The Director sat in the candle-lit office, her focused gaze scanning the detailed case file spread out before her. With an exasperated breath, she reached for the crystal decanter at the edge of her desk, pouring herself a generous amount of whiskey into a glass. Detailed within the file were the recent discoveries of three new victims in the Westfall area, all of which had been killed using a similar modus operandi. The victims had been found in different locations across the region, one in Moonbrook, another on the northernmost coastline, and a third along the river that separated Westfall and Duskwood.

After letting out a heavy sigh and taking a long sip from her glass, the Director rose from her seat and proceeded to place three red pins onto the map that hung on the wall. The map showed six distinct locations where corpses had been found, but there was no discernible pattern to indicate the killer's next move. Even when the points were connected and the center identified, the search area was vast, covering almost the entire region, and yielded no promising leads. Kat was growing increasingly frustrated with the lack of progress in the investigation.

As her tired eyes perused the multitude of pages, notes, and pictures plastered around the edges of the Westfall map, the Director couldn't help but feel fatigued. Her fingers went to pinch the bridge of her nose as she struggled to make sense of the complex puzzle before her. The amber liquid in her glass lazily swirled as her mind mulled over each piece of information, and the azerite stone around her neck shimmered to life, staving off the fatigue for the moment. The political tension caused by Agent Thurmon's inferno had only served to hinder their investigation, further complicating their access to Moonbrook. To make matters worse, the already delicate trust between Stormwind agents and the local communities had eroded considerably due to the actions of the Defias holdouts that were roused by the Agent's actions.

The Director found herself in a difficult and complex situation that required her to burn a political favor in order to avoid an official hearing upon one of her agents and their accompanying operative. She dismissed the thought with a gulp of whiskey and turned her attention to the basic analysis of the toxins collected from the first victim. Unfortunately, the analysis provided little information that she didn't already know from previous encounters with Tindall. As she waited for the detailed report from the eldest Parkhurst sibling, Kat sank back into her chair, rubbing her forehead as intrusive whispers from a darker beyond slithered in the recesses of her thoughts, reminding her of all possible truths, that more bodies would surface in the days to come.

[ Mentions: @ani-thurmon @maxparkhurst ]

A FORTNIGHT PAST

“And Wellson,” said Director Hawke, “yer heroics were appreciated on th’ way out o’ Stormwind. Just be … careful. Yer on yer own.” She extended her hand.

“Ain’ nothin’ keepin’ me from get’in’ back, if’fn tha’s wot ya mean,” said the Operative, taking the proferred hand. They shook on it. “Two weeks, I’ll do me par’ in Elwynn, fer me bruv’s Estate, and the surroundin’s. Nuffin’ stupit,” she agreed, letting go. She dipped her head respectfully.

“Dismissed.”

TWO HOURS AGO

She was worried when she entered the shop. Exotic leathers and pelts still graced the shelves; empty drying racks lined the upstairs. She heard a rustling in the back and drew her sidearm — the same sidearm, she’d been told by Elunara, once wielded by her brother’s best friend, Justine, for over thirty years. She would keep Myz’s in her slingpack, just in case. She brushed the curtain to the back room aside. The rustling stopped. Silence. She knocked thrice on the wall — noise seemed to attract them, these Scourge.

“Show yourself!” a familiar voice shouted. It was a terse command, one she also recognized from before.

“Et’s me… Joci!” she replied, unclipping her SI:7 — Unit 8 badge from her belt, sliding it toward the voice. She did the same with her new sidearm.

Hoss, the cobbler she’d met just before everything went to shit, was still alive. He was filthy, like he hadn’t been able to bathe for weeks. He placed his Dwarven shotgun on the ground.

“You… you made it?” he asked.

“Wouldn’ be standin’ ‘ere if’in I din’t, yea?”

The man, who had lost several pounds since last they met, rushed over and gave her a tight hug. “S-sorry, I just…”

Joci smiled as she was embraced by the man. “Aye. I ge’ et. Bein’ ‘lone durin’ all this?” She pat his back. “‘ere. I go’ somethin’ ta set ya a-right.”

Hoss let go and looked the woman up and down. “You got it, di—“

Joci presented the man with the soft-sole shoe design from Mister Yellah himself.

“How—?”

“Do ya wanna know?”

“Was he…?”

She shook her head. “Long gone. Bones. An ol’, forgot’en camp. Took a couple days searchin’, bu’,” she chuckled. “I go’ low, stay out’a sight…” She paused, picking up her items. “‘e go’ a propah burial, ‘e did.”

“How can I … this was the last of his… what can I do?”

“Well ya kin make th’ shoes fer one,” she said, cracking a smile. “Ya wanna walk ‘ome? Let ya ge’ clean?”

The towering man looked down at the diminutive brawler, flabbergasted. “If you can take on the dead and live?” he chuckled. “Give me a sec. I’ll lock up.”

Joci beamed. She felt like she had done something right, not just through fighting, but by using her brain. She entered the back of the shop. It was fetid. He had hid amongst his own filth and the rotting remains of the Scourge to remain alive. She picked up the bodies and emptied his slop bucket into the sewer; the sound of the undead still skulking about explained why he hadn’t himself. She slid the heavy oak lid across it and weighed it with a few cinder blocks from behind which he’d been hiding. She entered from the back room.

“You didn’t have to,” said Hoss, mortified.

“I know,” she replied, softly. “Ya ready?”

The man nodded. And with that, the two entered a City transformed by carnage, war, death, fire.

“Where?” she asked, watching a raven pick at a bloated body in the Canal.

“Old Town,” he said.

“We’ll be there befir ya know et,” she said. She’d protect him just as she’d done for the Director and the young one, Nicole. Oh, she thought. Nikki. Gotta ‘member. Nikki.

NOW

“Where’ve ya been?” asked Kat.

“Yeah,” added Thea, drily. “Thought you died. Shame.”

Kat shot her a look. Joci did, too:

“‘elpin ou’, jus’ like I sai’.”

“Duskwind Patrol said they saw someone matchin’ yer description,” said Kat.

“I be five foo’ an’ one inch. Mebbe 105 poun’s. Plen’y o’ starvin’ people righ’ now…” she replied, thoughts drifting to Hoss, how he had changed. “Kingdom ain’ gonna ‘elp so, looks like I be a pop’lar person ta be now, don’ et??”

Thea crossed her arms indignantly. “You think you know so much, you little bit—”

“Thea!” shouted Kat so loud the rest of the Unit could hear. “Out. Now.”

The salty bureaucrat spun on her heel and stormed out. She slammed the door. Kat drummed her nails on the desk. “I’m going to ask you one time. Where were you.”

“Finding a dead man. Deadwind Pass.”

Kat rubbed her brow. “Jocelyn, I—”

“Direc’or,” she said the word popping out as it had before. She kicked herself for it. “I know a man. He can be o’ ‘elp ta us… isn’t tha’ wot we need? People we don’t pay bu’ barter wit’? I ‘eard ya talkin’ ‘bou’ et. Back in camp. I ownt a business —”

“A brothel,” she corrected Joci.

“Fine. I was a fuckin’ cum dumpstah pimp whore. Wha’eva.”

Kat rolled her eyes. “Yer point?”

“Ya cannae ‘spect goo’ things wit’ou’ get’in’ yer fists bloody.”

“You don’t think I don’t know that?” Kat’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t think I don’t look for wealthy patrons every fucking day?”

“These ain’ th’ wealthy. These be th’ people ‘ho need jobs! ‘ho lost everythin’! Fuck th’ rich! They wan’ fer nothin’! Ya donnae see me asking me bruv’s estate for ‘andouts, do ya? Ya wanna protec’ Stormwind? Donnae le’ et become anothah Moonbeam, yanno… like Wes’fall!”

Kat perked an eyebrow. “Moonbrook.”

“So ya remembah et’s name. Ya wanna medal?”

“Wot’s got you so fired up, anyway?” asked Kat, more interested than annoyed. She’d seen a fiery streak in Jocelyn before, knew about her insubordination within the ranks of the Proudmoore Admiralty… “Is this wot ya do? Ya get too close to people?” The Director scoffed. “Seven hells, Wellson. Ya can’t save everyone!”

Jocelyn set her jaw. She reached for her badge and drew Myz’s 9mm sidearm from her slingpack. She set them on the desk. “I be out.”

The fine lines around Kat’s eyes twitched. “Take a minute, cool down…” she said.  

“Nah. I ain’ ‘eartless. Quinn, Nicole … er, Nikki … they be th’ only ones lef’ wit’ a warm ‘eart. Wit’ a conscience.”

“Ya think I don’t have a conscience? Ya think I’m heartless?”

“I fink,” said Jocelyn, “Ya los’ touch wit’ life when ya was gone. Ya ain’ th’ woman I met in th’ Park.”

“You’ve no idea wot yer talkin’ about, Wellson.”

The two stared at each other for a long time. The badge and Myz’s 9mm sat between them. The clock ticked as clocks do, marking endless hopes and lives slipping away. Finally Jocelyn spoke:

“I know ya play fav’rites. I know ya lef’ Tris ta die.” She cleared her throat: “Over’eard tha’ lil’ gem in camp.”

Kat’s self-confidence faltered for the briefest of moments.

Joci continued. “I know we make mistakes, yea? Lords I know… ya came ta me a’ me lowes’, when I was nothin’ bu’ guttertrash. Abandont. No way home. Death waitin’ there anyway. Couldn’t read a’tall. Me bruv… watched ‘im die…” She inhaled deeply. She sat in the chair Thea had been using. She exhaled. “I met an ol’ man, back befir th’ Scourge attack. A leatherworkah. A mastah leatherworkah. Defent ‘is shop from th’ Scourge, ‘e did. Walkt ‘im ‘ome today. He be smar’, an’ ‘e be goo’. Bettah, he be cheapah than th’ Crown, askin’ only fer materials.”

“Really?” Kat drummed her fingers on her desk, suppressing a cynical laugh. “That’s it? Yer willing ta forsake yer job fer one man? A cobbler?”

“If’fn I cannae ‘elp people, why di’ ya bring me in?”

Kat looked over Joci’s face. The scar just across her nose. The braid in her hair. Lines of sorrow and years of seldom joy etched like the broken sky. Kat slid the gun and badge across the desk. “This.”

“W-wait… Wot?”

“I swear ta fuck yer unbreakable. Ya got a heart. Don’t know how, after everything ya went through, but ya do…,” she said, trailing off. “Ya do. Come on then.” Director Hawke stood, gesturing for Jocelyn to do the same. “Take me to the shops ya know, that have crafted for ya. Let’s at least see wot’s left.”

“Aye aye, Director,” said Operative Wellson, tucking Myz’s 9mm into her sling pack. She clipped the badge to the backside of her belt. “Aye aye.”

Date: 11/11/41      Agent: Vynette Mistcaller

Subject: The Scourge/Cult of the Damned

Location of Incident: Mage Quarter Catacombs

Leads:

Disturbance reports from local residents

Reports of unusual odors

General ties between the Mage Quarter and Dark Magicks (Inference)

Investigation Team:

Team A Kat Hawke, Nikki Thorpe, Tristana Sutton Team B Vynette Mistcaller, Myzariel Arilyth, Jocelyn Wellson

Team B Report:

Pervasive foul odors matching reported scents of previous plague incidents

Evidence of tainted grain

Remnants of a burlap sack marked with a shock of wheat as a symbol

Recreation of the marking attached

Reanimated Fauna encountered in weak, sealed coffins

Hounds (2, Killed by Agents)

Tainted/Infected Fauna encountered in weak, sealed coffins

Rats (Countless, Killed by Agents with assistance from the Director)

Encountered a hooded figure briefly, who enchanted the rats, causing them to grow before vanishing from the scene

At a glance, in line with all previous reports regarding the Cult of the Damned

Intended Follow-Up:

Patrolling and listening for additional leads or reports from citizens and informants in line with potential cult activity

Kat stood upon the stone outcrop, the gentle breeze rustling her hair as she gazed out over the serene park. Her eyes drifted across the vast open space, listening to the one-eyed alchemist below as she collect a bowl of soup from a street vendor just below her perch. Their gaze meeting for a brief moment in silent understanding.

With a covered bowl in her hand, Max respectfully approached her, acknowledging her position. "Director," Max spoke as she settled on the stone, holding the bowl carefully in her lap.

Kat's attention turned towards the bowl in the alchemist's lap, her curiosity piqued. "Is the soup for actual consumption, or some sort o' experimentation?"

"I don't play with my food," Max scoffed, tapping the lip of the bowl. "Augustine is watching the shop this evening. Thought I'd fetch him something."

"How kind 'n sisterly." The Director muttered, feigning interest.

Max clicked her tongue in jest, "I do try," she replied, turning towards the promenade below. "Business or pleasure, Director?" the alchemist asked with a smile, gesturing to the people below.

A curt snort forced through the Director's nostrils as her lips flattened at the corners. "As much as I love jokes about pleasure everyone seems t'make... Do I ev'a make an appearance in public for anything other than business, Miss Parkhurst?"

"Suppose not." Max hummed in agreement. "You'll have to excuse me, Director, if I so wish to cushion your professional demeanor with a bit of light-hearted banter."

A faint smirk curled the edge of Kat's lips, "Th' absolute audacity," she muttered before scanning the area. "A quick word, however, is my business here. I'll try not t'bend your ear for too long. Wouldn' want the soup t'go cold."

Max nodded understandingly, "Certainly not. Cold soup makes for a terrible meal," she quipped, raising a brow. "You have my attention. Unless you'd prefer a more quiet place to speak business?"

Shifting her attention fully toward the alchemist, the Director gave her a knowing stare. "When do I eva enjoy public crowds or the noise?"

"Fair enough," Max chuckled, rising to her feet with the bowl held securely. "Lead the way, then."

Kat motioned vaguely as she turned on her heel, leading Max to a quieter spot for their discussion. Choosing the longer route to ensure none were tailing, the two made small talk on the newly re-opened shop that the Parkhurst siblings had acquired. Whether or not the Director truly cared was uncertain, but the long walk to the far corner of the graveyard in silence would have been less than ideal.

Navigating beneath the vine-covered trellises, she approach one which held a tub of water and a handful of fish. Gloved hands rested upon the weathered rim as she stared down into her reflection in the water. Sinister thoughts and whispers of self-loathing began to stir in the deepest recesses of the Director's mind.

The Director sat at her desk, staring intently at the stack of case files in front of her. She took a sip of her whiskey, letting the familiar burn of the alcohol radiate through her nerves. Shadows in the corners of her office held a darker, more sinister presence, kept at bay by the lamp upon the desk. She flipped through the files, analyzing each report and shred of evidence with a critical eye.

Victims in Westfall were burned by caustic fluids from the inside out, and others nearly melted down to the bones by unknown chemicals. Undoubtedly Zion Tindall's work surfaced again after vanishing from Duskwood a year prior. With a displeased exhaled, the Director's pen scratched across the deployment form. Agent Thurmon and Operative Castillon were to run down leads, as Kat checked off boxes allowing Thurmon some grey space in interrogation methods and Castillon permission to exhume any bodies already buried in Moonbrook.

Pressing the wax seal to the order with a heavy hand, Kat poured another glass of whiskey and moved on to the next folder.

Priests from the Conclave were found dead in Stromgarde. Signs of extreme torture before the bodies were hung from stones outside the city gates. Beaten and battered before being shot in the back of the skull in a clear execution. The methods used indicated that Angelus Withers had moved north again after ripping through a group of forsaken apologists in Duskwood two years prior. Kat collected another form to recall Operatives Arilyth and Sherwood, knowing that Myz would appreciate another chance to capture the Hallowed Harbinger after slipping through her fingers five years ago.

Wax pressed once more as the order was sealed for delivery to the addressed persons. With an exasperated groan, the Director pinched the bridge of her nose before downing the entire contents of her poured drink.

A black cat crossed the Director’s path. 

It walked a few paces back, trailing the shadow sewn to her heels. Unbothered, it seemed, by how long it spent unnoticed. And when the Director’s attention finally fell on the feline, it paused. Offered an eye-crinkling grin that belied an inkling of sentience. It padded up to the woman and craned its neck. A bronze tag glistened as it dangled from the collar- ‘Calcifer’. And tucked in its collar was a rolled letter addressed to Kat Hawke herself. 

The feline stayed long enough to see the letter in the Director’s hands before taking its leave.

Director,  Development on your request is progressing apace. The first trial will be ready for testing within the next week or two should I receive a few necessary reagents. If you could please provide a sample of Gromsblood and Lichbloom, preferably in the plant’s entirety, I would be most appreciative.  Best Wishes,  M. Park 

As she made her way around the outskirts of the city, Kat paid no heed to the feline that trailed behind her, its persistent presence becoming increasingly bothersome by the minute. After nearly an hour of this unwanted companionship, the Director let out an exasperated sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. Without hesitation, she turned on her heel to confront the creature, determined to put an end to its incessant following.

"Fuckin' wot?!" She snapped as her gaze pinned the cat to the cobblestone, the rolled letter coming to attention shortly after.

With a scowl etched on her face, she observed the furry creature saunter away as soon as the Director received the letter. Without wasting any time, she unfurled the letter and scanned through its contents, her eyes darting back and forth as she absorbed every word.

"Gromsblood and Lichbloom," Kat muttered to herself. "Off-continent plants, of course. Fortunately, I know someone who can procure these harder t'find things. No fuckin' number is listed. Does she want just one? Three? Five?"

She let out a frustrated sigh and folded the letter in half before putting it in her pocket. "She'll get her fuckin' plants an' plenty of 'em...," she muttered.

Got a little something for the guild; a proper reference for the badges. Done by @raen-art!

This is something I’d been meaning to get done for a while now and finally got around to pulling the trigger on. I’m incredibly happy with how this came out and the end result is exactly what I was picturing.