Paranoid

I didn’t sleep last night. David was dismissed from the infirmary two days ago. A very sickly, young boy took his place. He was pale as a ghost, hardly breathing, little shallow thumps the only thing denoting that his heart hadn’t yet given up.

He was a shy lad, only eight or nine years old. He told me his name was Jessie, and that his parents had perished in the fire. His clothes were that of the merchant class, noble and distinguished with a flowing shirt and breeches, but the fire had ravaged them, tearing the fine clothing into near shreds and dirtying them with soot and ash. He almost looked like a chimney sweep in his current state.

I attempted to comfort him, even going so far as to diverting as much of my own healing magic to him as possible, but it just wasn’t enough. I wasn’t filtering the poison out of his blood; only priests know how to perform that kind of magic, and as it was, every priest in all of Stormwind was on the verge of collapse from magical exhaustion. All I could do was repair the damage the poison was causing, buy Jessie a little bit more time.

We talked into the wee hours, and I still remember it like a dream, watching the life go out of his eyes as I desperately forced more and more mending magic into him, hoping I would be able to stave it off a little longer.

He died second later, staring off into nothing as his breathing came to a wheezing, grinding halt. I ceased my healing magic, reabsorbing what little residual energy I could from the simple regenerative spell I had cast, and focused on keeping myself alive. Jessie had died facing me, and I found it incredibly unnerving the way his cold, glazed over eyes stared through me.

I ended up having to turn him over, just to stop myself from glancing over at his motionless corpse every few seconds. It was a long night.

In the morning, after several hours of eery silence and the odd glance over at Jessie’s body, the death heralds entered the infirmary, checking each row for motionless patients. One of them would check for a pulse, while the others would stand around him, patiently waiting, circling like buzzards for the go ahead to cart another body off.

Eventually the tall, dark figures clad in black trench coats and top hats came to my row, and consequently, they found Jessie to be lacking in vivaciousness, and a pulse, so they hauled him off with the rest of the dead, with a rough gentleness that is hard to explain. It’s almost like they revile and revere the dead at the same time.

Regardless, it wasn’t long before the death heralds were done collecting their quota for the day, and afterwards, the infirmary felt strangely empty.

I sat up from where I was, and was instantly forced to lie back down. It took only a moment, a brief glimpse around the room, to realize that I was completely and totally alone in the infirmary now.

It was no wonder the early hours of the morning had been so eerily silent, completely devoid of the anguished moans of the sick and dying; they had all already perished.

I couldn’t help but shiver as my veins frosted over at the very thought, combined with the strange emptiness around me. It was a startling feeling.

Thankfully one of the clerics came in to examine me not long after. She was a nice girl, copper skin and beautifully rich black hair with hazel eyes that radiated compassion. The state she was in, however, was something else entirely. Her young face was marked with stress, her eyes were drained of life, and her posture was slouched and tired. She, like every other healer in the city, had no doubt been pushed to her limits, and it was readily apparent in the way she sluggishly trudged about, making as much of an effort as she could, despite the terrible aching and soreness that comes from magical exhaustion; I’ve experienced it firsthand.

After a few minutes of half-hearted examination, and two prescription vials of healing tonic, I was given a clean bill of health, at least for a paladin. Technically, I was still very much sick, and would indeed have already kicked the bucket, were it not for my constant stream of internal healing magic, combined with the cleansing concoctions put together by Stormwind’s Alchemical Health Division. My magic took care of the cell regeneration to replace deadened veins and arteries, while the cleansing brews dealt with diluting and attempting to expel the poison in my blood entirely.

It should also be noted that paladins have a somewhat legendary reputation for simply refusing to die, and perhaps the mythos surrounding my profession spurred this haggard, exhausted cleric to nudge me out the door as quickly as she did. I suppose she figured that I’d be able to take care of myself, and not be stupid enough to ignore healing myself throughout the day. Perhaps she simply took pity on me, sitting in an empty room where dozens had died not long ago. I couldn’t see spirits, but I got the sense that the infirmary was full of them; it usually took the Spirit Guides around twenty four hours to wrangle them all up and put them to rest properly.

Needless to say, I skedaddled right on out of the infirmary as soon I was given the go ahead to leave. I could almost feel Jessie’s presence, his ghost, staring me down as I left, eyeing me with betrayed innocence.

Why did you let me die? I thought paladins were supposed to save lives. Whywhywhy?

By the time I had managed to cross the now dilapidated and charred trade district to the Academy Of Stormwind, I was gasping, and had broken into a cold sweat. I could hardly think straight between the terrible, gnawing thoughts, the chilling presence that seemed to be following me, and the constant stream of rejuvenating energy I had to maintain in order to not keel over and die.

Even now, as I write this journal in my dorm inside the Academy, I feel like there’s something watching me. Its as if the shadows themselves are melding around me, running from my gaze. The paranoia of being watched is beginning to affect me. I’m falling behind on my classwork, and I’m unable to focus on anything.

I have witnessed firsthand the terrifying power of warlocks, faced down the undead, and have even done battle with the Horde, but this creeping feeling, this looking over my shoulder every five seconds is something else entirely. Its not the same kind of fear that comes from the battlefield, its something deeper, more primal and predatory. It feels like I’m the prey, and some invisible predator is waiting for the right moment to tear my throat out while I’m engrossed in a tome of literature.

I am paladin aspirant Sidonus, and I am scared.