Level 4 Compromises

The incubation period for smallpox, as I've mentioned, is long enough that you can have the virus while it multiplies inside of you. Such was the case with Crimson. His call was to attend to the sick, no matter where they were or what they needed. If he didn't feel well, that was too bad. He had always told himself that there were others suffering in the world, and that if he put his needs before theirs, then he was better off dead than alive. He was considered one of the only humble griffons around. He had helped in the Crystal Empire, when many of the survivors were left unconscious or weak. He had aided wounded soldiers at the time of the Changeling invasion. He was an unsung hero, and for good reason. Letting confidence get to the head of a griffon is just plain bad.

Crimson woke up, with a headache to end all headaches. It felt like someone was driving a hatchet into his forehead. The pain was intolerable, but in a feat of pure will, he pulled himself up to aid those in need.

He reported to a call for help in the small town where Philip had landed. I will call it Creston. A bolt had fallen out of the harness of a delivery carriage, and the whole thing had come crashing down. The griffon lay on his back, clearly in pain and trying not to show it. It looked like he'd broken both of his wings, a problem you don't want to have in a species that is known for its flying abilities. Crimson didn't have any morphine, so the griffon was going to have to settle for a sleeping pill. He bandaged up the wings. It wasn't easy, as the two wings were really bent out of proportions, not to mention a giant delivery carriage had to be moved prior to any real work. The headache was staying, and it only got worse. He was amazed he had managed to even help his patient when he was in as much pain as he was.

The next day, he woke up feeling  extremely weak and nauseous. The headache still lingered, and no amount of pain medication he tried was helping. When he sat up, the room spun, and he wanted to lie back down. Yet his dedication to his job meant that he would not give up.

This time, it was a female griffon who had passed out randomly in the streets. This may have been nausea or just flat-out exhaustion, but the only local doctor who could have any idea what to do with her was Crimson. Trotting to the scene, the surrounding civilians introduced her as Blaze.

She was clearly unconscious, her red-tipped feathers in a messy position on the ground. He didn't ask questions regarding the accident. His head felt like it was splitting in half. He couldn't determine what had gone wrong with her. Exhaustion would make sense, but it wasn't that late into the day, and she wasn't known for staying up all night to train; she was a good time manager. Of course, even if she was conscious, none of the two could have guessed that it was related to that alien in the steel ball, but why should they? Occurrences like that were very rare, but it had no other effect on them except watching the sheriff almost wet his pants. Sure, it was frightening, but nothing's happened. Living in fear wasn't like a griffon, but if they knew what would happen in the following months, they'd be cowering in the corner.

In as little time as he could, Crimson had cleaned her up and brought her home. Her friends laid her down on her bed when the medic noticed something. Blaze had  a rash on her belly, one that had started to branch out. Perhaps she had bad allergies, he thought. It wouldn't explain the passing out, but ya know, shit happens.

The day after, Crimson noticed to his own horror that he had started developing a rash. Instead of on his belly, it had started under his neck. He noticed that it wasn't itchy as he thought it would be, but rather felt like something was poking at it, like little pinpoint needles.

Over the next few days, both Blaze and Crimson fell victim to flat smallpox. The small rash extended from its starting point, eventually covering their entire bodies. The bumps became pustules, then scabs and finally scars. Crimson had died at home, refusing medical care despite the immense out of pain he was in. The pride he had in his work told him that it could be worse. Crimson died thinking he would go better than the rest. He died the most painful death of all.

Blaze had a similar death. She died in her home, without much to say for herself. Too weak to talk and in too much pain to even nod, she died in a little hospital in the town. A funeral was held in honor of her, one even the Wonderbolts attended in honor of her amazing flights. They were the only ponies who had come, and if the body had been shown rather than burned before the funeral, the Wonderbolts would be the cause of what's to come. We, however, have yet another character.

Crimson's body stank horribly, the odor of pus emanating from his home. His body was cremated as well, and a smaller funeral was held in his honor. Smallpox had claimed two victims. No matter how odd this disease was, despite it being the first time a doctor had seen something like this, no one thought back to that "giant fucking yo-yo."

Sheriff Blackclaw stood at his desk, looking at pictures he'd had Twilight send him. He was disturbed; honestly, truly disturbed by what he saw. He had seen the thing first hand, but she'd also sent him pictures of a normal human, perhaps to console him. It did nothing but worry him more. Coming from the griffon who'd "seen it all", it was bad when he was afraid. He knew something was up. This human wasn't right, as Twilight had told him. When he caught wind of the two deaths, he thought nothing of them, until he heard what their bodies were described as. His eyes widened as he whipped his head back and forth between the pictures. If this disease had caught on to two of his kind without direct contact, then how fast could this travel? Blackclaw was the first to catch on as to how bad this was. Twilight knew the facts. The doctors saw the disease. But the sheriff was the only one to notice the dark future ahead of them, and it loomed over him like a storm cloud.