The mage was sick. His minion caught the bug somewhere over Tanaris, and promptly passed it on, a terrible gift. Mataoka was not a caregiver, but she worried about her friend. She only knew one cure for the Tanarian Flu: her mother’s talbuk and goldclover stew. She wished it was an ancient Draeneic recipe, but alas, it was completely new world. A herbalist sent her the goldclover, and she ordered the fresh talbuk, let it steep for three days under a crescent to waning moon, and served it with a cup of strong, sweet honeymint tea.
The mage looked skeptical.
Señor: I hope you feel better soon. If the stew doesn't work, I'm sending Darkmoon doughnuts.