“The cult of the damned?” Marshall echoed Sharon, the old mans eyebrows contracting still further over his eyes as they gained a steely glint. “More than I care to, Dal’dieb. I fought them in the Third War”

The priest sat down in a large armchair without being asked and pulled it up to Sharons desk, placing the cultist staff atop it as he looked around at the other two men. “They were ordinary humans, following the path of the Light before they were corrupted by lies and false promises spread by demons and then that damned prince. They took over half of the northern kingdom that way; their corrupted ideals spread faster than the plague. And then, for any good man strong enough to resist them, came the [i]real[/i] plague”

“…”

“…[b]which[/b], you should know if either of you pay even so much of a fleeting glance to the basics of modern history!” Marshalls voice had reverted to its usual abrasive bark as he glared at Graymoon in particular, looking as though he was one step away from whipping out a quill pen and setting the noble a pop-quiz. “So I’m going to ask you again Dal’dieb; where did you get this artefact from and how did it come to be in my city?”

Staring intently at Sharon, Marshall gave him a steely look as he dropped his tone. “Your people suffered as well in the Third War, Dal’dieb, so I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how serious this is. The cult hid and recruited in the northern cities until there were more of them than decent men. If they are here in Stormwind, they must [b]not[/b] be allowed to remain”