the patients as directed. Each day we would rise from his assigned cot, and go amongst the worst cases, using his medical skills in conjunction with the Light's healing and blessings to help those most in need. When his ability to channel the Light was exhausted, for he himself was weak with the sickness, he served food, helping some too weak to eat to get something down. He stripped linens and emptied bedpans. He scribed letters for the ill who thought that they might not recover. He held the dying as their skin cracked and peeled away in bloodless strips, exposing the raw flesh beneath - for nobody should have to die alone. He invoked the Blessing of Sacrifice to try and take some of their pain into himself as they died. Often, the paladins knelt together in small teams, using that blessing in shifts until the patient was beyond their pain.

He carried the bodies to the makeshift cremation fires that the members of the Stormwind Academy of Arcane Sciences had created and kept burning twenty-four hours a day. Other mages were in the kitchens, supplementing the scarce supplies of food with their conjury. Warlocks crowded the Cathedral, and kept a constant stream if supplies coming in from the less affected portons of the Alliance, performing summoning after summoning.

One of the worst aspects of an uneasy truce with the Horde was that without a strong external enemy, the peoples of the Alliance tended to build factions, and the competition among them for influence and power was almost as fierce as open warfare. Griffonclaw raised a weary head, and looked around him - at least for today, warlock and paladin, warrior and rogue, mage and druid and priest, all worked together to keep their people alive.

Tomorrow they might go back to plotting and scheming, but today... today Griffonclaw was proud to be a member of the Alliance.