Two weeks after arriving in New Agamand.
"I refuse to wear it on the grounds it clashes with my complexion!"
"But eet eez da best wan I have done yet!"
We had been walking for most of the day, nearing our current 'home' of New Agamand, and for the past two hours, Lynara and Zul'khar had been going back and forth, harping on at each other constantly. About nothing.
What started out as Zul'khar showing me a crude journal with drawings had turned into a full blown 'discussion' regarding the sketches. The troll had fanatically and happily been explaining his ideas about designing a crest for the guild before the priest had stepped in to give her unwelcomed input regarding the colour scheme. I stayed out of it wisely, as did Balija and Gresh'na. Lynara did have a few valid points- pink and orange really didn't compliment anyone together but beyond that, their conversation was just annoying. Needless to say I was extremely pleased to see the dark, murky gates leading the way into the Forsaken settlement.
But only for a moment.
"Wat eez dis?" Balija voiced all of our thoughts with three words. Our return to New Agamand from a five day sojourn was met not with a welcome, but chaos. Apothecaries and others were swiftly moving around the town, carting buckets and crude brushes, everyone highly stressed and upset. The reason was clear why- the plague tanks that had sat around the town contently were now in pieces.
"I-I have no idea," I whispered, stunned at the mess. Green toxin mixed into the wet earth, the puddles a strange brown colour with ghastly-tinted reflections. The vehicles themselves were splintered and beyond repair, evidently some major explosions the cause of such a thing. Carefully we walked a new path around the spillages, avoiding the commonly used 'road' that meandered through the town. It was a testimony to the severity of the scare that Lynara didn't comment on dirtying her shoes in the mud. In silence we moved, looking at each bombsite with disturbed awe. No one paid us any heed, bidding us any warning to stay away- it was very clear to do so. I watched with fascination as an apothecary carefully shovelled the sludge into his crude pail, carrying it to the large pit in the centre and dumping it there. Judging by the state of most of their robes, they had been at the clean-up for some time.
Reaching the inn I informed the group to go clean up, I would report the findings from the Ember Clutch. Making sure they were inside safely and unlikely to reappear, I sought out Tillinghast to start Stage Three of my plan. He was crouched over a different, crude set of apparatus- his own must have been damaged, I figured.
"Tillinghast!" I called, whatever work he was doing now disrupted by my presence. Squinting, I watched as his yellow eyes focussed in my direction.
"Ah! Alchemist- how was the Ember Clutch, did you succeed?" he was as excitable as Zul'khar, but a bit less alive than the troll. Steeling myself, I voiced my practiced lie.
"No, Tillinghast, I am sad to report that the strain failed. Not only did the drake not react directly to the plagued meat, but it grew stronger. The only way we could save ourselves was to slay it before it called friends." Steadily, my speech unchanging I watched as the face of this man crumbled beyond hope. He actually believed me- I had feared I had to do more convincing, but the man literally shattered before my eyes.
While we had indeed fed a proto-drake a sodden piece of rotted meat, it had been drenched in my plague strain, not Tillinghast's. By attempting such an experiment in front of the Durotar Defenders, I had witnesses in case he didn't believe me- something I had highly suspected he would do. Eating the offering had in fact enraged the drake with what I could only assume to be stomach issues from expired meat, not made it stronger, but I reported otherwise to the group. Nobody was hurt while they took care of it in that disorganised manner of theirs, though Lynara's dress did catch fire earning several un-priestly curses in my general direction. I was just pleased that my version of the toxin wasn't lethal to drakes and therefore a number of other living beings.
Silently, later that night when they slept at the campsite, I had taken Zul'khar's mace in the possibility I might need to defend myself, and travelled back to the Clutch. Using the official strain put forward by Tillinghast that I was supposed to use, I called down a second proto-drake and watched from afar as the poisoned steak killed the creature in a gruesome and quite frankly disgusting manner. I had done right by switching the experiments- I couldn't allow the Forsaken plague to escape this apothecary camp. And now, with the apparant destruction of the wagons it seemed I had less to worry about.
"NOOOOO!" The Undead man broke down now, crying pitifully on his knees. I couldn't muster anything to make me feel sorrow for him, their laboratories and alchemy creating something devastating. But I had fixed that- I know possessed the strain they really wanted, only capable of killing Vrykul and Scourge. It had taken some intense, excruciating calculations but by removing one aspect of their original formula and adapting around the loss, I made it non-lethal to most life on Azeroth- add in the specific element of vrykul blood extracted from one of their own elites and you had yourself a viable plague.
"Will you be alright?" I feigned concern over the man, still sobbing his dead heart away.
"Leave me, just leave me to my despair! I am nothing…" what a drama queen, and here I thought Lynara was bad. "You might as well take all of my worldly posessions- when the rest of the apothecaries hear of my failure, I'll be done for and won't need them anyway…" he sniffled, words barely audible now beneath his raw and throaty speaking. He indicated to a battered chest by his table.
"Well," I said, holding up a new dress, "at least Lynara will be pleased."
Throwing the robe to Lynara I sat down at the table the four currently ate at and asked, "What happened here, then?"
"I spoke with a couple of residents- they both say that Alliance bombed the wagons, but deliberately missed the buildings. Why would they do that?" she answered, admiring her new clothes. "Did you report to Tillinghast?"
"Yep, he was very happy and gave me that as a reward, I figured since yours was burned that you could make more use out of it than me," I pointed to my own thick outer robe, still brown, still intact and still tripping me up at inopportune moments.
"Many thanks, Cersae. It will require alteration and-" she sniffed it, scrunching up her face, "washing, but it is salvageable whereas this is not," she said sadly of her own beloved white dress. Regarding the blue-and-brown item in her hands, she sighed, "The colour is not ideal, but I shall not complain. Ishnu-alah."
"Say what now?"
"Ishnu-alah" she reiterated impatiently." Good fortune to you? Cersae, I am aware you have been out of touch with Sin'dorei life for some time, but even so, you do not recall our language?" Lynara regarded me with great concern, her long eyebrows pointed down in disappointment. Oh…crap.
"Oh, yeah, erm, sorry. I haven't used it in a while." It was true, while the Forsaken used Common from their past lives, as did most of the Horde around them- hence why it's called Common, I suppose. I had heard on a rare occasion, Balija and Gresh'na speaking what I think to be orcish the other day though. A lot of grunting and huffing was involved, it sounded terribly complicated.
"How long ago were you turned, Cersae?" she pressed, scrutinising me harshly from across the table- luckily I was saved having to come up with an answer when the lead troll intervened.
"So, what eez de plan now?" Balija asked of me, her dinner now finished. Grateful for the save, I hastily made to explain the situation.
"Well, I spoke to Chief Plaguebringer Harris after Tillinghast to report the outcome of the plague testing and he said they also did some testing here at Halgrind again and it was successful too. So since the plague works on Vrykul they're satisfied enough with it and he has declared it a success. I have been tasked with taking the plague to their most recent post in the North at 'Venom Point'," I explained cheerfully. Luckily this was how it had turned out- though it nearly did not.
I had reported to Harris that the plague had actually succeeded, explaining my written results based on the outcome of Tillinghast's plague on my secret second experiment at the Clutch. The testing on Vrykul threw me off-balance when he told me, the last apothecaries who went down there before that having perished horribly, but they used an abomination this time round to 'administer it'. Satisfied with the multiple deaths at Halgrind, combined with my results he had declared it a success and was going to report to Vengeance Landing. All the while he had explained it to me I thought my hard work had been for naught, the plague was going to be mass-produced and put into action straight away- a horrible panic building all the while, I unsure as to how I could get out of this problem.
"Take this vial to Venom Point, in Dragonblight- they will know what to do with it," he had said, and so I had received their plague as well as instructions to take a bat first thing in the morning. My panic abated, I accepted his gratitude for all my hard work and had to stop myself from shaking at how close I had been to failure and by extension, mass genocide. Now, the plague sat ensconced in my bag, a tacky skull-stoppered vial labelled 'OFFICIAL BLIGHT OF THE RAS- PROPERTY OF C.P. HARRIS', as well as a letter explaining the ingredients and methodology used to produce it.
Tonight i would be rewriting that letter with my own instructions and providing my sample of 'Blight' tomorrow at Venom Point. I silently thanked The Light for the narrow escape I had, thanking whatever deity looked over me that my plan was going to work- hundreds to thousands of lives were going to be saved, even if they did not know it. Looking at the four around me, I found myself experiencing relief that they wouldn't die by my hands.
Swallowing the last of his meal, Zul'khar faced the table- "'Ey- how about dark red for de guild crest, eh?"
"Hey, Mort I saw the mess outside, looks like they did a real number on…you…" Pausing, I watched as the man in questions dressed in his shirt, the bare of his back visible for a few seconds.
"Cersae, welcome back. How was your venture?" He turned to regard me, unfazed by my bursting into his room unannounced. With great determination, I tried to not let my shock register on my face.
"It went well, I'll tell you about it later," I bade a goodbye and left the room, immediately turning into my own. Closing the door quickly I sat down on my cot, disturbed by what I had just seen- Mort's spine. Several vertebrae had burst through his skin, tearing his back apart in a savage manner by the way they jutted out. Mort's hunch now became quite evident in its origins. The image flashed over and over again in my mind, new detail coming to light with every replay. The muscle attached to his spine was dried and shrivelled, skulking to underneath what little skin still closed around the bones. His back was marked with rotted spots and silhouettes of his ribcage underneath, soon to possibly be exposed like his backbone.
And his face- we had not seen each other in a few days properly, both of us thrown into work of our own as well as my deliberate avoidance of him should he figure out my new secret of recalling my Alchemic teachings. When he had turned around- the skin in his cheek had torn finally, given up any hopes of staying together with the amount of times his jaw dislocated itself. His back teeth and facial bones were now partially visible. Similar spots on his back now decorated his face, though not as advanced in their decomposition. How and why had he changed so much?
"Cers, I'm coming in!" One swift knock at my door startled me and before I could lock it Mort stepped inside, now properly dressed. "Cers, I'm sorry for scaring you," he said gently, closing the door over. I couldn't speak, I merely tried to avoid staring at how different he looked.
"I realise this is a shock to you- but it's not to me, I've been expecting this for a while," he said seriously, eyes boring into mine with understanding. "Though I think being around the plague-making has advanced it a bit quicker than I'd like."
"W-What do you mean?" I asked. He sighed and moved towards me, sitting on the bed to my left. It was a long, strained while before he mustered the courage to speak- and I understand why.
"I'm decomposing. It's something that all Undead are suffering- and rightly so." He sighed once more before sitting up straighter, the movement causing his joints to groan in gross response. "We're not invincible, Cersae. For all we are dead, we are not unliving. Many mortal things such as disease, hunger, thirst, suffocation- they have no impact on us, but that comes at a price. Arthas cursed us many, many years ago and we are failing now; when we are needed most. Our race is dying out, Little Girl."
I stared at this man. He, who had interfered and meddled in my life the last few weeks, who had been a friend to me in times gone by, was admitting he was dying. Startled into silence, I let my eyes roam his face. Yes, he looked tired, greyer, older. Upon our reunion in the Plaguelands, I chalked it down to faded memories being recalled wrongly where Mort seemed more sprite and alive three years ago. Looking back, perhaps that was the case and I chose to ignore it, telling myself I must be wrong, Mort can't age or …or…
"The Dark Lady has assigned the Society and Forgotten Shadow Cult to look into fixing our…situation. She wishes us to find a solution in Northrend that will prolong the damned race that we are as Forsaken. For the longest time I was against her wishes, believing in that we are unnatural, so we should rescind and fade, allowing nature to balance once more. Now, faced with my second and truest death, I can't help but re-evaluate my thoughts on the matter," he smiled sardonically, more at himself than me. I couldn't believe I was hearing this.
"So the Society's wish to make a plague in Northrend is a ruse? A distraction to lead everyone away from your real goal in Northrend?" I questioned, the thoughts in my mind barely making any sense as the words spilled from my mouth. Mort looked at me, all traces of his smile gone- his face straight and severe.
"No, Little Girl. The Forsaken Plague is still a major threat to all, that fact does not change. Nevertheless, I fear they will use it in such a way as to create a distraction should a method be found that will continue our people. And that's why-" he stood up tall, striding purposefully over to where I stood, trapping me from everything else. "-You have to figure out how to stop them, Cersae. Everyone- even if they don't know it- is counting on you to save their lives. Do you understand the weight of the burden you bear?"
"All too well," I whispered. A part of me- a minute, childish, lonely part of me ached to spill everything to him, to let him know about my success, my memories, my plan and plot. I wanted to tell him how badly close I was at solving this issue, at preventing everyone's deaths and fooling the Apothecaries. But I didn't. The bitter, tormented, hateful side of me that resented all that had happened to me before and after my Reawakening swallowed the Innocent morsel whole, quashing it quickly and disallowing any spatter to remain. He wasn't to know.
"I'm slowly getting there, Mort," I lied, pushing past him gently. I walked to the window, the dirtied glass panes opening up onto the putrid town of New Agamand- the ghostly inhabitants cleaning up their mess. "With every book I read, a new teaching comes to light, a new memories. Sometimes I get whole ones all at once, others just bits-and-pieces. I can't read as fast as I used to, anymore." I turned to him, crossing my arms in unspoken defence of the gaze bearing down on me- two yellow foreboding eyes staring through the darkness of the room. "It will still take some time."
He didn't say anything, he just looked at me, even through me. With a will of iron, I managed to not flinch or fidget beneath that penetrating, knowing stare, fearful I had been caught in the act of lying. To my relief, he made to exit my room in that stalker-ish way of his. Just before the door closed, his voice, ghoulish and scratchy reached my ears.
"Don't make me regret trusting you, Cersae. My wrath is unparalleled."
With his departing reminder not to cross him, I decided that I had made the right decision not to expose my plan to him regarding the plague. Just because he trusted me didn't mean I should trust him, no matter how much panic or concern I felt as the thought of his possible death.
If there was one thing Mort had made sure to teach me in my memories from the Undercity, it was how to manipulate things around me to my will. By the time he learned I had left for Venom Point, I would have firmly implemented my plague into their schemes and plots, unable to turn back when they realise that it only kills vrykul and scourge as I intended it to. Hopefully, at the end of all this not only will I have fooled the Royal Apothecary Society, but I will show Mort exactly how it feels to be toyed and messed with, showing that there was more than one way of doing things- there was my way.
