In Search of Patient Zero

[Wired]

Sister Marie sat side-saddle, high upon the parapet of the Temple of Farallis' tallest belltower, and looked out over the sleeping city of Cear below. A tear clung in one eye and her lower lip quavered.

It had been an exhausting day, so many suddenly stricken sick with this mysterious new disease, flooding the Temple in hopes of a cure. She'd been able to ease the suffering of some, but the contagion was like nothing she'd ever seen before, entirely inert under the application of her restorative magics.

She shook her head, refusing to speculate on the possibility of a supernatural illness. There had to be a cure!

She'd just have to study the problem harder.

A distant howl suddenly cried out over the city. Wolves? So close to town?

Sister Marie shivered, clutched her shawl tighter around her shoulders, and stood to make her way back down to the Temple Archives. There has to be something in the Archives!

In the morning she would send a request to the Temple of Perallia for help. There would soon be those in need of palliative care... or even the Blessed Gift.

[Wired]

Minister Admatha swept down the rows of the dying, her sandled feet barely touching the floor.

In the corner of the temple, the dead were stacked like so much cord-wood. She turned to Sister Marie, "How bad is it?"

Marie met Admatha's eyes and inhaled slowly through her nostrils, saying nothing. It was all she needed to say.

"We need to keep this quiet," Inspector Darius interjected from the far side of the room.

He wore a white bandana tied over his mouth and nose, as if that might somehow protect him from the contagion. "There will be panic among the people if this gets out. More people could be injured or harmed by... opportunists... in a general panic."

Sister Marie turned towards Darius, "We can't hide this. The disease is spreading, and fast. There should be a quarantine. Seal the City Gates."

"Thousands come and go from the Harbor or the Talonroad, every day," he retorted. "We've no evidence that this originates here."

"All the more reason to close the Harbor and seal the city gates," Admatha responded, "This could be a threat from the outside. What intelligence do you have from the Northlands or other Provinces?"

"None," Darius admitted, "There has been talk of die-outs. South of Tristan. Along the Dasar River... But all uncoroborated."

"We're looking for a single vector," stated Marie, sure of herself. "The disease spreads from person to person. We've seen no new deaths among the animals. I can cure this. Find me the original vector. Find Patient Zero. It's a long-shot, but if he or she lives and walks still, I have a means... with help... of manufacturing a cure. Not through magic, but by craft."

Inspector Darius scowled while Minister Admatha raised one perfectly arched eyebrow, "A Priestess of Farallis turns her back on Magic? These are dark times."

Marie did not at first respond, but walked slowly over to a shelf and purposefully selected a particular tome, opening it up to a particular tome marked by a broad ribbon. "Foremost in the Age of Legends," she read, "was the society of Ancient Exodon, a technologically and and magically advanced society cast forever beneath the sea in a great cataclysm."

The two were silent.

"Much of their technology has been lost, but there is knowledge here in this tome, protected by Farallis these many centuries, and delivered into our hands by his divine purpose," she closed the tome with a loud SNAP!

"Find the vector. Bring me the head of 'Patient Zero,' and from his blood I can distill a cure."

[thedragonman12345678]

maladorr looked in pride at his pack, soon, the human's genocide will end... their minds and eyes opened to what has always been a reality: soon, the uprising of the werewolves would begin. then, finally, the werewolves may finally know peace... but only after much bloodshed. and humans says the werewolves are monsters...

((i really hope i can find some spare time to finally do an event for this))

[Atharin]

Coughing. Barfing. Wailing. Dying. The mad cacophony that rose up from Farallis' temple proved to be too much, and the paladin offered his excuse to Sister Marie as he passed her on the way out. He was exhausted; even his competence in the arts of healing - and that of many others - did little more than easing the pain of those struck by this wretched disease. It was spreading fast, and there was no clue as to its nature, or who this "patient zero" might be.

If it could even be called a disease. He sat outside, unfurling a scroll upon which was scrawled the list he compiled of notable carriers, afflicted... some names stuck out.

Jezel Klandon.
Melanie Thana.
Elvina Hellcat.

Not a disease, no -- something worse. Not of magic, nor of nature... something beside of it. Something dark... dark, and empty.

Orion Steele.
Amilcar.

His thoughts went back to his conversation with Sammil Card, of the Dakhen blade, the corrupted grove, the dead fish... what if there was, indeed, a connection? Neither afflictions were born of nature... but they weren't ready for an assault on Fort Phazzan, not when so many Dasarian troops run the risk of spreading this plague amidst their own ranks.

Unknown traveler; feathered hat, red tunic, black of hair, trimmed beard.

Sister Marie has always been a positive figure, as far as he knew -- she offered him shelter in the temple during many of his own hardships, and even when it ran the risk of her own imprisonment by authorities, but in these past days he felt trepidation of her words. They were clear: "Bring me the head of 'Patient Zero,' and from his blood I can distill a cure!". If desperation grows, Kadmiel figured, there will be witch-hunts. Families and neighbors turning upon each other, making paranoid accusations. Praetor Pontius may even march his men out to the streets in an attempt to instill order - the Varanite way. People will die, and not only from the sickness.

Shayde Mel'for.

His thoughts went elsewhere as he dwelled upon that last name, and so he sat and stared, until... "You just do what needs to be done," a familiar, inner voice urged him back to the matter at hand. "And fall apart later."

The vellum crumpled into a ball under his palms, and he turned back towards the temple in order to collect his armor. He will need to leave Cear before they seal the gates. The list was an admittance of defeat, and Kadmiel resolved not to let this plague spread long enough so that it ever comes of use.

[CharacterInWhite]

A New Volunteer



Amidst the crowd of rushing priests and dying laymen stands a figure in a white doublet who, at first glance, would probably be mistaken for a man. After placing her metal flasks of wine over a brazier, she moves from patient to patient, adjusting or correcting the non-magical treatments of the illness' symptoms with supplies from her personal stock, all the while making return trips to the brazier to dump scalding wine over her scarred hands. The closest thing she has to religious paraphenalia is a holy symbol of Peralia embroidered in the collar of her doublet.

A drink of willow bark here, a touch of herb there. Her adjustments to the priests' treatments are small, but they serve to reduce fevers, clear airways, and lighten coughs. The illness persists regardless, but at least more is done to ease their suffering.

Then she does something the priests do not: She interviews the patients. Rather than rush to help someone else, she questions those who can speak after treating them, asking where they live and what locations are their regular visits ("haunts") in the city.

So busy are the priests that it takes a few minutes for them to realize anyone has joined them as anything besides another patient.

When confronted on her actions, she explains simply.

"You wish to find patient zero? Then you must treat the patients here as if they are murder victims. It is obvious."

Then she proposes a rhetorical question. "How do you investigate a murder?

"You start with the victim. Why are they here? Who were they last with? What other locations did the victim and the suspects regularly visit?

If each of these patients can tell us where they were in the week prior to their illness, and if we map each of those locations by the number of people who were there, perhaps we can see a pattern emerge. From there, we may know where to look for patient zero."

She hopes that, between demonstrating her medical competence and the validity of her idea, that the priests let her stay to continue the balancing act of medicine and interviews.

[Jain Zar]

Elvina sat in the corner, studying scrolls as she overheard the woman in white.
"An excellent idea," she starts as she stands up," Usually I stay at the Mistyvale inn. The night i got my first symptoms i met three people that got nearby me. Calimus, Toran and Amilcar."

She leans against the wall," Also, I told Sir Kadmiel today i heard an interesting story, however you will need to see Amilcar about the details... something about a woman who chanted in town and people who became sick afterwards... its a rumor off course, but hey, maybe a start... i ... like to help you... my duty, you see."

After she coughed, she mumbles a few words of one of her scrolls, her face seems less pale now... "Right... lets get to it..."

[Sahji]

Erica: *holds a whitegloved hand for the mouth and coughs, leaving bloodstains on it*

Now comes the sound of bar being slid across the entrance of the Temple of Farallis from the outside

Marie Odari: And then there were six.
Marie Odari: And one of us
Marie Odari: *Looks from person to person*
Marie Odari: Must be patient zero.
Darion: Then we are close..
Zo'art: ...they're...locking us in to die? [however horrific that could be, her voice comes out..mellow]
Kadmiel Greywolf: *He arches a brow, saying nothing.*
Eley Khasker: *Looks over to Marie, then around the room* ...That's not... *Shakes her head, furrowing her brow* ...It could be someone that isn't in here...

[Crimson]

He had fallen asleep not too long after the door had been sealed shut, and when he woke a few hours later, shivering and eyes swimming with fever, he reached down to his belt, and produced a bottle.
He uncorked it and drank the green fluid inside, and with a sigh of relief, the worst of his symptoms vanished for a time.

Darion looked towards the door, and then shifted his gaze around the room.
Everyone was still here.. the door was surely still sealed..

"This will not do.." he muttered and opened his backpack.
After a few seconds, he pulled out a crude amulet made of heavy, dark metal.
He weighed it in his hand and studied it.

He had spent so much time here, when he really should have been in the Marshes, searching for those damnable Koalisk..
With a sigh, he rose to his feet and pulled the chain of the crude amulet over his head.

He had to get out before nightfall..

"Sister Marie.." he said
"When do you think you have the answer? I must leave before too long.. an important mission awaits me, and I have no choice but to complete it."

He knew that if she told him he could not leave this very day, he would have to find another way out..

...was there no end to the problems...?

[Atharin]

The temple was quiet, for a change.

They were all fast asleep, and Kadmiel seldom slept. He had no desire to wake the five who remained within the temple, any of which must have been this "patient zero," according to Sister Marie. The three girls, Darion, and the Canite. It was almost a certain bet who the culprit might be, yet he found himself wishing a different turnout - perhaps then, they could...

No, he sighed heavily. That Canite ... no, Culnulite, he called himself -- he won't be leaving the city alive. They will never allow it.

Justified as that would be, Kadmiel couldn't help but find the thought disappointing. He bore little other than contempt for the man, but there was a sense of honor - however selfishly motivated - about his actions. Kadmiel traced each paragraph in the holy tome set upon the altar with his finger, his lips moving in a silent sermon beseeching Farallis for his wisdom. Yet, his thoughts kept coming back to the necromancer not ten yards from him. It was a strange thing, to find a sense of relief in that use of words -- "My lord is Culnul". The spark of uncertainty was there, in those baleful eyes -- Kadmiel saw it when they spoke. How devoted was this man, really, to his "lord god emperor"?

He lifted his gaze to find Aedric awake, sitting upon the stone bench, with his back to him. He was lurching over one of the corpses, jotting down notes, documenting the grotesque damage to their bodies even after Marie so boldly assured them that she has locked down the source. He was not so far away from succumbing to it, himself - entire sections of his arm had become useless sacks of pus, and he could barely find the strength to lift his own quill.

Kadmiel stood behind the altar, and watched whilst he waited for Sister Marie to return.

[Sahji]

Marie Odari: *hands the doctor a vial of pale fluid*
Marie Odari: This is the distilate of the blood of Zo'art and that of Adedric Webber. They are the only two that reacted positively to the antibody.
Marie Odari: If there is a volunteer
Marie Odari: We may attempt an innoculation
Marie Odari: But to fail will be to die
Plague Doctor: *Sucks up a quantity of the distiate in a LARGE syringe, applies a needle*
Plague Doctor: *taps of the side of the needle, holding it upright and squeezing slightly*
Marie Odari: So....
Marie Odari: Looks around the room
Marie Odari: What we need is a volunteer.
Darion: *Takes a deep breath, and steps forth*
Darion: I volunteer..
Aedric Webber: *He flips through the dry pages, and casts a bemused glance to his right*
Erica: *coughs*
Zo'art: ... [she smirks to this, with a dreamy sort of expression, but stays silent in respect]
Marie Odari: She reaches out her hand and accepts the device
Marie Odari: *Turns to Darion*
Marie Odari: *Uses her commanding voice* Roll up your sleeve.
Darion: *Pulls his left gauntlet off, and undoes the bracer*
Darion: *Then he rolls up the sleeve*
Marie Odari: *She holds his wrist tautly and slaps the vein on the inside of his arm with the back of her two fingers*
Marie Odari: *she slides the needle into the vein that rises and pushes the fluid inside, muttering some words in the language of ancient Exodon ... Press gently and consistently until the fluid has been dispersed subcutaneously. Do not press too fast, lest you create a bruising aedema.
Darion: *Nods*
Marie Odari: Now we sleep.
Marie Odari: If you are free of the viruys on the morrow, it its safe to administer to others.
Darion: Let us hope that this is the end of the plague..
Marie Odari: Notably, the she does not self-administer
Marie Odari: The Temple shall remain under quarantine for now.
Marie Odari: Watch eachother for symptoms. Should Darion's beign to abate, let me know immediately.
Marie Odari: I must rest... the disease has weakened me.

[Lynx]

Moaning and coughing, another body being carried out from the main hall. The stale air lingering with the smell of unwashed bodies and the effects of the sickness.

Erica turns over in the little area by the wall that she has made into hers and coughs hard, the effects of the demon making the sickness worse still making her chest hurt and the taste of her blood still being a memory as she did bleed out from the mouth and nose.

She reaches out to the wall and feel the cold of it and her face shows a mix of panic and then a longing as she makes a quick glance towards the door to freedom.

Please let the cure work… she whispers and place her hand on the chest where the symbol on her necklace rests under her dress and coughs.

[Wired]

Marie rises early in the pre-dawn hours. She feeds and stokes the fireplace in her private cell and sets a pot of tea to boil. Soon she will check upon her patients. She fears what she will discover in the quarantine area below. Fears for them, fears for herself.

This technology of the ancients, she is uncomfortable with it. Somehow, this strange alchemy of body fluids seemed to slouch towards mocking the gods by treading upon the domains of healing, death, pestilence traditionally under their control; and all by mere ingenuity, with no role for faith, nor magic. At the same time this drawing of blood and the distillation of its vital essence felt to her like so much Necromancy. Disgusting, but knowledge was knowledge. The technology, if it worked, was useful from the standpoint that faith and magic had been so useless in lifting this terrible plague. And Farrallis had somehow guided this knowledge into her hand -- Hand to hand to hand, through the centuries, passed down unknowingly from Priest to Priestess of the Temple by means of the book.

She finishes her tea and passes downstairs.

The one called Darion will be her first patient this morning.

[Wired]

Arianell stumbled into the Temple of Farallis and promptly vomited on Marie's shoes.

"Your pardon, Mistress," she started, rolling her eyes and wiping her mouth with the back of of her gauntlet as she nodded her dishelved hair back from her face.

She struggled to continue, "Some disease... spreading from the Dark Grove. It spread from the Pathfinders watching the Theurge's Tower but spread quickly among our ranks."

Marie placed her hand on the woman's shoulder. "You're infected with the Dakhen Plague," she said, "the Grove must be the source. They say it is the magic of The Great Hydra. Roll up your sleeve, I've just enough vaccine left."

Arianell obeyed without hesitation, her eyes growing wide as moons as Marie raised the big needle up between them. "This is going to hurt."

She slid the needle into the woman's shoulder and aspirated. Satisfied, she carried through with the injection.

Arianell remained still during the procedure, asking no questions, but afterwards promptly vomited again.

She shivered, "The Magic of the Destroyer? In the hands of the Canites? That is grave news. I must send word to Ravenwood."

"Ravenwood, why?" Asked Marie.

"Sára Taurë," she blurted, and promptly collapsed.

[Atharin]

Kadmiel grimaced as he watched Arianell collapse to the floor. He moved to help her, but one of the clerics nearby was quicker than him, and already began to call out instructions to his fellow believers.

He stopped short by Marie's side, sighing exasperatedly. "Sára Taurë..." He murmured. "The bitter wood." The frustration built up inside him in an instant; Did he miss something in the vision? Did he ask the wrong questions? Was he looking in the wrong places? Again, he thought bitterly, We are forced to react.

Despite his uneasiness, he spoke with a firm voice. "If it is spreading to the Ravenwood..." He let the sentence hang in the air, dreading the prospect. Sára Taurë... the doing of Ch'taia. Was there truth to this legend, and was this truly the nature of dark elves, after all -- the reason Rel cursed their very eyes?

"No point in tarrying about," Kadmiel stepped away to reclaim his cloak and swordbelt, strapping them on with haste. "We're sending word."

[Cypher]

The infection had subsided, but the scars remained. While the other patients, the survivors, recovered without complication, the effects of the plague were apparent upon Aedric Webber's face. While the blisters were gone, they had left behind a desecrated landscape of scars and barely healed lesions. The disease had twisted his mouth into a persistent contemptuous sneer, and several teeth were missing, having been lost to the rot. His eyes had fared no better: one was half-blind, and both were yellowed and hollow. Large, black circles underlined his eye sockets, giving his gaunt, pale face the look of a skull, if it had not been for the multitude of scars dotting every inch of his skin.

The poorly lit back room of the Temple of Farallis had been his makeshift cell, his prison. Through the room's only small, stained glass window he had heard the people cheering as the news of the plague being cured spread through the city. Inside, his emotion churned against one another. The feeling of anger at the apathetic townsfolk, who had not come to the aid of the hidden Temple of Culnul when he urged them, burned fiercely in his chest. On the other hand, smugness warmed his bitter heart: "Let them celebrate; let them rejoice in their hollow victory; let them have a feast to commemorate this day; and let them see all the empty seats of their loved ones at the tables." he thought to himself, easing the anger that threatened to boil over into a fit of rage.

A chill rushed along the stone floor of the room as the door opened. A fully armored guardsman, holding his halberd close, stood in the opening, one hand on the open door. "Get up. It's time to go."
With that, Webber stood from the cold, stone bench, his face a mute testament to his defeat. Shuffling out the door, three more guards surrounded him, two on each flank. The dirty hem of his robe slid along the dusty, blood encrusted floor of the temple, where so many had lain dead and dying not long ago. He wondered where they had taken the mass of bodies. Shoulders slouched, chin drooped, eyes cast downward, the priest was ushered through the foyer of the temple towards the open front door, where Sister Marie Odari stood, casting him a look of pity and hatred. He didn't return it.