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Forsaken no more, Chp2: Of Black Ooze and Cleaning Products
He sat atop the great temple of Mazra'alore, his brother tied and growling on Altar. Despite all his countless attempts he could not separate the new threat from his brothers body. Even now, in a holy spot, his Loa did not respond. Deep in his heart he knew why, he had fallen, even for a brief time. This was truly something that he had to do on his own, he could no longer turn to death to solve this problem. He spilled more blood over his brother in an attempt to lure the Loa's attention again, but it did nothing more then anger the corpse-troll.

From what he heard of Dispaya's report it was dire indeed. Spread through the air in a cloud of spores, then when inhaled into a living creature it forms an ooze like bacteria that consumes the life around it. When it is big enough it kills the victim, who then rises as undead which the symbiote has control of. In this way it spreads the plague further, but how. It seems very superficial that he only wanted to bring the forsaken back. There must be something else.

His thoughts flowed freely as he plopped himself down and began smoking from his pipe.

"Someting no' righ' he'ah. Undead da' control otha undead. To wha' purpose doh, to wha' purpose."

Taking another puff he looked over his shoulder to his Zambi servitor near by. Waving him over he composed a fast letter and sent it to Dispaya and Zhuljeta.

"Dis no' even close ta ovah...dere be more ba' mojo on de horizon...."
notes from Dispaya's journal

In desperation I have turned to experiments with holy items and have consulted my contacts with the Aldor on matters of the light. I have imported some Stratholme holy water as well to see what effects it might have.

After much experimentation the holy water does have a negative effect but it is very short term...and the creature seems able to adapt and resist its effects almost immediately.

The Aldor priests are distraught over seeing this thing... and they have consulted with the Naaru who advised that the plague cannot be combatted by light alone. alas even the Naaru had no knowledge of this creature nor of how to stop it.

Our own Ironsong Priests of course have tried many spells but the plague seems able to convert the light to shadow. Naruth has tried a number of experiments of her own and has had no better luck than I

In desperation I have even tried strong alcoholic libation...however it has only had the effect of angering the creature. While very potent it is just not enough to destroy such a creature and indeed I had known that it likely would not...but we must test many things to find something that might yet work...

In the meantime, Zhuljeta continues to grow sicker by the day, and I am beginning to hear coughs and gasps in many parts of the tribe. Many try to hide their sickness but I can sense things growing worse all around us. Perhaps my next round of experiments will yield more positive results...
Sing True Ironsong!
Notes from Dispaya's journal

Today I received a letter from Zeengo...it seems that all of his efforts to save his brother have failed. I can offer one bit of hope to him in that...since this plague is actually a symbiant...it may be possible to destroy or exorcise it from it's undead host. Once destroyed there would be nothing to prevent priestly magics from returning life to the dead form. In this way the undead creature is unlike other Scourge...or Forsaken, like myself. In theory...Gholjan can still be saved...though it is only a theory...for now.

I have given this new plague a name...not that it deserves such but in so naming it can we all be sure to understand what each other may be speaking of. There are a number of plagues that have come upon the land and so that we can be sure to know that the black oooze is what we speak of I have so named it:


The Sorrow plague is now growing...even the small sample I have taken threatens to outgrow the vial it is now contained in. I will be taking care to destroy some of it lest it somehow escape it's container.

I am sad to say that despite all of my efforts to contain Sorrow, that I have at last succumbed to it...and am now infected myself. I can now feel the blackness beginning to grow within my undead form and will now take care to sequester myself away from the tribe lest another become infected by me. I shall continue to work until I am no longer able...

I do feel there is still hope.



-Pink Floyd

The sweet smell of a great sorrow lies over the land
Plumes of smoke rise and merge into the leaden sky:
A man lies and dreams of green fields and rivers,
But awakes to a morning with no reason for waking

He's haunted by the memory of a lost paradise
In his youth or a dream, he can't be precise
He's chained forever to a world that's departed
It's not enough, it's not enough

His blood has frozen & curdled with fright
His knees have trembled & given way in the night
His hand has weakened at the moment of truth
His step has faltered

One world, one soul
Time pass, the river rolls

It's not enough it's not enough
His hand has faltered

And he talks to the river of lost love and dedication
And silent replies that swirl invitation
Flow dark and troubled to an oily sea
A grim intimation of what is to be

There's an unceasing wind that blows through this night
And there's dust in my eyes, that blinds my sight
And silence that speaks so much louder than words,
Of promises broken
Sing True Ironsong!
He had spent more time looking over his brother, his body now slowly starting to eat itself. How cunning a plague it was and well devised. From what he had heard from Dispaya's notes it had a simple cure as well. Though of course the cure could not be administed in normal means. Another thing he had noticed from his time atop Mazra'alor. Anything in close proximity of his brother had also been infected by this new plague. That is, anything except him. Was he now somehow immune to the effects of this malady? Smoking his pipe as usual he continued pondering it and why his master had not replied to him.

He rose from where he had been sitting separated from his brother and approached the altar. An immediate bustle of activity ensued from the captive troll. It was with no small degree of joy that he swung out and kicked his brother square in the face.

"Demn fool gettin' yaself kill'd wit ou' me involved!"

He laughter that followed echoed all across the valley walls of Zul'mashar. The few remaining zombie trolls began progressing toward Mazra'alore but were immediately thwarted by Kajji. There was an uneasy quiet in the air after that for some time. During that time, Zeengo packed what he could and began progressing out of Zul'mashar. His brother was left bound on the altar, a shadow of his former self.
Dispaya summons Ptarra, Zhuljeta, Lucinther, Neat and Irette to her lab in UC where she has rigged a tank of chlorine gas to a large coffin. She places each Forsaken inside and turns the gas on them.

The gas has the effect of killing the plague...and they are cured!!!

Dispaya then explains that this cure will only work on a Forsaken that has not succumbed to the plague...it will not work on the living and cannot save gholjan or Zhuljeta...we will still need to find a more complete cure for them.

It also will not work on a large scale...and though cured now you still may become re-infected. The Forsaken also experience chlorine gas poisoning that is just as quickly cured by Ptarra's cure poison spell...even so they are ill for a few days following the treatment.

It is a bandage on the problem...but not yet a cure.

Sing True Ironsong!
Zhuljeta watched in horror as Lucinther was gassed. But seeing him return cured gave her hope. Then when Dispaya gave her the sad news that the cure would be ineffective on her tears swelled in her eyes and she ran from the depths of the ruins of Lordaeron. Mounting her undead stead she raced past the bulwark, through the Plaguelands back to Caer Darrow. She'd made one of the abandoned cottages her home. The scourge below seemed to know she was infected and had left her in peace. A cure she needed to think it acted like a bacteria of fungus. She'd go to the dawn. they had to know of something.. They'd already been in the process of neutralizing the cauldrons in the north. Surely they knew something.

Again she road east to Lights hope and sought out the knights there..
Drelgaar sat staring into the distance, perched high up on a jutting ledge of Hellfire Citadel. His student had escaped her fate in Deatholme, and yet he was still disappointed in her. Sersay would have to redeem herself for being so careless and forgetting the very first rules of combat that he had taught her. He would make her watch as he exacted his twisted vengeance upon the undead that plagued the Dead Scar and of those residing in the former human lands, the lack of her being able to take part in the battle would be torturous enough. His hands gripped on his warblade tightly, almost as if he would crush the handle in his massive fist. A familiar, yet strange reddish hue radiated from his eye as he felt his blood boil with a vengeful rage.

"The Ruins of Andorhal...." he muttered to himself. "That is where I will begin... no one will be spared"

He departed swiftly to find his student, heading towards the city of Shattrath with one single thought in his mind. "Slaughter..."
Lucinther sat in the shadows, his back up against the wall. It had only been a couple of days since his temporary cure for the Sorrow plague, and already the affects from the chlorine gas had subsided. The cough and general nausea had faded much quicker than he had suspected.

He walked to the moot by himself and took his usual place in the back of the crowd. He wasn't sure if that was out of habit or out of fear of being infect, but either way, it was his undoing.

He watched the fasion show quietly, watching the people in the crowd more so than the actual models. Everyone there was suspicious in one way or another.

He was so intent on watching the crowd that he did not notice Yorrik behind him. The rogue had stealthily made a small cut on Lucinther's back. The cut was so slight that it itched more than it stung.

Lucinther reached back and scratched the wound. He thought of it as nothing more than a small bug bite until he saw that his hand was once again covered in a black ooze.
"...wonderful." He hadn't meant to say the word outloud, but he did.

Zeengo looked back it him, suspicion obvious on his face, but did not say a word as Lucinther turned and walked off further into the shadows.

He wasn't about to deal with the effects of Sorrow again. That had been hell on earth. He knew there was a perminate cure and he knew exactly where to find it.
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He was tired and beaten down, dragging his body more then anything. He knew he did not have long and that it was probably not a wise idea to send a plagued girl to the Warlord. But he hoped the warlord was more hearty then most of the others that had succumbed already. Those were the only thoughts that ran through his troubled mind as he went back to Mazra'alore. He looked about the old worn down temple with a look of utter loathing. With out missing a step he climbed the stairs and delivered a much relieving kick to his brothers form.

"We have ta be fastah den dem...we have ta be wisah den dem..."

He blurted the words out without thought, knowing full well that his zombie slave was near by hidden.

"Wha' joo be teenkeen mas'sah? Wha' Kajji do fo'joo?"

He growled out a single frustrated burst before looking toward his brother again. He knew despite all things he would need his strength in this. He hated to admit it, but he was not sure if this continued if the tribe could muster its own strength.

"Take me brudda outta dis place, take'm to Dispaya's labs. We be needin' ta ge' him fixed befo'ah de othahs. I...I be needin' ta make a notice, someting de council no' be wantin' ta he'ah..."

It was a sinister grin that the undead mossflayer returned, he knew full well what Zeengo had in mind.

"We keel now, jah?"

"Yah mon...we be killin' soon..."

It didn't take him more then an hour before he posted the notice.


This is a hard and very painful recount of the growing situation. Tonight, during the celebrations there were several attacks carried out under cloak and dagger against the tribe. The scourge is starting to muster more of its forces, more of OUR forces. It now uses the Sorrow as a direct weapon to drain our numbers. I fear, we have lost Yorrik, Lucinther who was just recently cured has falled as well. Also, I fear that the only living mossflayer Zeb'ra may be infected as well. Though I have not been able to ascertain his whereabouts he was attacked bold faced by Yorrik who used his own diseased blood as a poison. Lucinther I fear was lost in the same way and Anca. She has not fallen yet but she HAS BEEN infected by the Sorrow.

Ebberk and myself had attempted to find ways to prevent her further deterioration. This was done by the mage attempting to weave dimensional pockets from the Mana Forges into a stasis spell. It was apparantly broken by Mindiall after he had managed to defeat me and steal away Anca. The magicks that may have protected her are now gone, without immediate treatment she will perish and join their ranks in two days. The only solution that I can think of for this malady is the same I attempted on my brother before he passed. Through a sacrifice, I can remove her soul and contain it till a time that the Sorrow has passed from the body. I
am hesitant to do this to the soul of a child, for the repercussions could be more dire then if it were an adult.

As it stands, we have lost a total of seven of our tribesman to this plague. Mindial, Tyrannis, Yorrik, Lucinther, Zhuljeta, my brother, and without further aid Anca will be lost to this as well. The time for petty sympathies is over, the time for waiting for a cure is over. If we do not act against the agents of the scourge that are striking at us now then there will be no tribe left to defend. We have sat by and rationalised that they are our tribesman, but I say there is no tears to be shed for the lost now. They will not stop until all of the mighty Ironsong Tribe belongs to the Lich King. This is not a demand, but a plea to all tribesman. Take up arms, protect your tribe, protect your people. The ones that have been lost are not to be trusted, they are not to be pitied. If they mean to vanquish us, then by the Loa let them return to the eternal sleep!

Dispaya still works on a cure, she still holds hope. But we must buy time, on the first day of the next week, I shall lead an assault against the scourge where they may be lying. We must take what we can find and use it against them. This is our only chance, our last hope that something can be found in the plaguelands that we missed. Something that has been overlooked. The outcome of this depends on the tribe, I am but a single Death Speaker, I can not do this alone. Sing true Ironsong, in the darkest hours.

Zeengo the Crossed, Second Son of Zala'jin, Death Speaker of the Tribe
The tiny bat flew into Dispaya's crypt and dropped a note on the table beside her before fluttering away. She picked it up and read it hastily as her face turned to a look of despair.

"...not Anca too!"

Overwrought, she put her head down on the lab table and cried.

She then suddenly erupted and swept all of the vials and chemicals from her table in a fit of rage! The vials exploded with a loud clattering as Whiskers, her pet rat, ran for cover to his rathole.

In anger and frustration she let out a loud scream of anguish before collapsing again in the darkness.

Notes from Dispaya's Journal

How many lost now to Sorrow...how many?


and now my dear Anca

There must be a way to stop this...I will find it. I must.
Perhaps the answer is not an alchemical one...nor a cure of medicine alone. The plague is not an ordinary disease, but is a type of symbiotic creature that grows. Perhaps we are looking in the wrong places...but where to look now...

Sing True Ironsong!
*posted to the totem, a note with Qaza'jan's elaborate handwriting:*

Dearest tribemates:

I fear I have sat and observed this plague for far too long, without offering any assistance, for fear of coming too closely in contact with the Sorrow. Recent events have rendered me ashamed of my cowardice, and brought to light how important it is to protect my family and my loved ones.

Though I have not Lady Dispaya's alchemical knowledge, nor Zeengo's expertise in the spiritual, and lack all but the basic magical principals, I wish to offer my own thoughts. Lady Dispaya seems to believe that this Sorrow is a creature, and all creatures are subject to predation in one form or another. Perhaps there is another creature-- either existing or created, I have little prefrence-- that we can set upon the one that plagues our tribe.

Of course, I am no healer, I know not what the ramifications would be of setting one creature upon another within a living body, or indeed weather it would work at all, but in any inquiry to a cure, or any call to arms, I offer myself.

~Qaza'jan the Masked
Pt. 1 - Drudgery and Shadows


Algernon stalked about the Magic quarter like so many times before. Unlike so many times before, he had a stack of books in his arms about half as tall as he was. He was advancing in his power quite a bit lately, the jungle was cruel that way, but he had to make sure that his teachings kept him up to speed. Much like his previous life, Algernon had a tendency to squander away his every last copper; but he could not really afford to do it in this life. With no other choice, Algernon had to suspend his service to the Horde in favor of being a book-drudge.

Algernon's mood had not darkened as he thought of it now, as it had already sometime ago. The duty of a drudge was unfulfilling, unrewarding, and--worse yet!--for the most part, thankless. He especially hated his position because he was functional only as a drudge for sometime after "awakening." Before his potential as a Mage was discovered, it was the only way he was thought to be able to function. But this time the work was not excruciating, even for a spindly, little Undead spellcaster such as himself, especially when he could lay weight-altering spells on the books, allowing great loads heavier than he to become a sack of feathers, and his wages were a part of a lesson a day, with quite a few lessons left, he would have to stay for sometime. He did not look forward to it, but all out of necessity. Especially when the day came that he could freely wield his internal icy essence into bolts and the terrible effects of frost.

And he would be able to truly feel his happiness again.

He said a quick prayer to...anything that would listen to his request for progress, and hoped that his frost would soon--


Algernon rolled his eyes at the voice that interrupted his train of thought, "Coming, Anastasia!" He scurried off to deliver the three tomes to his mentor, one on the natural flows of the Arcane energy and two on the school of divine Shadow magic, and to pick up two to deliver to the Apothecarium, one on poisons derived from Murlocs and the other on airborne diseases, along with the other two he was to deliver to the Apothecarium, one on the stitching of the Scourge's monstrous Paladins and how the shaping of an Abomination's holy magic can be utilized to influence the Counter Plague, but not before having to deliver three librams to the Rogue's quarter, one on horse melding, fins and gills of shadow, and naga riding, but immediately afterwards--

Algernon realized that the mental cataloging of all the books would drive him to insanity sooner than later...and that would make everyone angry. They were already on edge. Algernon contemplated this as he took the books from his mentor, and started offwards. Many others felt on the razor's edge, all feeling the same oppressive influence. Algernon had not so much felt it as the others had as much as he sensed it, just a notion of a pressing shadow outside of the fringes of his conscious mind. Just an influence, a weak one at that, but it had vaguely reminded him of something. Algernon sighed, set the books down against the outer ring. He was already half way to the Rogue's quarter. Wanting to be sure he put what was supposed to be a wild fancy to rest, he sat cross-legged to meditate on the surroundings of his mind. By using his magical senses, he would effectively be able to "see" the environment around him that was produced by the collective energies of everyone local being's mind.

He meditated, brushing away the physical world away from his internal self as though it were a concept instead of an actual thing. He saw something. It was a towering, dark blue shade of influence. This could only be the collective feeling of the Undercity, it was a tall pillar of sorts, but then the Undercity had a great number of others feeling uneasy, almost everyone. It seemed quite sinister in it's own way, something that he would have to ask the other Mages what influence was at rest in the...


What kind of rest?

Algernon knew what he was looking for in the influence, he was able to find it almost immediately. A long, cold, icy rest was what he saw.

The rest of Death.

Algernon gasped, returning to his body and the outer world in an instant. Were he able to, he would have broken into a cold sweat.

How could he have missed it?

The influence of the Lich King permeated the halls of the Undead, so flamboyantly in some cases, it was a wonder Algernon had missed something like this at all. Maybe it was time to pay someone a visit.
Saezhur sits quietly in the valley of shadow of Orgrimmar, an old home that he has used as haven, but likely soon he will abandon to ruin, is his location of business most dire. Like all contracts requiring a deft hand and quiet footsteps, this one sounded innocuous enough, but the details of the affair left itself to an open end. Open ends like a word left hanging on the air proves a warning sign to the wary rogue who seeks to survive long in such pursuits. The thoughts ramble in Saezhur's mind as he considers his moves.

"A package delivery. Safeguarded against any except that of the one who would open it." Saezhur openly ponders the idea. "And while the recipient's name is left unknown, the locale of the drop is too decidedly obvious."

Saezhur smiles to himself. He had become accustomed to open avenues of information within the tribe, but his recent foray on behalf of Valtrinity had cast some doubt on the level of trust for one so far removed. Despite assurance from Shillatae herself that the matter was necessary and blameless, the fact remained that trust had been broken. The repercussions made manifest by closed mouths and polite dismissals. Yet, questions lead to answers when the words sound inconsequential.

"Have you been to the tower near Zul'Mashar?" So simple a question said in a tone to sound not so much inquisitive as a passing reference.

"What business do you have with Zeengo?" The answer tight-lipped to seal away additional information, but the slip of the name revealing what is needed.

"Oh no, only a comment on the majesty of such a place. One did not even know that Zeengo lived there." The voice nonchalant and dismissive. Playing the words so that suspicions fall slowly.

"Indeed. Zeengo. Now how does one approach? Notoriety speaks volumes of his lack of patience for one so skinless as I, but a package from Mindiall hangs on this knowledge. How shall this play, I wonder? If even the package is delivered..."

In the shadows within his small, barren hovel, Saezhur awaits a package from Mindiall, to be delivered before the next moot. His thoughts return to his nature and to the silent words spoken deep in his mind, an unkind voice of ages past.
If it ain't broke, then you really aren't using it are you?
((I'm unsure of I should put this here, start a new topic about it or not say it all. Board admins- move it or do with it what you wish.

There was a bit [okay, a -lot-] of drama in guild that started up about this yesterday.. And there were talks of Gholjan possibly putting an end to it in OOC for a lot of reasons. I don't know what's come of it yet and if he was able to talk to Zeengo.. and I don't expect my words to help much, but please seriously consider still keeping it in tact and happening. While Vythika feels the whole lot are useless drones and Sound hasn't much RP'ed with it, this storyline (in both GC and on the boards) has successfully managed to draw me in and captivate me more than any other since I've joined IST. I've enjoyed it's progression thus far immensely and while a little of it could use some work [power gaming FTL], I'd be quite saddened to see it end. I mean that truly.

As a side note and a bit of advice, adding a bit to the guild MOTD directing those who have no freakin' idea what's going on in this -huge- storyline to read the boards to get clued in could really help. I've seen quite a few log on, many of those new to the tribe, that haven't the slightest idea what's taken over everyone.. That feeling can be both upsetting and confusing to some.))
((This beter not end! This is the first Ironson RP event i'v actually taken an active part in. Its very meaningfull to me for one.))
“May God have mercy upon my enemies, because I won't.” ~General George S. Patton

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