//part 1, but feel free to respond to this or other items.
The talk and rumors continue night after night. Soon word filters out from places supposedly locked away from the threat of the plague. Spreading like wild fire on an oil-slicked sail, news comes that one of the city’s richest children was found dead amongst a pile of bottles. Speculation of why someone like that might have been taking cures sold by the less savory.
“Ye get tha’ sick, desperation kin warp any. Aye?”
In among the loud and overlapping conversations in the tavern, one in particular quiets to what passes for hushed tones in a noisy room.
“I tell ya...there’s somethin’ else goin’ on... They found ol’ Flynn on one o’ them burn piles,” says one patron, shifting his eyes around to make sure no one else is paying attention.
“Ach, poor lad,” says another, shaking his head. “This plague’s a bad way t’ go...an’ ‘is family’s gonna have a rough time of it, if they survive.”
“Yeah, yeah...of course,” says the first. “But that’s jus’ th’ thing...Jus’ yesterday Flynn was hale, healthy and strong as an ox. On my soul, it weren’t th’ Plague that got ‘im...”