As The Gate Rattles Shut

[Vanir 693]

-= Day Zero: The Outbreak=-

 

It had been well over a decade since Abner Rahl, Marshal of the Decterum, went by the title Lord Phyician. Or 'Doc', for that matter. Even then, only his colleagues called him by these names, including his old friend, Heinrik Carrion. Back when the plague ravaged New Abresi, under Carrion rule. Back then, he had the help of his Raevir friends, and his Decterum comrades. Now, those same friends were long dead: either killed by the seemingly countless wars that ravaged the realm now, or by this new disease. This new plague.

 

 

He first found out about it rather abruptly. Having been sitting on the edge of Prince Carrion's throne, he had been discussing security measures with his Ensigns, and a few of his officers. The conversation skidded to a halt, when the loud ragged sound of coughing echoed throughout the Keep. Their eyes turned towards the gate, where one of his men, Ronald, lay crumpled on the ground. Stand quickly, he raised three of his men towards the sally door, where they quickly picked him up. He was soaked in sweat, and the normal colour that usually adorned his face had been replaced with a very pale, cream-like colour.

 

 

"Bring 'im in!" Abner called as he jogged towards the gate. That was when he first heard the word, being muttered from his sick man's mouth.

 

"P-....plague..." Ronald managed through grit teeth. Skidding to a halt, Abner's eyes widened.

"Stop! Stop, stay there!" He shouted towards the group. Confused, they stopped by the door, holding Ronald between their arms. "Stay out of th' Keep..." He said, staring intently at Ronald.

 

"What for, Abner?" His Justicar, Bran, said. It took a long while for Abner to respond. He stared at the group of men outside the gate, a sense of dread quickly resting upon his shoulders. Flanked by those of his men who were still inside, he hiked his tabard up, covering his mouth.

"Ronald. Are there others like you?"

"Ah-aye...." He mumbles weakly, his body shaking as another fit of coughing wracked his body. "I-in th' city...tons....of 'em." Shaking his head slightly, he backed away from the Keep gate, pushing the other back with him.

"You four...if what Ronald here says is right...yer infected with some sort of plague." Abner watched dreadfully as the eyes of his infected men widened. One of them released his grip on Ron, scrambling back towards the entrance. "You can't come into th' Keep...yeh will infect us all." He continued, his expression grave. "If this plague is in th' city, then it needs to be put on lockdown. Any other of our guys out there are probably infected as well..you need to get together. Make some sort of mask, try an' limit the exposure you get. Th' city is on lockdown. Anyone who looks infected, and is in the streets, is to be either sent into a building, or killed on sight. You have your orders."

 

The men reluctantly nodded their heads, dragging their feet, and the limp Ronald, towards the exit. "Rowan, shut th' gate." Abner watched with a bitter look on his face, as the gate rattled shut.

 

-= Several Weeks Later: Current=-

Wiping sweat from his brow, Abner finishes grinding the herbs into the small clay bowl. He'd been locked away in the room for many days. The room was filled with a myriad of stenches, from plants to charcoal used to distill water. Many more of his men were infected then he originally thought, but it seemed that they had managed to keep it from spreading to any other of the Enlisted. The city streets were completely abandoned. It had been weeks since Levy-Master Yuri had sent out the notice, declaring Marshal Law, and progress on a cure had been slow. But there had been some progress: the keep was stocked to the brim with herbs and roots of all sorts. They definitely had a chance. A chance to save hundreds, if not thousands of people. He paused momentarily to think of those who were infected. His friends. His men. Stranger he didn't know, but no doubt had family of their own. He turned his head towards the doorway, hearing the gate rattle shut. Another shipment of herbs arrived. Stretching, he set the pestle and mortar to the side, tightened his mask, and made for the gate.

 

 

[Jachnun 566]

Branaford puts on his own plague mask, now cured he makes his way back to the Decterum keep, seeking to cure his comrades, Morrion and Ronald..

[Pureimp10 5691]

Ronald grips the bars of the Vekaro keep gate. He mumbles to himself,

 

"You two are our last chance..."

[Birdwhisperer 1174]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.