The entire city is on lockdown. The spotted sickness has come. They were calling to all who were willing, please help. -- Anon Guest
The disease was a terror. The young could survive it, true, but if they were too young, it could kill them. Similarly, if they were too old, it could also killed. Those lucky to survive could be scarred for life. Rendered blind, deaf, or pock-marked from their encounter. Some were turned simple from the fever. Some were impaired in other ways. Otherwise unscarred, but they had difficulty moving or making fine work ever after[1].
It was a terror. A nightmare. A silent killer stalking their streets. The city of Jaklita ground to a standstill. Food was handled with mage's summoned hands, or by elementals that could neither catch nor carry disease. They tried constructs, but they somehow carried the infection. In desperation, they called for help.
It came in forms less than welcome, but they were welcomed nonetheless. They came with the Whitekeep coat of arms as their rally banner. They came with potions and unguents. More specifically, they each came with a needle made of ivory. Hellkin, Halfbreds, those deformed or disabled, they came. An army of healers, sent by Pax Infernus to aid an ally.
Those formerly xenophobic residents of Jaklita were that desperate. They rent their No Hellkin signs asunder for firewood. They stilled their tongues regarding their healer's heritage, or whether or not they were capable of doing what they were clearly capable of doing. They even refrained from talking to the Army of the Unwanted in the stereotypical Are-You-Stupid voice, which was a miracle in and of itself.
Recovery Castleward wore a sign that said, Mute. Hir constant companion was what most called Halfbred, but had several species' mark on their form. Stout and sturdy as the D'Varuv, green as a Harukh, and somehow as eerily beautiful as an Elf. Their name was Ward Foundling, and they were Recovery's voice for most of the proceedings.
"This is a balm for the rash," said Ward as Recovery showed it to their shared patients. "These potions are for the fevers, and this needle is part of the spell that should protect anyone who hasn't had the disease from catching it."
"Why did you say 'should'?"
Recovery made a gesture like unrolling a scroll. Tell all of it.
"Well. Given the virulence of the contagion, chances are high that you've been infected already. If you have been infected, then it will accelerate the infection. If not... you'll be safe. It's still a good idea to bathe, change clothes completely, and stay away from anyone unimmunised for at least one entire day."
One patient took a breath and raised a finger.
Ward knew what the next question was. "This is red-rash. It can remain infectious on objects for the duration of an entire day. Once you're immunised, you won't be able to catch or carry the infection, but your clothes and objects still can. We'll stay with and care for you for a week before we can be certain that it took."
Given the size of the Healer's Army... the household didn't wonder about the rest of Jaklita. There were enough helpers to see to everyone. Even if they doubled up like Recovery and Ward.
The Innoculate spell was deceptively simple. The caregiving bore the telltale signs of King Kormwind's famous paranoia.
Supplies were carried up to a household window by a basket and winch system that, when it reached its peak, tipped its contents into a different basket held by someone on the inside. The original basket was never touched by anyone in quarantine.
It was a hellish week, but it passed like all trials.
In two weeks, Jaklita was in no more danger from red-rash. In three, the entire city was safe.
When asked, "How can we repay you?" the members of the Healer's Army only replied, "Pay your taxes."
[1] I am taking a surprisingly few liberties with the consequences of catching Measles whilst unvaccinated. It also impairs the immune system somewhat and can make its victims fall prey to virii that they should have long been out of danger from.
[Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash]
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