(121-11-05) Desperate Measures

Maester Leandro's sent a message. Oh it was a very vague message asking to speak with someone in charge, or who can take charge, or something of the ilk. The poor novice likely spent a while trying to find someone and Edmund's likely who he ended up with. The Maester himself is not at the Healer's Hall, not with all the other sick Maesters either, instead he's at his out of the way artist's studio, well just outside of it, sitting in a chair, waiting. He's looking far healthier than many of the other maesters.

Leandro has also provided instructions of don't touch any maesters, don't breathe on them, can't hurt to wear a mask. Or maybe that's what the novice interpretted them as. Who can tell.

The poor novice finally locates an officer of the watch and Edmund, after reading the missive, arrives at the author's studio shortly therafter. Ned is arrayed in black lambs wool trousers and doublet. He wears a heavy purple cloak piinned back with a silver broach embossed with the grinning skulls and embonpoint lips of house Lonmouth. A boy, a squire, and an old serjeant follow after the knight, a small and altogether fitting tail for the fourth son of a fourth son.

Ned looks about the studio before looking to Maester Leandro. "I can scarce recall reading anything with so pressing a tone. How may the watch be of service, Maester?"

"It's about this plague." Leandro says, quite bluntly. "It is a plague, all these people falling ill, the black bile, dying. There's a great deal of Maesters that hae it now." He sighs. "It's always the same, the healers are the first who come down with it. If we're going to save lives we're going to need some sort of organisation, and some swords. The bodies need disposed of, but the Silent Sisters are dying, which means those bodies are infectious. We can't let them rot on the streets though. Who takes charge?"

"In Essos, they refer call it the Pale Mare, rather than the bloody flux. What would they call this? The Black Nag? Why do the men anamorphize plagues and attributes, Maester? I suppose Black Nag has a more poetic bent that bile pissing, puking, and shitting malady."

The smile fades and Ned looks rather grim. Yes, the cries of the dying can be heard throughout the city. "Lord Gwayne Hightower is acting Lord of Hightower and Lord Commander of the City Watch. Dispose of the dead?" Here, Ned stares at the Maester. "I suppose we could burn the bodies, such is the way of Dragons, but this will cause an uproar amongst the scions of the Reach, Maester."

"Because it helps distance themselves from the deadly realities of what we're dealing with." Leandro replies. He nods once in agreement of that suggestion to burn the bodies. "You said it, not I." Oh he was definitely thinking it though. "But it is by far the most logical solution to our problem and the best way to prevent others from getting infected and adding to the death toll. With so many of the Sisters dead it's not as if the corpses are going to receive the proper funerary rites any way. But we can't repeat the mistakes of the Silk." He pauses a moment then explains. "When the silk was burned it released noxious fumes that poisoned all of those in the vicinity. While it seems unlikely that this will happen with bodies this plague is like none I've seen before. It would be best to take precautious just in case. I would also strongly suggest that we need to cut down travel somehow. Even if it's confine all those who're sick, or who've been in contact with the sick to their homes, and ensure that supplies are delivered to them."

Ned reaches into the folds of his coat draws a wine skin out from one of the larger pockets. A moment to remove the cork and upend the skin. "Wine? I find that even the most unpleasant tasks are more palatable with a half a skin. Already there are bodies that have been left untended for days, but the decision is not mine, Maester. Lord Ormund or Lord Gwayne must give the order and we will need a place that can accomadate a great blaze. Preferably within the city or just on the outskirts." The next suggestion receives a hard look from the knight. "I will speak to Gwayne and Ormund. If they give the order, I will see it done."

"The smallfolk will not be happy. I will also reccommend conscripting or at the very least soliciting swords from the household guards of great and lordly houses."

"No," Leandro says. "Speaking of which something should likely be done about that poisoned wine. Although I'd think it'd take a lower priority than the plague. Has anyone investigated to see if the two are related." He nods. "Yes speak to them. Have it done. Lives are at stake and the people in charge need to actually take charge. Those who're ill are actually better off remaining in their homes."

"I shall attend to it, immediatly, Maester. I am certain I can prevail upon the Commander." Ned Lonmouth tilts head head toward Maester Leandro. "Poisoned wine? I must askk your pardon Maester, but I have only lately returned from the Stormlands. One of my numerous male relations wedded some landed knight's daughter. What is this poisoned wine you speak of, Maester."

"I've not had the opportunity to hear about it first hand, myself," Leandro admits. "Just some rumours that there are barrels of wine which have been tainted, much as the silk was. That it may all be connected." He shrugs. "If you can find any samples I can test them for you. You'll likely hear more on the streets then I do all the way out here."

"Tainted wine." Here, Ned looks at his own skin and pitches it over the through the window cut in Leandro's room. "I have a few little rodents at Ragpicker's Square. I will look into the matter, Maester. Lord Hightower is rather a busy man, but I will speak to him, I am certain he will make time if I impress upon the Lord Commander the need for an audience. Are there any other matters I should bring to his attention Maester, have you time to accompany me when I speak with Lord Ormund?"

Leandro frowns. "No, I'm much too busy," he says, somewhat dismissively. "I've a plague to research. I need more information on what treatments have proved successful and which haven't. Someone needs to oversee that there are appropriate medications being created to help alleviate symptoms even if we don't have a cure. I'll leave the ruling stuff to you nobles and the fine details of what needs to be done in regards to the city as a whole. Besides, if I were the Hightowers I'd be considering closing the door and barring all access, and I do not want to on the wrong side of that quarantine. I'll stay here with my books, thank you very much. If Lord Ormund wishes to speak with me he can come here."

Ned Lonmouth favors the Maester with a nod. "Yes, you can do more to bring an end to this plague here, Maester. I will speak with Lord Ormund and send a missive to the Citadel after I have had an opportunity to discuss these matters. Good day to you, Maester. If there is anything else the watch can do, you willl let me know?" With that, Ned Lonmouth rises and turns to depart, squire and serjeant fall in behind him.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License