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[Max of Vesper]

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He knew going to bed last night that he was not feeling great, but he knew when he woke up this morning that it was more than that.

After meeting with the League last night Max had his usual snack of a couple pieces of fruit prior to heading to bed. As he was laying in bed thinking about the League’s new recruit and the invasion that had begun in Britain he realized he was not feeling well, but attributed it to a bad apple or pear and managed to fall asleep.

When he awoke this morning Max realized what he was feeling was more than just a bad piece of fruit. The lesions that had appeared on his skin convinced him he should take it easy for the morning and see if he could find something to treat them. Perhaps a visit to the alchemist in Vesper was in order.

He never made it to the alchemist. All it took was a walk into the center of Vesper for Max to realize he was not alone in suffering his condition. People with sores were huddled comparing their afflictions and wondering what might have caused them. Others, who had seemingly not been affected, were keeping their distance and whispering amongst themselves. Max decided to do some checking around to see if this condition was unique to Vesper, or if it was spreading elsewhere.

Perhaps it had something to do with the invasion in Britain.

[Kesner Atacia]

---

The evening had passed without fanfare for Kesner, and he was thankful for that. The dark clad one who called himself Darken Ruel, or something like that, had threatened to unleash a plague on Vesper at the Regency meeting the other night, but there was no sign of him or his plague as far as Kesner could tell.

Finishing up his work for the night, Kesner slipped into a nervous sleep that was riddled with bad dreams and fits of waking in a pool of sweat.

An early riser, Kesner collected the scrolls he had written the night before and headed into Vesper to find his customer. It was a trip he wished he hadn’t taken. What he found in Vesper were people who were clearly sick. People who had sores on their arms, faces and hands. People who Kesner wanted to avoid so badly he turned and ran back home without collecting the fee for his work.

Back at home, sitting in a ball on the floor his mind was racing. He couldn’t believe this Darken character had really done it, he had really unleashed a plague on Vesper, just like he said he would!

“I will stay right here and not leave the house!”, Kesner thought, Perhaps I will not get sick if I avoid the people who are already sick.”

Feeling safe, Kesner tried to do more work, but he could not keep his mind off of this situation, he could not concentrate. Within an hour the first sore began appearing on his neck. Within another half an hour more had appeared and Kesner was frantic.

“We will all die! This can not be happening!”, he screamed. “I have to find someone who can help, but who?”

In his frenzied and panicked state, Kesner decided he had to search down one or all of the following people: The new Regent, that elf woman who leads the Guardians, or his friend Max who is a warrior and could find Darken and stop the plague.

Kesner dressed in long pants and a long shirt hoping to hide the sores that were now covering most of his body, and headed out to find help.

[Armand]

---

"Reserve a room for me, Luce."

Lucy, the aged and grey-haired innkeeper, winced at the lazy slurred sound that Armand used in her name's stead as he held the brim of his hat down and rushed out the door. Normally, she would have protested at his demands, especially because he hadn't paid for his stay yet and was wearing her patience with his disrespectful mannerisms. However, though he was one short of temper and quick to complain, rarely did he seem genuinely worried about something as he did then.

Though he didn't run, Armand walked in a hasty pace towards the healer's which was only one bridge off. When he got to the door, he couldn't help but notice he was feeling a bit short of breath from the short walk, though he figured it was just the cold. His mind jumped back to two days ago..

"Don't touch anything in the drawers," warned a young man clad in black as he stepped out of the lodging room of East Britain's sorcery shop, 'Incantations and Enchantments'. As Armand reached to pull open a drawer against instruction, the man stopped a moment. Without turning around he conversationally warned, "Or you might grow scales."

Armand could imagine himself all too clearly for his liking with lizardman scales growing from the sores of his face. 'I thought he was joking! This is worse than the vampire incidents!' Stepping into the healer's shop, his barely visible eyes fell upon the woman he knew too well, especially for her profession.

"Dodie," he muttered as he looked to the spotty-skinned alchemist and healer. As he tipped off his hat to reveal his wound-welted face, Dodie shook her head and grinned as she spotted the recently dagger-hacked locks of dyed lily blue hair. Sickness was not a laughing manner to her, but Armand and his bad luck was another case.

"There's something wrong with me," he continued gravely. Dodie, used to sending spirits to the next realm and occasionally laughing at funerals, continued to eye his hair with amusement.

"I can't help you any more with the hair than I did. I got the burned fringe off well enough, didn't I?"

At this, Armand instantly angered. Being set on fire had not been a laughing matter for him. "No! Not the hair!" he indignantly cried out in response. About to start on a rant of how horrible people were to him, he was cut off abruptly by the quick analyzation of the experienced healer. "There have been many people falling sick of recent with similar symptoms.." Waving a hand over to one of the occupied beds she murmured quietly, "Melvin has too.. to be honest, I'm at loss for what to do. I learned most of what I know from him, and he is in little condition to be handling antidotes."

Still resentful at being mocked by her, Armand crossed his arms and tossed his swollen chin up. "What in the hells can you do about it?" he demanded. "It's itchy!" After a moment of staring the now ashamed healer down he irritably urged, "Find something, Dodo, or you will die a horrible, blistery death."

This was more than she was willing to silently take. Straightening her shoulders she calmly replied, "Blanche has been mentioning a shortage of bread lately.."
Armand's pride instantly paled in comparison to his fear of excruciating pain. Babbling pleas of forgiveness and begging for small aid against his discomforting sores, Armand quickly fled as she gave him a curt nod of farewell.

Upon returning to the inn, Armand dropped a small yet stuffed bag of gold down in front of Lucy who sat at the counter, solemnly striding to his room and laying down on his side with his hat over his face. Lucy stared at his retreating back, mouth agape as she spotted five hundred gold coins within it having been dropped by the gloved hand of whom she recognized to be Armand.

"Thou.. didst only owe me twenty coins," she called meekly as she heard a door shut.