Welcome to a new year and a new round of Blogger Blitz as hosted by Adventure Rules!
If you’re curious about the specifics of the event, head on over here to the round one explanation post.
A summary of my event can also be found here though:
Is there any sign of love more powerful than taking care of someone while they’re sick? Your Ship has called up in sore need of some medicine for a terrible cold, but you can’t just hand your sick buddy some pills – this cold has some kooky side effects that threaten to tear the whole house apart! What kind of bizarre illness has affected your Ship, and what can you do to protect them and their home until the sickness passes? We’ll find out in your submission for Sick Day Savior!
And without further hesitation, my entry, caught up with present game lore, after the break.
Tyrande, Priestess of Elune, Night Warrior, leader of the Kaldorei was listening to reports from the front by her adoptive daughter Shandris Feathermoon when the camp was shook with the sound of… well, what was that sound?
The few Sentinels in the tent began to scramble, assuming it was another attack on Darkshore by the Horde. Shouldering past the guards as they rushed out of the base’s long tent Malfurion Stormrage, first druid, Arch-Druid, and husband of Tyrande entered.
His usual air of strength and confidence seemed to be missing and just as Tyrande was about to inquire as to what was wrong the sound that shook the camp now caused the tent poles to shudder. Tufts of feathers ejected from the arch-druid following another mighty sneeze.
Silence stretched for a moment as Tyrande and Shandris processed the source of the sound. The closest Sentinel, now knowing the source of the sound, ran from the tent as well, presumably to spread what might have been a worse rumor during the war: Malfurion Stormrage was ill.
Shandris broke the silence, laying a hand on Tyrande’s arm and whispering ‘good luck’ prior to gingerly stepping around the normally mighty druid, being especially careful to avoid the pile of feathers laying on the ground.
She failed to escape and instead the next sneeze sent her rolling from the tent covered in feathers as Tyrande’s personal guards began to doubly secure the wartent’s poles. The telltale sound of wood straining giving them enough to deal with on their own, leaving Malfurion for Tyrande alone.
“When did this come on?” Tyrande asks as she slowly approaches her husband, helping him to some mats in the corner of the tent.
Malfurion briefly described his return trip from the Moonglade and how his sneezes grew slowly stronger as he flew back to Darkshore. As the illness had gotten worse he had to land, sensing his ability to hold his bird form was waning. He’d walked back the last few miles shifting randomly between animal forms with each sneeze. Since returning to his normal form he found he was only molting.
“That explains the scout reports of various woodland creatures being ill,” Tyrande mused. Her thoughts were interrupted by another sneeze and they were now looking out at the camp from the mats, a portion of the tent had been torn by his latest sneeze.
“Perhaps we should move you to a more permanent building while you recover,” Tyrande observed, brushing feathers from first her armor and then pulling some from her blue-green hair. “A relief. What have you tried so far?”
Had the circumstances been different she likely would have been amused at the rush to resecure the tent. She watched the workers impassively as she listened to Malfurion’s attempts at a cure while they walked to the ruins of Auberdine’s inn where other sick and wounded were being housed safely.
She learned he had already attempted his own healing druidic arts, along with traditional herbal medicines in the forest as he worked his way to the camp. As he quaked with additional sneezes she spoke to a guard and sent them away with additional orders. The camp would not rest well until Malfurion rested well.
Due to the building shaking sneezes it was decided to try walking to Auberdine’s moonwell rather than staying in the now further ruined inn. A fellow priestess was waiting for them, clearly one of the arrangements Tyrande had plotted during the sneezing fit.
The moonwell’s magical sparkling waters reflected Tyrande’s black eyes back at her.
“I am now Elune’s Night Warrior,” Tyrande explained. “My powers of destruction are now more formidable than my healing arts, I cannot risk hurting you.”
A few minutes later there were two bemused looking priestesses and Malfurion as a moonkin slouching at the edge of the moonwell.
“At least you’re no longer molting?” A Sentinel approaches, whispers to Tyrande, and hurries away. “We had some other druids prepare a draught for you. While they don’t think it will heal you, it will at least let you rest. Then we will continue our assault on the front.”
Returning to the now repaired tent, albeit only temporarily as another sneeze and shift to stag form created a new hole in the runecloth, Malfurion finally drank.
As he drifted off to the Emerald Dream a final sneeze deposited his body in the sleek panther form that Tyrande rarely saw him use. Resting his feline head in her lap, she gently stroked his head until his breathing shifted to the depths of sleep.
Sleep and panther form turned out to be an unfortunate combination. Malfurion dreamed of prowling through the woods of Ashenvale, only to wake with a stag’s neck in his mouth and a very alarmed camp chef yelling for the guards. Another sneeze into a bear sent the chef running.
“Other than being unable to control the timing of your shifts, how do you feel?” Tyrande inquired back at their tent, now reinforced with beams of lumber it was beginning to resemble a cabin more than a temporary tent.
“Well enough,” Malfurion answered. “This too will pass with time.”
The reassuring smile that crossed Malfurion’s lips became even more pronounced as a sneeze turned him into a giant bear, causing the beams to snap like twigs as his furry hindquarters sprouted from the previously repaired tear.
“Perhaps visiting the hot springs for a time… It will also give our seamstresses and woodcutters a break,” Tyrande commented. “I can have one of the mages prepare a portal to Un’Goro.”
The bear nodded with an affirmative grunt.
For the next few days, the outpost of Marshal’s Stand could hear the jungles of Un’Goro rocked with new bestial sounds. Travel was kept to the known trails and away from the hot springs. A refreshed looking Tyrande and Malfurion soon emerged from the jungle, shocking them all.
“And now to return to the front,” Tyrande declared.
Thank you for visiting and reviewing my entry into round one’s competition. I look forward to seeing how the rest of this goes and later today I’ll get a link to my competitor too!