A/N: Sorry this was ages coming. I've been taking some GCSE modules and slacking, but I am trying with Lucy D. This chappy is a bit short but I wanted to get something out. I can resume writing in about a week when the pressure from January modules for my science courses fades.

The Infamous Lucelia Dawnfeather & Co

Chapter 7

Progress was excruciatingly slow after that scarily different day- almost a week passed Lucy by and she blinked, wondering how she'd lost those 168 hours of her life.

Grimacing, she realized that time had slipped away because she no longer cared about it, and she knew why that was. Days were excruciatingly dull, fuelled by nothing but necessity for her.

Milo wouldn't come near her.

Or anyone, for that matter.

She sat, eyes dull, at meals- she walked with a barely-hidden limp and a new malice behind her usually soft eyes. Lucy wanted to talk to her, to ask her what was going on- but then she couldn't. She had the empathy of C'Thun on a bad Monday morning.

Many of her morning duties were completed alone, or with Mic- she did the Inn's washing up from last week, watered most of the lanterns along the roads from Shadowglen to Darnassus (those things wilted like crazy with the onset of winter), and on one odd Thursday, delivered a baby boy into the world. Her life was… varied, to say the least, if not suffering from the void that Milo had created when she suddenly stopped talking.

Lucy had asked herself a couple of times why this could be- she went over everything she'd done, said, even thought, in the last week, and could find nothing – nothing- that could warrant such a reaction. She had ruled PMS out and was moving onto more dangerous and ludicrous theories- the principal guess of which was possession. Lucy wasn't stupid (well, she was, but that's beside the point) and she knew such things were possible. Demons existed, undead were very alive, as were all number of humans and such who would do such a thing. Then she wondered why. Then her head hurt and she put down the trowel with which she was weeding the inn's upstairs bedroom, slumping against the wall and muttering to herself. Life was boring and complicated and nasty.

This, of course, only served to cheer Tanalia up.

"Miss Dawnfeather!" She began a diatribe, but Lucy was already back to weeding. She did a double take and rubbed her eyes, seeing only the junior sentinel with her trowel and her chain-mail gloves in case the weeds protested. Deciding it was paranoia, she continued her rounds, leaving Lucy to return to her stationary position. From the flask sitting on the bedside table, she took a sip of water and grimaced. Teldrassil water was always nasty tasting, but was supposed to have a whole load of vitamins that were better for you. Then again, these days, most rivers and water sources were being tainted/dammed up/shut off/used to fuel techno-bases of world domination nowadays.

Then it caught her. Tainted water supply. How else would the timberlings be so narky all of a sudden?

If timberlings could get narky, so could elves…

Milo.

-

With her newfound secret knowledge, Lucy felt urgency like never before. Everything she did was full of vigor borne not of enthusiasm but gnawing worry, despite what Tanalia might think. The onset of darkness came too slowly for her liking, the blanket of twilight descending at an agonizing pace. When she was done with her chores for the day, Lucy stomped into the Sentinel's barracks and furiously pulled her armour off. She didn't have night watch (which was boring and unpleasant at best) and didn't need the jangling of chainmail and the rustling of stiff leather. Dressed in a simple standard-issue shirt and trousers make of slightly worn linen, she felt very alone, walking out into the humid night. She looked down at her feet as she took the now-familiar paths around Dolanaar, heading for the inn around the back way where she was sure nobody would bother her.

"Sentinel Dawnfeather?" Came a soft voice from her left. Startled, Lucy looked into the shrubbery and saw a large nightsaber with darting, silver eyes staring at her. "Lucy."

It was talking.

Lucy's mind caught up and she realized that the cat was a druid. Majestic and lean, the druid's tousled fur was a grayish-blue shade with greens peppered about. With a growl and a perplexing crunch, the cat rose up on its hind legs and became a man in a simple robe.

"Lucy." He said, almost imploringly. "Long time no see."

By the stars, it was Iri.

Lucy stared at him with wide, frightened eyes. Two years did a lot to a person. Iridolan was tall and broad, with a carefully trimmed moustache and a scar on his neck that hadn't been there before. His skin looked slightly unhealthy and the dark skin under his eyes told Lucy that he wasn't sleeping well. His hands were trembling.

"Iri." She said slowly, any expectance she had of a romantic rendezvous fading instantly. "What's wrong?"

He looked confused. "After two years? That's the first thing you ask me?"

"Something's wrong." She said simply, totally unaware of how she had come to this conclusion but confident in it nonetheless. "You're a druid… but you look the opposite of in tune with nature."

"My trainer told me to go away and come back when I can get it right." He said tiredly. "You saw me then? That was the first time I've been able to shapeshift in a year. It's killing me, I can't do it, and I don't know why. I went to see Cyndra. She said you had a theory."

Lucy's heart sank. He was here for himself, not for her. Not to check up on her or see how she was settling into life as a sentinel, but to get back in his trainer's good graces. But she had a duty. A binding contract held her to help and night elf that needed her, and by the way Iri's eyes dimmed, she guessed her needed her help a lot. "A theory? You mean about the water supply?"

"Yes, how it was affecting the plant life. That it could be magic, something unnatural that could cut a druid off from nature… something evil."

"It is. I don't know where it comes from or how to stop it, but it is magic. It stinks of demons. I have…" she took the little trinket out of her pocket. "Can you read it?"

Iri took it in quivering hands and peered at it, running a finger over the rune etched into it. "Dháthr, for Anger." He said after a pause. "Demonic, I think. An old dialect. Why do you need to know?"

"We found this at the source of the Wellspring river." Lucy explained. "I don't like it."

He gingerly placed it back into her outstretched palm. "Anger… the furbolgs are angry. The timberlings are angry. It makes sense."

"But if I've taken this away, surely the affliction won't spread anymore?"

Iri chuckled humourlessly. "Have you been living under a rock? Look at Outland. I've been there, Lucy, to look at what the Burning Legion has done. Demons. Bloody Demons, always up our asses- pardon my common- and now here? In our sanctuary? Give me a shot at it, I'll take it out! I'll maul it and claw it and tear it apart!" he turned towards Dolanaar, teeth clenched. "You hear me, Demons! Every last one of you, I'll slash you and tear you a new-"

Lucy put a hand over his mouth, wildly wondering what he was doing. Iridolan struggled, lashing at her, but he was weak with lack of sleep and cut off from nature- Lucy was fresh out of harrowing training and strong. She used his larger frame against him and pushed him against the trunk of a nearby tree, muscles aching- she should work out more. Iri stumbled up, his face scrunched into such a horrible, angry mask that even Lucy could not find it in herself to love him. Her snarled and launched himself at her, crying out and straining and his muscles shifted and bones snapped. He had tried to transform into his big cat form, but had failed and was left halfway there- tufts of hair poking out of his robe, all his bones twisted and broken, his teeth and fingernails cutting into himself, eyes wild and slitted.

"Milo!" Lucy shouted on impulse before realizing that Milo wasn't going to come to save her- she was utterly alone in the darkness outside Dolanaar with Iri, whose mind was poisoned and clouded. The half-shifted figure groaned and hauled itself up, disregarding its physical handicap. Cracking balls of green magic erupted from below Iri's claws, striking Lucy in the thigh with a god-awful sting. She kept her balance but was accosted by more and more spells, hitting her everywhere and pushing her back until she finally overbalanced, whereupon Iri pounced clumsily onto her legs and groaned at the exertion on his broken body.

"Iri!" lucy pleaded with him. "Stop this! I'm not a Demon, I'm Lucy. Lucy Dawnfeather!"

He croaked and looked at her, confused. Lucy felt the cold metal of the demonic trinket in her hand and knew she smelled of demon. She flung the thing as far from herself as she could under the half-shifted Iri's massive bulk.

This did not work very well.

Iridolan snarled through a mouth of jagged fangs, a grimace that sent a raft of shivers ricocheting down Lucy's spine. His bloodshot eyes regarded her for a minute before he gave a whimper, turning away from her and regarding his side. Three arrows stuck out of his side, aimed with precision that could only be credited to Mic the archery fanatic. Lucy sighed in silent appreciation as she lost overview of her situation and basked in the feeling of being saved.

Hands jerked her roughly from underneath Iri's wounded form and she found herself propped up against the side of a glaive that was stuck fast into the squishy Teldrassil soil. A few strands of Mic's dark hair make her nostril twitch. All seemed oddly peaceful.

"The lessons we've learned is don't drink the water." Mic said with an air of finality. "We need to haul hairy over there into Dolanaar so that they can put him back together."

Kindness? Compassion towards another sentient being? Lucy was beginning to think that Mic was getting therapy.

-

There were now two people that Lucy desperately wanted to see but couldn't.

The weight of the situation scared her in a way no vision of Tanalia ever had. Milo was infected. Iri was infected. The whole of Dolanaar were on strict orders not to drink the water, but all over, anger was starting to spread. Out of all the races, Night Elves were the most banal, so seeing a shopkeeper swear mercilessly at a boy who didn't have the right change for a muffin was disheartening.

Lucy, having helped discover this, was suddenly expected to be the expert on waterborne demonic taints. This was quite a far cry from the truth, considering she didn't know which was the e and the n went in waterborne. Tanalia was, as predicted, crapping herself, walking around in a circle and scowling. The senior sentinel had fought in wars, slain many in battle, hunted and killed intruders, but this wasn't her specialty. How could you attack waterborne magic with a glaive? Twas impossible.

Lucy thought that perhaps she was going insane as well. There was a strange pressure behind her eyes, which were dry with tiredness, and her limbs all ached. The constant scratching and groaning from the other side of the thick wooden wall kept reminding her of Iri. Why, when things were looking up for her dateablility, did he have to drink the water and go crazy? It wasn't fair.

"We can't just stand around doing nothing." Tanalia decided with outstanding intelligence. "We should… we should get some priests or druids to purify the water, and then to help the affected."

"You've said that twice and each time the answer is the same: they don't believe us. Dolanaar is a very rural settlement detached from the goings-on in Darnassus. They have their own troubles." Mic said bitterly, taking a swig of wine, since water was banned.

"My mum would help, I bet." Lucy said thoughtfully. "And Yerria. She's still in training, I think, though."

"Great, that's two priestesses for a demonic curse powerful enough to turn creatures crazy."

"I'm just trying to help," Lucy said defensively, crossing her arms and huffing up. "I don't see you offering a cluster of the green dragonflight to help us."

"I'm not sure cluster is quite the correct collective noun." Mic replied, bored, "But in all seriousness, this has got to be dealt with. Lucy's little trinket needs to be examined."

"You have spellbreakers from the blue dragonflight under that breastplate as well? Damn, that's awesome."

"Go shag a furbolg, Lucy."

"Nah, you're not my type."

"Immaturity is not getting us anywhere." Tanalia deadpanned, scowling so much that her eyebrows touched in the middle to form a pretty v. "There's no support? We deal with it ourselves. We're sentinels, not dullards. Well, except from Lucy, who manages both, but that's a snide phrase for a happier time."

"We agree this needs to be dealt with." Mic cleared the room. "We need to know exactly what kind of magic this is, then we can find out how to combat it."

"But we have to think about our forces." Lucy said warily, doing quick counting in her head, which took a couple of minutes. "We have eight sentinels in Dolanaar at our disposal. Add skilled townspeople, we have about thirty fighters. Wait… we can pikey newbies from Shadowglen if they're any help, so that means…"

They waited expectantly.

"Maybe a total of forty-five useful people. But warriors can't exactly fight a magical disease."

"Give the girl a prize," Mic rolled her eyes. "But Lucy's right. That's all we can hope for."

There was a lull in speech as the three sentinels stood in the room, thinking. They were currently in the inn, inside the actual room that Lucy had scrubbed down earlier. Iri was locked in the room next to them which was conveniently enclosed in an anti-magic bubble to contain rowdy druids and priests after they had a few too many to drink and started shooting off balls of ouch.

"We need to get Cyndra to help us test the water, then maybe Denalan, the weirdo by the lake. He was looking into something like this, wasn't he?" Lucy said after a pause. "When and if they find out the nature of the problem, we can search for the right type of people to combat it. Savvy?"

"Why, I do think the girl said something sensible." Tanalia looked genuinely shocked. "It sounds shockingly wrong coming from my mouth, but I agree with Miss Dawnfeather."

"Grr." Mic, annoyed, sighed. "I suppose so. Just don't expect me to do anything that the others don't, mkay?"

"Sissy."

"Whelp."

"I have seriously had it up to her with you, Mic." Lucy said angrily. "Can't you just get off your pedestal and help for once? It's not about being the best, it's playing with the team."

"Go play with your kitty then," Mic said snidely, walking at the door. "He's very excited, from what I can hear."

"If you hadn't have shot him, he wouldn't be so angry." Lucy snapped back.

"If I hadn't shot him, you'd be cat food."

"You never change."

Mic shrugged as though Lucy held no importance. "Better to remain constant than to coruscate all over the place. And yes, I used coruscate to piss in your gnome-e-ohs."

"Toss off." Lucy said angrily. "Seriously, if you're not going to help you might as well drink the water 'till it comes out of your arse and you start snarling. That is if the stick stuck up there doesn't get in the way. With any luck, you'll explode."

Mic left quietly.

"Lucy, you are infallibly stupid," Tanalia observed deftly. "She's the best in your squad."

"There's too much pressure!" Lucy said angrily. "I don't want to be asked questions. I don't want to be a leader. I want to put my feet up and watch this happen with a bowl of ice-cream."

"Well that's not going to happen, idiot." Tanalia became suddenly very authoritative again. "You're here, whether you like it or not. You found this out, and without that we'd be in the dark about the taint. But this does not mean you can slack off now."

Her voice became very quiet, and Lucy thougt she even saw a glimmer of passion in there. "Milo could die."

"No." Lucy denied the unpleasant fact very quietly. "She couldn't. She's just ill."

"Go visit her. Go see the damage this is doing. Then, maybe, you'll appreciate the gravity of the situation." With a swish of her tabard, Tanalia followed Mic down the stairs, leaving Lucy alone to wonder why everyone was walking away from her.

After a while, she gathered the resolve to leave Iri in the room and walked over to the Sentinel's quarters. It was pitch-dark, so the sentinels not on night watch were going to bed, but she had to get something. From her pack she pulled the demonic object that she had found in the river. She wanted to see her best friend, but she also wanted to test a theory.

Since yesterday, Mic was in Cyndra's house, in a magically sealed room, laid out on a bed. She was dark darker than Lucy remembered her. Her sheets had been taken away as she kept soiling them.

"Milo?" She asked shakily, but the girl didn't look at her. Her skin was covered in a sheen of unhealthy sweat and she was quivering slightly with pain, but this did not fool Lucy. She had already mauled on visitor. "Milo, I have a present."

Lucy held up the trinket and Milo's gaze snapped to it as though the two ends were polarized. Lucy moved the trinket around; surprised that Milo followed it with dull eyes. You could always tell when an elf was ill- the glow left their eyes. It was pitiful to see Milo's glowing orange orbs reduced to blank, boring things incapable of a proper gaze. Lucy moved closer slowly, very aware that she had Milo's undivided attention.

The bedcovers were off and she got a full-on view of the wound that the timberling had given her when the world came back into focus. The slash was from the top of her thigh to the knee, slightly jagged at the bottom. The most worrying thing was that it had not closed. From it oozed blood and the same dark-green substance that the tumors has spurted when squeezed.

Lucy, while not a medic, knew that this was not good.

She got so interested in staring at the mess that she didn't react fast enough when Milo launched herself from the bed and snatched the trinket from her hand. Scolding herself, Lucy backed off, observing the effect. Unlike Iri, who had tried to destroy the trinket, Milo was looking at it critically. In her hands, the dull silver glowed a worrying green. The scent of burning umber and flesh filled the room, the stink of demon. "This is…"

Hearing Milo's voice for the first time in however long gave her a surge of hope. Maybe she would pull through. Maybe there was a chance. "What is it, Milo?"

"It… it's pretty. Can I keep it?"

"Err…" Lucy scratched her head. "For a bit, but I need some people to look at it."

"They'll find nothing." Milo said nonchalantly. "I'm glad you came to visit me, Lucy."

"I should have sooner," Lucy said awkwardly, not quite knowing where she stood. "Are you okay, Milo?"

Milo shook her head. "It hurts. People believe me now, but it hurts so much worse. I doesn't end. It just keeps rowing and growing. I pulled it out, once. It regrew in a day. I'm going to die."

"Don't say that!" Lucy said indignantly. "You're not going to die, silly. We're going to find the cause, kill it and get the cure."

"Really detailed plan." The sliver of a smile flashed across her face so fast that Lucy barely knew it was there. "I didn't think I'd be so young, but I suppose I've had an okay run. I'm glad I met you, Lucy. And Cerianne, and Mic and Ilyeri and Ken and Deri and even Tanalia. I'm glad I became a sentinel."

"Don't get like that." Lucy said sternly. "Everything will turn out fine and we'll be moving into a better tent before you know it."

Milo snorted. She looked Lucy in the eye and vomited violently, black and green liquid dribbling down her nightgown. "Maybe you. Not much left for me to do but hurt."

"Milo!" Lucy said furiously. "Shut up! Keep going!"

Milo shook her head sadly again, looking tired.

"It hurts so bad, Lucy."

-