NPC: Blightcook Allison Williams
It takes a very strange sort of man to style himself a ‘blightcook.’ Mr. Allison Williams stands as the only currently known former member of the Cult of the Damned who did such. Born to loving parents who earned their keep as household servants to a small, but prosperous barony 27 years before the onset of the Third War, he wasn’t by any accounts special aside from one trait. His size. Standing at nearly seven feet in height, and sporting shoulders more suited to an Un’goro silverback gorilla than a man, the only thing preventing him from making an astoundingly impressive, and imposing figure in gleaming armor as a man-at-arms under his lord was, once again, his size. Allison was anything but athletic, and anything but motived by a desire for physical activity. From a young age, he helped his older sister (a scullery maid) in her duties, and while doing so ran odd jobs for other kitchen staff, including the chefs. This offered him ample opportunity to scavenge leftovers, and he rapidly earned numerous unflattering titles and nicknames.
Two traits developed as he aged that ensured he remained sheltered, and employed. The first was that, in his various scamperings he managed to pick up the culinary arts to an extent that some wondered if he was some form of savant (a skill that lead him to a position that in time would spell ruin and disaster for his erstwhile Lord and Lady). The second was a genuinely friendly, amicable, jovial, and down right mild, pleasant temperament. Quick to laugh, slow to anger, generous with affection, and stingy with venom, every member of the staff and family adored the house’s young chef. This state of being was not to last though. The cliché beginning of the end came, as oft times happened, with the failing health of a loved one.
A summer bought with dysentery claimed his mother quite suddenly. The Lord of the castle had been very generous with prayer for the woman’s health (devout as he was, this was expected), but somewhat less so with the gold required to hire a healer to tend to her, and as such she passed. Concealing a slowly festering resentment, and an even deeper depression resulting from the demise of the parent that had indulged him for the whole of his life, Allison found himself very vulnerable to a few suggestions made to him by one of the wandering couriers that frequented the keep. An end to death. Freedom and equality for all. Immortality for Lord and Peasant alike. This ‘cult of the damned’ seemed more like a ‘cult of damned good ideas’ as he later joked with his fellows. So. As the plague raged, and the faithful gathered to bask in the comfort of delicious food, loving company, high walls, well armed troops, and all the things that made life secure? Allison did what he did best. He cooked.
The Harvest Festival feast that year was, despite the troubles outside a grand one. Minor nobility, down to knights and squires filled vast tables in cavernous feasting halls. Servants, and Lords, all in their proper places crammed mouthful after mouthful of delectable meals down their gullets. The renowned chef’s skill had, if anything been understated by his bragging masters. This was the pinnacle of his career. Fresh, fluffy loaves of bread and rolls. Juicy, soft, perfectly prepared stuffing, and crisp, flakey pie crusts. No one asked where the grain that made the flour that produced these things had come from. Not until they started to fall ill. When the scourge came to enter that forlorn fortress? They found no resistance. Just reinforcements. Thus Blightcook Allison Williams earned his title.
Storyline: AU Fall Of Lordaeron
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