Conjure

Conjure is cunning, ruthless and ambitious, manipulating and extorting others to get what she wants. Her skills in witchcraft are known throughout the clan but few go to her, favoring Feverfew's skills in herbalism over her own. The two females have an intense rivalry, going farther than just the rivalry between plague and nature, it is business after all.



Conjure was a typical plague mirror, hunting in the Wandering Contagion, traveling both in and between the large mirror packs of the region with her mate Carnelian, who she loved more than anything else, more than life itself, but the red skinned male did not know, and neither was he truly faithul. She caught him while she was hunting, enjoying his time with another female. Jealous and hurt Conjure ran, attacking them as they lie staring into the Wyrmwound's festering waters. In a fit of rage and pain she flew, claws flailing wildly and fangs bared, she did not even notice when she shoved him, and he toppled, falling into the the great cauldron of pestilence. He screamed, and Conjure knew what she had done, screaming with him as the other female backed away.

His skin bubbled, peeling from his flesh as he shrieked in pain. He flapped his wings to pull himself out of the plague, arms clawing at the air. But he wasn't strong enough, he flailed wildly in the pit, Conjure screaming with him, and then for him when his voice hissed and died. The pack and the other female abandoned them, leaving them to die on the edge of the boiling cesspit. For days Conjure stayed there, shrieking as her mate writhed in pain. She did not sleep, she did not eat, she just stood there, unable to move, riveted by the horror before her. Eventually, exhausted and starving she slowly walked away, the soundless screams of her mate behind her.

~*~*~*~

After that she wasn't the same, that crucible awakening some dark part of her she never knew she had. She spoke to no one, and no one spoke to her. For weeks she wandered the contagion, alone, her long path eventually bringing her to the Wyrmwound once again, and she could have sworn she saw a figure watching her through the sickly fog that boils and hisses out of the festering pit.

She averted those wicked eyes, only to see a dragon hanging precariously over the festering cauldron. She rushed towards them, screaming "Get away from there!" But as she came closer she noticed that the poor dragon had no skin, no scales, its wings hung limply as it sat there, unmoving. Conjure grabbed the body, pulling the dragon away from the bubbling pit, she rolled the body towards herself, looking down at the dragon's face and seeing her mate staring back with cold, dead eyes. Conjure looked up, only to see two piercing red eyes, glaring at her through the infectious mists.

"Only the fit survive, he did not." A voice hissed, bubbling and thick. "You want to bring him back? Then know revenge will be had for your atrocity."

Conjure spits, the clear glob landing in the festering waters as she carefully takes Carnelian's body, dragging it somewhere, anywhere but here.

The glowing eyes narrow, blinking once, twice, before disappearing altogether, but a voice carried by sickly sweet winds reaches Conjure's ears. "You have made your choice, the wrong one."

"There will be..."

"Consequences."

~*~*~*~

She brought Carnelian to a cave in the cliffsides, carefully preserving him with a noxious mix of herbs and magic, while his body refused to rot she read, she read through every page of the only thing her parents gave her before leaving her for dead in the wastes, a thick tome of unspeakable magics. Then, after going without food or sleep for days she found it, the spell to bring back her beloved. She set the ritual in motion, evil mist and waves of plague swirling about the room, concealing the form of her long dead mate. The fog slowly cleared as her beloved stood, opening his eyes, their color as white and blank as death.

His body pulled itself from the clouds and he gasped, mouth open and bearing rotting yellow fangs. Bits of flesh and congealed blood hung from his form like tattered rags, swaying slightly in the sickly sweet breeze. Conjure looked him over tenderly, and taking his ruined claws in hers she began to gently wrap linens and rags around his battered form, keeping him from falling apart. She said to him, she did not care that his blood clung to her talons like thick, sticky honey, she cared only for him...nothing else mattered...nothing...