Death

Mate - Haunt
Children - Haven

A silent yet powerful force, Death guides the souls of dead dragons to the Afterlife. She rarely speaks and does not hurry in her work, for she knows that her victims will always come face to face with her, no matter how fast they run. The blade of her scythe will be forever stained with the blood of young and old dragons alike. Her souless eyes never miss a thing, and a quiet yet commanding aura surrounds her very being, bringing the most fearless dragons to their knees.

Death merely serves as a guide to the Afterlife for the souls of the dead. What happens to them beyond that point rests in the hands of her mate, Haunt, and her daughter, Haven. It is unknown how Death feels towards the two, but it is said that she can be seen walking closely beside Haunt on the coldest, darkest nights.

———

It started with a dying hatchling; a pale, sick, suffering fae.

She stumbled across the terrain of the Scarred Wasteland, her small ragged breaths the only sound she made. Her eyes were milk white, sending chills down the spine of any dragon that dared to approach her. The elemental energies of the land had not gripped hold of her when she hatched. The lack of element was killing her, and yet her abandoned, rotting egg had only just hatched. She stumbled, limped, without any destination in mind. She knew she wouldn’t last long, but she desperately wanted to find someone to love her, someone who wasn't like the crude parents who left her egg to rot and die alone and uncared for.

Her feeble claws scraped their way close to the Wyrmwood, where the deadliest viruses were boiled and brewed in one giant, horrible vat. She stared over the brim, tears pooling in her ghostly eyes. She might as well end her suffering now. No one would miss her anyway.

But then, a voice rang through her frail head. “Come, come, young one... Mother still loves you...” It crooned. The hatchling was shocked to hear such words. Wherever her mother was, she had to find her. Her legs were giving out, and she could feel her body slowly fading. She couldn’t go any longer, but her soul wished to find Mother. Mother would protect her. Mother would keep her safe. Mother would love her...

A great set of claws bent forth to catch her, cradling her frail body. The hatchling weakly looked up to stare straight into two huge, sickly green orbs. “Do not fret young one... Mother is here...” The great dragon hissed. “The one who stirs the Wyrmwood... Let her baptize you in this sea of sickness and hope... I will make you a new form, and you will be given a new life...” And the hatchling was dunked into the vat, the liquid filling her lungs and making her unable to breathe. But she could feel herself change, and she could feel her soul slowly drift and fade away. When she arose, her body had taken a new form; black and red stripes ran across her scales. Her claws and teeth were like razors. The scales that covered her head had fallen off to reveal her pale white skull. And although her eyes were still white, they glowed a faint sickly green, and they reflected the gaze of their creator, their savior...

“Mother has given you a new body... One carved from the depths of the contagion and the disease and the virus. And you will be called Death, the reaper of souls, for you will ferry dragon from this world to the afterlife...” And out of Mother’s claw rose a scythe carved of poor bone, etched with the symbol of Plague.

Death took hold of the weapon, and she thanked Mother for her kindness. The once pale, dying hatchling had now been transformed into the Judgement and the Blade.

The Whisper and the Ghost.

The vessel of Death.

Written SpaceBagel