[DeclanRavenholdt]

Reverend Jameson Smithe walked slowly through the streets of Stormwind. Though, at the hour of it was, the streets were far more deserted than he had ever seen them. Excluding the occasional beggar, and plague victims, the Reverend and his escort were alone in the streets. Where once he would have arranged an escort from the city guard, this was no time for ornate parades and soldiers that were not completely devoted to his cause. The time had come to flee the Light-forsaken streets of Stormwind for the time being.

Surrounded by Dark Iron Dwarves, the Reverend made his way to Stormwind harbor where his ship awaited already prepared to set sail. He made certain to stay covered at all times since he had lived through one magical plague, he did not know how lucky he would be this time around. In his experience luck always ran out sometime. His entourage was nearly to the harbor when they ran into a group of Stormwind Guards trying to contain some of the infected.

One of the guards approached the entourage. "I am sorry gentlemen. But the streets are not safe at the moment. I am going to have to ask you to go find a place for the night. We can't allow the plague to make its way onto a ship." He eyed the group of dwarves up and down stopping at the clearly taller cloaked man. "May I ask what you are doing out and about at this hour armed to the teeth and surrounded by dwarves?" He raised his sword waiting for a reply.

The Reverend reached into his robe and removed a small document. It bore the seal of both the Cathedral and of House Wrynn. "I am on official church business and this is my escort. If you delay me any further I would be quite content speaking to the King personally." The Reverend snapped towards the guard. The nearly dropped his sword and bowed. "I apologize m'lord. I meant no disrespect. My orders were to secure the harbor. Had you come with a more . . . well suited escort to your status, I would not have misplaced you for rabble." He whimpered.

"Fine fine. Now get out of my way." The Reverend let out a brutal hacking cough. He looked to his personal bodyguard. "Curse these old bones. Make sure these guards are . . . rewarded for their troubles and then meet me on my ship." He ordered. "And find some suitable plague victims. I have need of their bodies. Not necessarily their lives however." He let out another cough and skulked off toward the harbor leaving his dark iron bodyguard and some men behind to carry out the remainder of his wishes.

[Vionora]

Most of the afflicted had been quarantined; many of the quarantined had died, despite the efforts of the priests and mages. For some reason, some were easier to keep alive than others, requiring less magic laid on them. There was no rhyme or reason to it, no difference determinable relevant to age, vocation, or strength. Except that those who had been afflicted first seemed to require less. It was speculated that the plague grew in strength as it was transmitted.

Vionora studied the afflicted man. He was shackled to the hull of the ship, down in the hold with a few other cursed and the cargo. Drugged unconscious, he and the others were unaware of her presence. On the hands of each was a mark: two nearly overlapping circles.

"How can you hunt when chained?" she murmured.

At her touch, the shackles broke open. The cursed fell to the floor in senseless heaps, and she frowned. Once, she would have been able to cure them. No longer.

"Maybe Silvermoon," she said thoughtfully.

Wouldn't that be ironic.

She stood there awhile longer, in no hurry. There was little light down here, andall the activity was abovedecks as they prepared to set sail. She would be gone before they did, but she wondered where they were going.

[DeclanRavenholdt]

The ship roared with activity as deckhands threw the final bits of cargo aboard. The Reverend, who had seemed to be off the ship for some reason returned. Although, he seemed edgy, almost if something had happened while he was off the ship.

"Find me the captain. I want to leave now. I don't care if there are more crates. Just cast off NOW!" He roared at the crew as he walked across the deck to his cabin. His voice could have been heard anywhere on the ship he was so loud. The procession of his armored entourage clanked across the deck until they entered the Reverend's cabin. The crewman quickly carried on with their duties. Alas they spoke no words and acted silently as they could for fear of angering the Reverend further.

[Vionora]

"You command this ship?"

The toneless question was asked by the elf who now stood in his cabin. She appeared unfazed by his entourage, only looking at the older man who obviously led them. And the eyes with which she studied him... They were strange. They glowed like any elf's, but not white, blue, or green; they glowed an improbable gray.

That wasn't all that made her strange. Her robes were dirty, soiled with dried blood. She smelled of blood and brimstone. Her hair was bright blonde, but it was matted and in disarray. It would be easy to mistake her for a vagrant if not for the unmistakable power she commanded. The room all but pulsed with it.

"Where are you taking my prey?"

[DeclanRavenholdt]

The Reverend stood still surrounded by his dwarven entourage. The moment he heard her voice the hairs on the back of his neck shot to an upright frozen position. That is something that not many have been able to do in a long time. Clearly this elf had him at his edge.

"Who are you to command me. Me? On my own ship."

He motioned with his hand for his guards to encircle the woman. Their blades drawn, the sat between her and the Reverend at the other end of the cabin.

"And your prey?" He chuckled at the thought. "These people are but a means to an end. Bodies to be disposed of once their purpose has been done. I am more curious as to who you are?"

[Vionora]

"Her herald."

Her response was almost a non-response. Certainly she had no visible reaction to the dwarves. But then, the shadows in the corners of the cabin, behind the furniture, began to detach, began to move, to encircle them all.

"There is only one purpose anyone serves. There only ever has been."

She cocked her head. His arrogance didn't surprise her. She could feel his fear, and knew people reacted to fear in different ways. Some fled. Some froze. Some made shows of strength.

"You would find out more?"

[DeclanRavenholdt]

Gazing at the shadows around him, he takes a seat on a couch next to his desk. He signals for his men to lower there weapons and back off from the elf.

"Seems I don't have a choice." His voice cracks into a humbled tone. "What do I owe the honor for having such a clearly powerful individual visit a humble priest such as myself?"

He pours himself a glass of wine from his desk and takes a sip. Sarcastically he chirps "Ohh. My apologies. Would you like some?" He then takes another sip.

[Vionora]

She was powerful, certainly, but if Smithe had stood in the presence of Khadgar, of Arthas, of other luminaries of history, he'd know she was not of the same caliber. Clearly powerful enough to be a risk if he started a fight here, though, which was more than enough reason to talk instead. For her part, she continued utterly ignoring the dwarves. They weren't even prey to her, but the insects that scurried underfoot.

Her gray-glowing gaze dropped to the wine briefly at his sarcastic question before rising back to the man. She might have been confused for a moment, but it passed quickly. All she said in response was, "You seem to have a particular interested in my marked. I want to know why."

[DeclanRavenholdt]

He let out a hacking cough and quickly took a sip of his wine.

"One might say I am simply covering my trail. Though now I suppose, that I know this plague was not my doing. I am covering . . . your trail. If I am correct that is. Though after the initial examination, I noticed something quite peculiar. Now. My turn for a question. What are these wretches to you?"

He would slump down on the couch, wine in one hand, gazing across the room at the elf who was brazen enough to breach his ships defenses.

[Vionora]

"Prey," she said. Her head cocked as she studied him with an unselfconscious frankness, in the fashion of a canny beast. Abovedecks, the snap of sails unfurling resounded.

"Study them if you like. Study this... plague. Maybe you'll learn something. If you do... then I'll return."

It was almost faster than the eye could fathom. One moment she was there, the next she was not. The scent of blood and brimstone faded quickly.