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.