I’d like to think that I’d grown somewhat competent at spotting false Plagues after the incident at Phaer.
After arriving in Desshan, it became rather obvious rather quickly that the “Maulborn” were not quite as ‘helpful’ as they intended. And so we’d helped.
The four of us, us formerly soulless three plus the Bosmer girl from Coldharbour, Faraniel, who had decided to accompany us for the time being, were gathered in our rented room at the local inn, after helping the second town in that region deal with these pests. It was after the time that most of us were ready for sleep, but only our tag-along and Argo had actually fallen asleep when Silica voiced a simple question: “Why?”
“For some people,” I began, “it’s personal. A son who’s been turned into a vampire, and so a ‘plague’ is made to feed him, with a ‘preventative’ to draw in new stock. In this case? Making mindless husks and spreading plague through a ‘curative’?” I shrugged. “I can’t say for sure. It could be they’re working for a Daedra. Or some damned Cult. Or hell, maybe even some bastard thought it’d be amusing to make an entire zone sick.”
“So basically,” Silica mused, “the world sucks even when a Daedric Prince isn’t threatening everything?”
“We won’t really know what’s going on with this until we find this Vox person and ask ’em,” I replied. “For now though, let’s try to get some sleep. We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”